An Incantation of Cats

by Clea Simon

  Chapter 16

  Tiger was waiting when Becca arrived at the coffeehouse forty minutes later. Clara smelled the bike messenger—that mix of sweat, gear grease, and sandalwood—even before she spotted him uncoiling a heavy chain from his bag.

  “Tiger! Thanks for coming out.” Becca walked up to him as he squatted to weave the chain between the spokes of his front tire and the body of his pared-down bike. “Are you working?”

  “What? Oh, the bike?” Tiger blinked up at her. “No, I ride everywhere.”

  As he stood, she noticed a phone-like device attached to his belt. “Is that a pager?”

  “You’ve got a good eye.” He tilted his head, looking rather like Laurel as he took her in. “Yeah, my boss is old school. But, hey,” he said, unclipping the device and tucking it into his pocket, “like I said, I’m not working.”

  Becca inhaled, and Clara looked up in anticipation, not knowing if Becca had another question or was simply going to respond. But Tiger had already reached for the coffeehouse door, which he pulled open. “After you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, even as Clara waited for more, and led the way to a butcher block table in the corner.

  “Not a date.” Clara repeated Becca’s words, hoping to impress them back on her person.

  The corner table offered a modicum of privacy, the better to discuss the case. Clara didn’t need any of Laurel’s powers to follow her person’s reasoning. But Clara had also seen her color rise as she walked by Tiger. The bike messenger was handsome in an outlaw way, with that dramatic dark hair and long, lean muscles sculpted by hours on the bike.

  “Just a conversation,” the little cat murmured from the shadows as they placed their orders—a turkey sandwich for Becca, a veggie wrap for Tiger. Even as she settled in to observe while they ate, Clara found herself once again wishing that she had more of Laurel’s particular power.

  “I wanted to talk because I gather you’re worried about Gaia.” Maybe it was simply that her part-Siamese sister was on her mind. Maybe it was the blue eyes, but as the bike messenger ferried their sandwiches over from the counter, it occurred to Clara that he really did look like Laurel. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited, silently, for her to continue. “Do you think she’s in danger? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but she and I were talking.”

  A nod. “She told you what’s going on?” He raised his brows.

  “She said that you two still talk…” This time, there was no mistaking the question behind Becca’s pause.

  “Well, yeah.” The man sitting opposite her shrugged. “We’re friends.”

  “I know how hard it is to stay friends with an ex.”

  The deep sigh that followed turned into a chuckle. “Tell me about it,” he said, the relief giving his deep voice a lift. Then, seeing Becca’s wide-eyed response, he caught himself. “You don’t have to. I mean, I’m just glad you understand.”

  “I do.” Becca lowered her eyes as Clara scrambled to her feet. There was nothing the little cat could do. Not here, where she was, for all intents and purposes, invisible, and suddenly appearing would only distress her person. Still, she couldn’t resist reaching up with one paw. Maybe she should touch her person. Distract her from the intense young man facing her. If she only reached out…

  For a moment, Clara wondered if perhaps her ardent desire was enough. Or perhaps, she told herself, Becca had more resolve than her pet gave her credit for. Because, after taking a deep breath, Becca dove in. “Anyway, I am kind of still working with her, and I’m hoping you can share why you’re still worried about her.”

  “Well, just because we broke up doesn’t mean…” He shrugged as he took a bite of his veggie wrap.

  “No, I’m sorry. I meant if you had specific reasons to be concerned.” Becca leaned in, her own sandwich forgotten. “I’d like to know what they are.”

  Silence while he chewed and took another bite.

  “She said you saw someone hanging around?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head even as he tore into the wrap. “I don’t know if I should be talking about this.”

  “If it helps, I think you may be on to something.” Becca spoke softly, although Clara’s sensitive ears had no trouble picking up the intensity of her tone. “And it worries me, because I don’t think Gaia is taking your concerns seriously.” No response. “I’ve heard that maybe Frank Cross didn’t die from natural causes.”

  That got his attention. “Like an accident, or that he was killed?”

  Becca shrugged. “There were an awful lot of cops around for what was supposed to be simply a medical emergency.” Her voice dropped to near a whisper. “Someone told me that Margaret Cross was taken in for questioning.”

  Tiger leaned in with a speed that set Clara’s fur on edge. “You think she’s a suspect?”

  To her pet’s relief, Becca sat back in her own chair, considering. “I don’t know,” she said, her focus on something Clara couldn’t see. “I wish I understood what was going on better. I don’t see Mrs. Cross as a…a dangerous person.”

  “She might have had motive.” Tiger’s words got her attention back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to say anything, but, well, it’s true.”

  “I think I may know what you’re talking about.” Becca bit her lip. “But please, tell me what you mean.”

  Now it was Tiger’s turn to stare off into space, as if he were gathering courage from the list of coffees available. When he turned back, he seemed to have made a resolution. “Frank was having a fling with Gaia.” He stated this as fact, although Clara knew how much this could hurt a human. “That wasn’t why we broke up,” he was quick to add, almost like he could hear her thoughts. “I mean, we were never that serious. But this thing with Frank? Well, I think he was kind of obsessed with her.”

  “And you know this…how?” Clara could have leaped into her person’s lap and begun to knead, she was so happy. Becca’s question showed that she was being smart and careful.

  Tiger dropped his gaze, but he didn’t seem to see the remainder of his lunch. “I’m not a stalker, okay? But my boss has had a lot of deliveries for Mr. Cross recently. I’ve been down at that car lot of his a fair amount, as well as around here most days. So I see when someone keeps showing up.”

  Becca gestured for him to continue, waiting.

  “And I heard some of the fights he had with his wife.” Tiger was talking to the table, one long finger tracing the wood grain. “‘Margaret, cut it out! Margaret, please stop!’ I heard him yell that a lot. And he wouldn’t think to protect himself from her.”

  “So you think Margaret might have hurt him?” The words came slowly, as if Becca were trying them out.

  Tiger shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “But I thought they were making up. I heard him on the phone with her the day he died. He started off by telling her she was wrong, that she should calm down and everything. But I think he was basically apologizing.”

  He shook his head slowly, his blue eyes sad. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, I don’t want to think it was anyone. But you said that word is his heart attack was suspicious, right? Well, they do say that poison is a woman’s weapon.”

  Becca recoiled, and then broke out into laughter. “Sorry,” she said as he stared, his handsome face blank. “I thought maybe you were in on it.”

  “Excuse me?” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “Gaia.” Becca sighed and shook her head. “She shouldn’t have, but it didn’t go anywhere. Maybe I’m not such a bad detective after all.”

  “I’m still missing something here.”

  “Gaia’s case. The reason she wanted to hire me. The poison in her mug.” Faced with Tiger’s baffled stare, she explained about the root and how her coven identified it as asafetida, as well as her friends’ suggestion that her ex-boyfriend might have played a role. “Even when she confessed, I wondered if maybe she was covering—covering for you. You
know, if you’d wanted to scare her. And so when you said poison…I’m sorry.” Becca was trying to dig herself out. “In conclusion, it was stupid, but it was harmless.”

  “Ah.” Now it was his turn to chuckle, and he picked up his sandwich again. “Yeah, that sounds like Gaia, all right.”

  “Anyway, I know she was hoping to frame Margaret—and I’m not saying Margaret doesn’t have reason to be angry. But I’m more concerned about someone else.”

  “Someone else?” Tiger leaned forward. For a moment, Clara thought he was going to reach for her, and she strained to see over the edge of the tabletop.

  Becca’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “When I left the shop, I was sure I saw someone—a man with light hair. Maybe dyed blond. He was acting strange. Lurking, kind of, like he didn’t want to be seen. I followed him down the alley, but then I lost him.”

  “Did you tell Gaia?” Tiger attacked his sandwich with renewed fervor.

  “I didn’t get a chance to,” Becca confessed. “She was gone when I went back. And then you called, and I remembered that she said you’d been worrying about her. And I thought she said you’d seen someone hanging around too?” She paused, waiting for an answer.

  Tiger only laughed, a small, sad laugh. “Gaia,” he said the name softly, more to himself than Becca. “Yeah, I did. But she’s not the type to listen to anyone. Certainly not her ex. And what was I going to say? That I was afraid her new romance was going to get her into trouble?”

  “You wanted her to be careful.” Becca repeated the words. “And you didn’t want her seeing her boss’s husband, right? So you didn’t see anyone?”

  “I wanted her to be careful. I didn’t expect any of this.” Tiger tilted his head. It wasn’t a nod, exactly, and it wasn’t a shrug. It was an acknowledgment of an awkward situation. Still, as Becca watched her lunch partner’s face, she must have wondered. Clara certainly found herself considering the options. Gaia had already shown herself to be a liar. Might she be covering again? Lying for her former lover? What, after all, did Becca know about this man and his motives? About his strangely spicy scent? Tiger had clearly wanted Gaia to quit seeing Frank. Might he have gone to other lengths? Done something desperate to stop her? Or to shield her from an injured wife’s wrath?

  Chapter 17

  “I’d really like to talk to Margaret.”

  True to her word, Becca had called Maddy to check in after the lunch. But while she did her best to reassure her friend that the meeting had not been a date, she wasn’t able to put her fears entirely to rest. “I know you don’t want me involved in this, Maddy. And I tried to get out of this case—these cases—but I am involved, whether I like it or not. And, well, I know what Tiger said, but something about it just doesn’t sit right. I mean, I don’t see Margaret Cross as a murderer.”

  From the way Becca held the phone, Clara could tell that her friend was yelling. While that had to be unpleasant—no cat liked loud noises—she was grateful that Maddy felt protective. And relieved that Becca wasn’t taking the bike messenger’s story at face value.

  “Don’t worry! I am going to the cops. I’m on my way now.” Becca was beginning to sound exasperated. “I just wish I could talk to Margaret first. I mean, I knew she was angry. I could almost understand it if she’d lashed out. But would she really have killed him? Have planned it in advance?

  “When Tiger said poison, I figured he was simply referring to Gaia’s, uh, incident.” Becca might be addressing her friend, but Clara had the feeling her person was really talking to herself. “But now I’m wondering… There are some poisons that would induce or mimic cardiac arrest. I was reading…”

  More yelling stopped that train of thought. But Becca kept walking, even as she appeared to change her approach. “You’re right, Maddy. I’m not going to get involved in what happened to Frank Cross. I’m leaving that to the police. But maybe I’ll just stop into the store first. Because Gaia really ought to be talking to the authorities too, and maybe I can get her to come with me. She and Frank were involved, and she might know something. Maybe she heard him talk about an enemy or someone who had a grudge or something.”

  The voice on the other end of the line sounded nominally less frantic. Or maybe, Clara realized, Maddy was simply tired.

  “No, I didn’t ask her about money. I’m leaving that to the police, just like you said.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Besides, between you and me, I don’t think he had much of a business. Margaret kind of implied that, too. But still, Gaia might know more than she thinks she knows, if you know what I mean.”

  That one almost made Clara stop cold. Becca was beginning to sound as logical as a cat. Only as she caught up with her person did she realize that the young woman hadn’t yet aired all of her concerns.

  “There’s more, Maddy. That root? It wasn’t wolf’s bane. It wasn’t anything poisonous at all. Gaia planted it in her own mug to get back at Margaret.” She stopped walking. “I guess that’s all going to come out. I don’t want to get Gaia in trouble with the police. It sounds like it was just a stupid prank. But especially if the cops are now saying that Frank’s death was something other than a heart attack, then they should know. I wish I could give Margaret a heads-up about that. Or her sister. A sister might see things that a wife wouldn’t, and that Elizabeth seems pretty sharp to me.”

  She paused, and Clara waited. But Becca didn’t bring up the other possibility that she had considered out loud—that Gaia hadn’t put the root in her own mug but knew who had. That Tiger had done it to scare his ex into giving up her new lover, or at least to take his warnings seriously. Clara didn’t know if Becca had taken the bike messenger’s shrugged denial as truth, or if she still suspected him of some complicity. She did know that her person was smarter than her sisters gave her credit for, though, and the implication that she might be protecting the handsome young man for some reason made the loving feline uneasy.

  But even as she mulled over this possibility, Becca kept talking.

  “Besides, Maddy, I can’t help but wonder, what if Gaia didn’t plant that thing herself? I mean, Gaia admits to having an affair with Frank, so maybe it was a warning, someone trying to scare her. And that could mean she’s in real danger.”

  ***

  Becca picked up her pace after that, heading back into the heart of Central Square, where the Cambridge police had their precinct offices. Clara had accompanied Becca to the red brick building before, and they’d both come out unscathed. Still, the little cat found herself on edge, every whisker alert, as they drew closer. Sure enough, Becca’s pace slowed ever so slightly as they entered the bustling business district. It was only coincidental, Clara told herself, that they were also approaching the block that held both the Cross’s apartment and the magic shop where Gaia worked.

  “She’s only thinking that she wants to talk to Gaia again,” the little cat thought. “She wishes she could have gotten her to come talk to the police with her. She told her friend that.”

  But even though Clara trusted her person more than Maddy apparently did, Clara couldn’t help but feel a shiver of fear as they neared the brick building. After all, Becca had also talked about stopping back at the widow’s apartment and trying to enlist her sister. Clara didn’t relish another encounter with the weird Elizabeth, especially now, when Becca should be handing this case over to the police. There was something eerie about that woman, thought the cat. Distracted, she nearly collided with her person as Becca stopped short at the corner.

  “Gaia?” The name burst out in surprise. Sure enough, the salesgirl was standing on the sidewalk, one hand pushing her jet-black hair back from her face. From the looks of her eyeliner, she’d been crying. “I was going to stop by the store—”

  “Good thing you didn’t.” She turned away, as if to wipe her face. Then, with a defiant toss of her head, she grabbed Becca by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Why? What happened?” Becca resisted,
looking back toward the glass storefront with its colorful symbols. The skulking figure from before was nowhere in sight, but Gaia acted like she was in a hurry, pulling at her as she began to walk quickly away.

  “I’ve been fired. That’s what. At least, I think I have.” She mugged, trying to smile. Only it didn’t quite take. After they’d crossed the street, retracing Becca’s steps, the goth girl slowed her stride and let her head hang down.

  “I’m sorry.” Becca immediately went into comfort mode. “What happened?”

  Clara looked from her person to the downcast girl at her side. All the options—the absences from her post, the possible theft, the philandering—ran through her mind. Becca had to be aware of these, and yet she appeared as focused and concerned as she’d be if one of Clara’s sisters had started to limp. Becca was tender hearted, Clara knew. She loved her for it, but at the same time, it made her worry about her person, too.

  Gaia took so long to respond that they’d reached the end of the block. By then, Becca had her arm around the other girl. Taking a deep breath, she asked, her voice gentle, “Was it because of Frank?”

  Gaia started, and her quick intake of breath must have been audible even to human ears. Exhaling even more noisily, she nodded, and reached up to wipe a tear that had escaped to roll down her cheek. “What a jerk,” she said.

  Becca’s eyebrows went up at that, but she held her tongue. After another pause—not so long this time—Gaia began to speak.

  “That was stupid,” she said, staring off down the block as if she could transport herself even farther away. “I didn’t even really like him that much, you know?”

  Becca wisely chose not to respond. Sure enough, Gaia kept on talking. “He was funny. He used to come into the shop all the time and flirt with me, even though he was this little pudgy bald guy. Like he had all this confidence, you know? He’d bring me a muffin when I opened in the morning. He used to say I was too skinny. I needed someone to look after me. He’d tell me I should get more sleep. Take more breaks. At some point, he started massaging my shoulders. And, you know, he was really good at it. And then he asked me to read the Tarot for him. A private reading in the back, even though he knew I couldn’t really read the cards.”