by Clea Simon
“I believe you.” Becca tried to keep her voice calm and even. “But I don’t know if the police will, and I think she has information that could help us all.”
The widow inclined her head over her mug. “You may as well talk with her, then. She’s checking in on the shop.”
“She is?” Becca leaned in.
A curt nod. “She got a call, probably a prank. That girl…”
Clara looked at her person. Becca appeared to weigh several responses, but wisely decided to hold her tongue. Or maybe she simply hadn’t settled on one quickly enough as the sound of the front door opening had her craning around in her seat.
“Elizabeth.” Margaret looked up at her older sister. While Becca had turned to face the newcomer, Clara could see the curious expression on the widow’s face—eyebrows raised and mouth pursed. “Becca here was just looking for you. She has some questions.”
“Of course she does.” The taller sister breezed in, looking quite calm and collected, Clara mused. What Becca thought wasn’t clear, but her pet could see that she had been taken aback by the older woman’s response, if not by her sudden appearance. “I need to wash up, Becca. Would you join me?”
Becca rose and followed the other woman down the hall to a bathroom, where Elizabeth proceeded to roll up the sleeves of her corduroy workshirt. “So, where shall we start?”
“Your sister said you were at the shop?” Becca watched as Elizabeth lathered up her hands. “Is there anything going on?”
Elizabeth grinned in the mirror. “Very good,” she said. “You’re learning to gather information for yourself before you give it. But everything is fine.”
Becca raised her chin. “Well, then, I’ve just got a few questions.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth focused on her hands. “I’m going to have some more cleaning to do. Gaia was a bit of a slob. Surely, that doesn’t surprise you.”
“No,” Becca had to admit. “But I’m curious as to why you went down there.”
“Why?” Their eyes met in the mirror. “Well, Margaret’s not up for anything right now. And I don’t think she should close.”
“She was thinking of closing?” That appeared to hit Becca hard.
Elizabeth shrugged. “She’s had a loss. And she no longer has a sales clerk. Plus, she’s going to have legal bills.”
That was Becca’s opening. “Is she going to be charged in her husband’s death?”
Again, their eyes met, but if Elizabeth was surprised by Becca’s awareness of the latest development, she didn’t show it. “What do you think?” she asked.
“I guess the police would say she had motive.” Becca eyed the older woman curiously. “But as for means… Margaret already told me they’re doing an autopsy. I’m assuming that they’ll find that Frank Cross was poisoned with aconite—wolf’s bane.”
Elizabeth shook her head, staring straight into the mirror. “I don’t know what they’ll find.”
“We know Gaia had a potted wolf’s bane plant.” Becca’s voice was calm. “We know that you recognized it. You told her what it was. And then it went missing.”
“Wait, you think that I took it and lied about it?” The white-haired woman turned toward her, hands dripping. “Or that Margaret…? No.”
“I’m simply stating facts.” Becca tensed, but if she thought of retreating, Clara couldn’t see any sign of it.
“You’re re-stating what other people have told you.” Elizabeth took on a school-marmish tone. “Letting yourself be manipulated. Gaia, for example, is as careless with logic as she is with dangerous plants.”
Becca didn’t respond. Clara hoped it was because she wanted to draw the older woman out, rather than that she was stymied by this turn of events.
“Yes, I recognized wolf’s bane.” Elizabeth reached for a towel, shaking her head as if she could shed stupidity like water. “That girl pretends to study the craft, but all she saw were pretty blue flowers. Goddess keep her. I read her the riot act. Bad enough she had it. She was keeping it in the shop window. If anything had happened, we’d be liable.”
“Something did happen.” Becca studied the other woman’s face. “Gaia was brought to the emergency room last night. She may have been poisoned.”
Elizabeth started back, and then relaxed. “You know, she might not be the most reliable person to talk about being poisoned.”
“I know she tried to fake something earlier,” Becca confided. “This was real, though. I was with her in the emergency room.”
“That doesn’t mean…” For a moment, Elizabeth looked her age. “Poor girl. Poor, stupid girl. I assumed she took the cursed thing home.”
Becca was shaking her head. “She says she doesn’t have it. She thinks you took it.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, appraising Becca anew. “And you believe her.”
“I believe that she doesn’t have it anymore.” Becca searched for an explanation. “And I don’t even know if she knows how Frank died. Honestly, I don’t know if she cares that much. From what she’s said, the affair was basically over. She’s just feeling sorry for herself because you fired her.”
“And so she’s looking to pin the blame on me.” Elizabeth turned toward the bathroom mirror, her face unreadable.
“She’s scared,” Becca said.
“Sounds like she should be.” Elizabeth was still holding the towel, and now she looked down at it, as if it held the answer. “Sounds like maybe Gaia has begun to grow up.”
Chapter 31
“You’re going to tell that detective all this, right?” Maddy’s relief was audible when Becca reached her at work. “’Cause you’re done, right?”
“I don’t know, Maddy. I’m not sure I see the point. I mean, I told him everything I know when he ambushed me at the hospital.”
“Ambush?” Maddy’s surprise must have gotten her a few looks, because her next comment was muted. “Becca, what are you talking about? You’re involved in a suspicious death, and another person has been poisoned.”
“Yeah, I know, only the police might not see it that way.” Becca was walking slowly down the block as she spoke with her friend, her mind on the conversation she’d just had. “If they still think Gaia made herself sick, they might not be looking at all the implications.”
“What implications? That woman Elizabeth said she was cleaning the place out, and I bet that means that stupid plant is gone. But don’t they have tests? Can’t they find traces of things like poisons?” Maddy watched a lot of TV.
“I don’t know, Maddy.” Becca stopped to look up at the late afternoon sky. “They might just dismiss that, or say that’s where Gaia was hiding it. I mean, it was Tiger who told me Elizabeth took it. And honestly? I don’t know how reliable he is on this. He’s told me he’s over Gaia, but I think there’s still something there. He’s more upset about all of this than he’s letting on this, and I’m not entirely sure what to believe.”
***
By the time they hung up, Becca had promised her friend that she would at least seriously think about calling Detective Abrams to fill him in on what Tiger had said. “Really seriously, Maddy,” she vowed. “Even though it’s all hearsay.”
But by then, she’d lost her newfound equanimity. As Clara trotted alongside her, she could see that her person’s focus had turned inward, bringing with it a frown and the kind of bunched brows that the little calico associated with ruffled fur.
When Becca slowed on the walk up to the library, Clara knew her worst fears were being realized. As much as she didn’t want her person looking too closely into her family’s long history with magical felines, she really didn’t want her getting more involved with this case. Although Clara was loath to take any human’s side against Becca’s, for once, she had to admit that Maddy was right. A person had died, and this was no longer a case for an amateur. Becca needed to leave it to the police.
Once again, Clara wished she had Laurel’s gift. Not for anyth
ing as trivial as her choice of clothing, but to make her see the sense in Maddy’s words—and to make her as careful of her own life as she was of her pets’. Even if she could simply eavesdrop like her sister did on her person’s thoughts, she’d be grateful. What was her dear person thinking about? Clara looked up anxiously, trying to read Becca’s face, and almost collided with her as Becca’s steps slowed.
Only then did Clara look around her with an almost imperceptible feline sigh of relief. Becca had come to a halt not ten feet from a familiar modern structure, its glass walls revealing the kind of benign busy-ness that Clara would wish her person engaged in full time. Even unable to read the words spelled out over the foyer in oversized letters, she recognized this as one of Becca’s regular haunts: the Cambridge public library.
Eager for her person to enter, Clara gazed inside to where a young boy was checking out two books as his father looked on and an employee pushed a cart loaded with oversized hardcovers. All of this would usually be as irresistible as catnip to Becca, and Clara waited for her person to pull open the great glass doors.
When she didn’t, Clara looked back with growing concern. Becca had her phone out, something she never did inside the building. Which, the cat told herself, must be why she had turned away.
“Tiger? It’s Becca.” Clara felt her whiskers sag. “I was wondering if you could tell me more about the plant you saw. Would you call me?” And with that, she hung up, but if Clara had any remaining hope that her person had put the matter to rest and would proceed inside the library, that soon dissipated. As she watched, Becca began to chew her lower lip and stare off into the distance. Since there was nothing out there beyond a rather drab brown oak, Clara began to fear the worst. When Becca turned her phone off and began to walk back toward the street, picking up her pace as she left the library behind, she knew what to expect.
“Becca, no!” Clara trotted to keep up. When it became clear that Becca was heading once more into Central Square, the calico began to panic. There was a reason Becca had been adopted by the three cats. She needed the gifts of all three, and just then, Clara felt the burden of being the only cat to accompany her person sorely.
“Please…” She did her best to project her thought, her ears twitching back with the effort. “Laurel, if you can hear me, can you help us out?”
Surely, her sister could pick up on her thoughts. She had already revealed her ability to travel shaded, much as Clara herself did. Ears up and every guard hair alert, Clara waited, hoping to get some sense that her slinky middle sister had heard her call and would respond. All she heard was the twittering of birds, though, and so she scurried to follow as Becca began walking even more quickly away from the library and the safety of the known.
Chapter 32
As the familiar storefront came into view, Clara let herself hope. While she didn’t like the idea of Becca asking more questions—certainly didn’t like the way that that woman Elizabeth seemed to know more than she should—at least she could understand such an action. Her person was thorough, a researcher at heart. Maybe Becca wanted something clarified. Maybe she had forgotten some important information. Maybe she had left her hat. But a quick glance to the velvet cloche that still topped Becca’s brown curls killed that hope.
Still, as Becca approached the storefront, Clara dared to believe. The store’s darkened interior showed no sign of life, and Becca knocked and waited—normal behavior, her cat told herself. Not rash at all. Only Becca wasn’t giving up. After trying to peer inside, her face pressed against the painted glass, she tried again, rapping on the window, to no avail. And so when Becca ducked around the back of the building, hurrying down the alley like some small and timid animal, the little cat began to feel ill.
“No, Becca!” She tried once again to project her thoughts. To implant the idea of the library, so safe and warm. Or, even better, of the cozy sofa at home. Maybe she had too much imagination, however, and she could see all too well where this was all heading. Because Becca, despite Clara’s fervent desire to warn her, appeared to be doing just what her pet feared most. She was going to try to duplicate her stunt of the previous day—only, this time, without a friend to stand guard. Not a friend who could call out to warn her, at any rate.
If she needed to, she would alert Becca somehow, Clara promised herself. Sure enough, as Clara watched, tail whipping in anxiety, Becca stared up at a high inset window with the intensity Laurel would use to gauge the jump to the top of the bookshelf. But Becca was no cat, and when her bottom didn’t twitch in anticipation, Clara began to breathe easier. Until, that is, she saw that Becca’s gaze had been distracted and she remembered. What Becca lacked in feline grace, she more than made up for in logic. Sure enough, a quick exploration of the back lot uncovered that plastic milk crate over by the dumpster, and it occurred to Clara that someone might have left it for just such an illicit entrance. Someone like Gaia, who wanted an easy way in and out. And although Becca was a good three inches shorter than the goth shop girl, when she stood on the milk crate and raised herself on tiptoe, she was able to reach the window.
“Now if only…” Clara’s ears perked up as Becca spoke, more to herself than to any possible passerby, her pet realized. “Yes!” Her agile fingers, so much more flexible than any talon, had managed to raise the edge of the window and from there it slid easily. With a grunt and a bit of a squeal, Becca pulled herself up, her sneakers finding purchase on the brick. And a moment later, she was inside.
“I’m getting rather good at this.” Becca’s musing would have been inaudible to most, but Clara heard her self-congratulations with dread. As much as she wanted her person to learn new skills, breaking into locked buildings was not a good thing. Surely, Becca knew that. Her reluctance to alert her friend and onetime lookout was proof of that. In Maddy’s absence, Clara hunkered down, determined to keep watch and to be ready to alert her person in case of trouble.
This late in the afternoon, the street was quiet, and Clara was grateful for the shadow of the building, which cloaked her spotted coat further even than her abilities allowed. Invisibility wasn’t everything, however. Despite her abilities, the calico was a housecat by nature, only venturing outside to accompany her person. Not being able to see Becca or, even worse, smell her warm scent, was unnerving, making the little beast feel even more vulnerable. As much as she trusted Becca, she couldn’t help but wonder if this entire venture was misguided and if, perhaps, the person she loved was in way over her head.
A muted crash made Clara jump. Here, in the rear of the building, she was protected from the street. Even if a car were to pull into the lot, she could duck behind the dumpster. Besides, that sound was from inside the building, she realized as she willed her fur back into its proper confirmation. That sound, more of a thud, had probably been occasioned by Becca knocking into something inside the darkened store. No cries of alarm or pain had followed, and none of that horrid squealing of bicycle tires that she could only too well remember.
“Becca?” Clara tried once more to reach her person. The only response was a thump and a soft grunt. The cat could stand it no longer and, bracing herself against what she might find, she shimmied through the brick wall toward her person.
The room Clara found herself in wasn’t that dark. Granted, the afternoon sun was clouded by the glazing on the bathroom window as well as a rime of dirt. And while Becca had opted against turning on the electrical light, she had opened the door to the storefront, where the early twilight illumined the colored paint on the window, if not much else. Still, there was no reason for a creature to bump and flail, as Becca seemed to be doing. An upended side table explained the earlier crash, and even now her person shuffled slowly, hands out in some weak improvisation of whiskers.
Whiskers! Of course! Clara had forgotten how dull human senses were, and so as she sat back and watched her person fuddle, she tried to come up with a way to help her. Clara couldn’t exactly turn on the lights for her. Cats simply didn
’t do that, and she was sure there was a good reason why. Nor could she guide her, as dogs seemed to do for their humans at times.
“If only Laurel were here.” She never thought she’d miss her sister. Only now it would be so useful to have her here. She could suggest that Becca close the door to the storefront. If she did that, she could turn on the overhead light. Surely, the slight glow that would leak out the bathroom window would not cause any alarm.
“If only…”
Her thought was interrupted by another crash and muted cursing as Becca reached down to caress her shin. But even as she did, hopping a bit as she rubbed the sore spot, she reached out her other hand for balance and soon found herself leaning on the open doorframe. As if a light had gone on in her mind, she stood, closed the door, and, running her hand along the doorframe, found the light switch. The light that flooded the room was almost too bright for Clara, who squinted as she ducked back into the shadow of the shelving. To Becca, though, it must have seemed wondrous. Clara looked up to see her person beaming back up at the fixture, like it had come to her aid by itself.
Newly empowered, Becca began a search in earnest. Working her way around the store room, she looked inside boxes and behind shelves. She opened canisters to check out their contents, and even though she sniffed some of the more pungent ones—Clara could smell ginseng and ginger, before the stench of asafetida filled the room—she was careful enough not to taste any.
When she moved on to the small kitchen area, Clara crept closer. Becca was concentrating too hard to notice the slight shadow she still cast, and the little cat wanted to observe her person at work. Becca was methodical, moving slowly through the items on top of the tiny fridge one by one and replacing them with care. Opening the fridge, she made a point of sniffing at various jars and bottles, even when the rancid nature of some long-forgotten takeout nearly knocked her head back. For Clara, this was enlightening. She’d only seen Becca research in books or on her computer. Here she could witness for herself the disciplined and thorough nature of her work.
