by Clea Simon
Their entrees arrived before Becca could respond. And while she tried to focus on her salad, the nachos were as tempting as all the unanswered questions that kept popping up.
“Drugs?” With her mouth full of cheese and chili, that was the best she could manage. “Did you tell the police that?”
“I didn’t want to, how do they say, muddy the waters.” Trent took a bite of his veggie burger and waited for her to answer. “You didn’t notice anything?”
Becca thought back. “Only that something was bothering her.”
“You see? I knew it.”
That wasn’t what she had meant. Only now, sitting here, she had to wonder. Had Suzanne wanted to confess to a problem? Is that why she wanted to get Becca alone?
“Poor girl.” Trent chewed thoughtfully. “I knew she was hard up for money too. So that might all be connected. I mean, I don’t think she’d have asked you because we all know about your job and all.”
Becca began to respond—to share what Ande had said—and then caught herself. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected that the tall accountant had told her about the missing funds in confidence.
“What?” Trent’s question caught her in mid-thought.
“Suzanne did want to speak with me, alone,” Becca confessed, reaching for the nachos. “That’s why I went over to her place on Saturday. You know, when I found her?”
“That’s so sad.” He shook his head. “I don’t think you should bring this up when the coven gathers. Let her have her dignity.”
Becca started to protest—Trent was the one who was suggesting the dead woman had a drug problem. But another thought interrupted. “And the police didn’t ask you about any of this?”
“Nope.” Trent’s answer was cut short as he bit into a nacho. She didn’t want to tell him about the string of cheese that had just caught in his beard. “Why muddy—”
He must have noticed her gaze, as he paused to fish out the cheese. “Sorry.” His smile was charming.
“So what did the police ask you?” The caffeine was definitely kicking in.
“The usual.” He waved the question off. “You know, how I knew her. Why I had her key. I gave them the parking receipt from the city meter, so they knew I’d only pulled up to her street after you arrived, so…”
His explanation ended in a grin. A guilty grin, Becca realized, as it seemed to focus suspicion back on her. “I was only there a few minutes earlier.” She didn’t like how defensive she sounded.
“I’m glad!” Those eyebrows again. “Maybe you got lucky. I mean, in the grand scheme of things.”
Becca swallowed hard, the chip stuck in her throat. “Lucky?” The word came out as a croak.
“I mean blessed, of course. Beloved of the goddess. Think about it, Becca. We don’t know if it was her dealer or just some random crazy off the street.” Trent leaned in, his dark eyes aglow. “But if you’d been there a little earlier, Becca, it might have been you.”
Chapter 20
“I can’t believe you went out with him!” Clara’s powers tended to accentuate her hearing, but even an ordinary cat could have heard the yelling over the phone. Becca’s ex, Jeff, sounded like a tomcat whose tail had been stepped on. “He’s a person of interest. Becca, are you nuts?”
Despite her own annoyance—she couldn’t help but agree with the angry man on the phone—the calico was doing her best to soothe her person. Becca had slept badly again, even with her obvious exhaustion. And although Jeff’s call had woken her from an early nap, she’d been plagued by scary dreams. That—and his apparent concern—had prompted her to tell her ex about her outing the evening before. At least, that’s what Clara hoped had brought about the confession. As the little calico began to knead, working on Becca’s shoulder as her person slouched on the couch, she looked around for Laurel. Her sister was definitely capable of using anything to provoke some interesting jealousy.
“Jeff, I was just telling you where I was.” Becca’s eyes were closing again. Clara could feel her fatigue and increased the pressure of her massage, hoping to relieve some of Becca’s tension. “Ow, wait—”
She sat up, moving away from the calico. Across her lap, Clara caught a glimpse of Laurel’s smirk as her seal-point sister settled down beside their human. Drawing her own paws under her creamy chest, Clara considered. She didn’t know if her sister was simply enjoying the drama or had an ulterior motive. Jeff had always been quite complimentary about Laurel’s sleek markings. Clara glared at her sister, and felt her ears begin to flatten in anger. But then Becca began talking again, and Clara turned to listen in.
“It wasn’t a date.” Becca was using a particularly flat tone of voice that Clara recognized. It was the same tone that she used when she was pretending she didn’t have any more treats. The man on the other end of the line seemed to recognize it too. Even before he began to speak again, she felt as much as heard the intake of breath that presaged an argument.
“Look.” Becca must have heard it too, as she cut him off. “I’m involved in this. Suzanne and I were friends. Besides,” her voice dropped to a near whisper, “she wanted my help, Jeff. That’s why I went over there.”
Laurel’s ears pricked up as Jeff answered. Laurel always did have an instinct for scandal.
“This had nothing to do with you, Jeff.” Becca, on the other hand, preferred her life to be straightforward, whether it really was or not. It was one of the reasons that Clara felt protective of her. “At least, I don’t think so. Trent said—” The young woman paused, clearly gathering her thoughts. Across her lap, Laurel’s eyes closed in pleasure. “Trent agreed that something else was bothering her. So if there’s anything that we can tell the police—”
Another burst of noise from the phone. Clara was leaning in, but lost the thread as her oldest sister landed hard beside her.
“Are we having treats?” Harriet pushed by Clara on her way to Becca’s lap. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?”
“I was here first.” A hint of a growl from Laurel, but Becca was too distracted to notice. To the cats’ dismay, she stood up and began pacing. And while Laurel and Harriet stared at each other from opposite ends of the sofa, Clara jumped down to follow their person around the apartment.
“Yes, I know what you told the police, Jeff.” The note of tension made Clara’s spine stiffen. “But that just made them suspect me, and I know I didn’t want to hurt her. She is—was—a friend, and I found her. So, yeah, I want to help.”
She stopped so quickly that Clara nearly bumped into her. It was only the round little calico’s feline grace that allowed her to swerve in time to brush by her person’s ankles instead.
“What are you talking about, Jeff?” Becca’s voice had gone cold, and Clara peered up, trying to see her face. “Why would I need a lawyer?”
***
“You’re not the one who needs a lawyer.” Maddy showed up soon after, bearing scones and sympathy. Although Clara wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, it was obvious that Becca’s furious typing on her laptop had communicated the latest. Still, it was Harriet who had first spotted Becca’s old friend—or at least the bakery box she carried—and jumped heavily from her window seat to greet the plump young woman with a purr. “Oh, what a nice cat!”
Maddy bent to stroke the fluffy marmalade’s back as Harriet reached up to nose the cardboard box.
“You can’t think that Jeff…” Becca turned back toward the kitchen. After a night tossing and turning, she trod as heavily as Harriet. “That he would…”
“I don’t know what to think.” Maddy stood, to Harriet’s dismay, and followed her friend into the apartment. “But they had been seeing each other, and Suzanne wanted to talk to you. And now he seems to be keeping tabs on you awfully closely.” She placed the box on the table and pulled up a chair.
“Maybe she found out something about him. Maybe he’s lying
about breaking up with her. Maybe she dumped him, and he didn’t want it to end.”
Becca winced, and even Harriet looked up. Although that, Clara realized, could have been because her fluffy sibling was hoping the shock would result in a dropped scone.
“Maddy.” Becca slumped into her own seat.
“I’m just saying…” Maddy opened the box and suddenly, Harriet was staring daggers at her. “I never really liked him.”
“Drop one. Come on!” Harriet was muttering, a low rumbling that could almost be mistaken for a purr. “You’re feeling clumsy…”
“Hush, I’m listening,” Laurel responded, appearing under the table. Becca would say “out of nowhere,” Clara knew. But that was Clara’s special skill. Laurel simply had an appetite for gossip that matched her older sister’s taste for sweets.
“You didn’t?” Becca stopped, plate in hand. “Really?”
“He always thought he was too good for you.” Maddy took the plate and opened the box. Two scones. Harriet’s ample bottom began to twitch as she readied for a jump.
“No!” Clara’s paw came down on her sister’s tail, and Harriet turned, too affronted to protest. “Sorry.” Clara pulled her paw back. “I want to hear. I’ll owe you,” she hastened to add.
“You sure will.” Harriet flicked her tail out of reach, secretly grateful—Clara suspected—that she didn’t have to try for the tabletop.
“He didn’t.” The hurt in Becca’s voice made both cats look up.
“I wouldn’t have said anything if you’d stayed together.” Maddy broke off a piece of one scone, and Harriet licked her chops. “And, hey, maybe I was wrong.”
Becca was slumped in her seat. “No, Jeff never wanted us to be serious.” The accent she put on the last word made Clara’s fur bristle. “He said we weren’t ready.”
“Good riddance.” Maddy kept eating. “Because if ‘being serious’ is what happened to that other woman? I’d say you’re better off.”
Becca nodded, not even objecting to the circular logic of her friend’s argument. “I guess,” she said. “I mean, no, Maddy. Jeff’s not a…a killer.”
“There’s a lot about that man you don’t know.” Her friend popped the last bit of pastry into her mouth and glanced up at the clock. “Hey, I should be getting to work.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” Becca reached for her friend’s arm. “What aren’t you telling me, Maddy?”
“Oh, honey.” Maddy bit her lip. “Let him go, okay?”
“Maddy.” Becca was growing more insistent.
“Look at the facts.” Her friend leaned on the table. “This is a man who would throw you to the wolves. Why else is he keeping such close tabs on you?”
“Because he wants to get back together?” Becca’s voice faded out even before she finished—and brought her friend in for a hug.
“That makes no sense. I’m sorry, Becca. I really am, and I feel awful about leaving you like this. My boss…well, you’ve heard it all.” She said it apologetically, though whether that was because she was leaving her friend in no better mood than she’d found or because she still had a job, Clara couldn’t tell. “Do you mind?”
Harriet began to whine, and Clara turned in dismay. But her sister’s golden eyes were riveted on the table above them. Maddy had stood and was reaching for the box. Becca hadn’t touched her scone and pushed the plate toward her.
“No, you take it.” Becca forced a smile. Beneath the table, Harriet lashed her tail. Clara was going to have a lot to make up for.
***
After her friend left, Becca fetched her laptop, settling on the sofa with the same resigned posture Clara was growing accustomed to. Torn between jumping up beside her—she didn’t think her person was beyond distraction—and trying to find out more, Clara turned toward her sisters and blinked, the feline version of an invitation to chat. But, whether because they were her older sisters or simply because of the nature of cats, they resisted.
“Why?” Harriet was still staring at the kitchen table, the lost treat a personal affront.
“So we can figure out how to help Becca,” Clara explained. “I think she’s worried about Jeff, and you know how she is. Even if he did try to set her up, she’s going to want to clear his name.”
“By looking into a murder?” Laurel was intrigued, but Harriet simply glowered. In this state, she’d likely pin it on Maddy.
“She is our charge.” Clara hoped the appeal to Harriet’s vanity would ease the way.
“I should just make a knife like that one she used on the cake, and let Becca find it,” the long-haired sister grumbled. “Only I’d want to put it in that scone stealer’s back. Who brings treats and then takes them away again?”
Clara held her tongue. Harriet had a point, but Laurel came to the rescue.
“The calico clown is right.” She rolled the R as if she were purring. “The way she’s going, Becca’s not going to be good for much soon. And besides”—the Siamese paused to lick her paw, a purely dramatic move—“if we can get her out of this slump, she’s more likely to bring home a new man. A new man who wants to win our approval.”
The way she stretched out that last word made her intentions unmissable. Laurel wouldn’t stop at using her powers of suggestion, but Clara couldn’t argue this time. Especially since Harriet had come trotting over.
“Maybe I should make a knife appear—someplace convenient, like in the kitchen.” She tilted her head to better take in their person, who was still typing away. “That might make her do a thorough search. Pull things out of cupboards, and the like.”
“No, please.” Clara turned from one sister to another. “The police probably have the real one and any others will just confuse things.”
“Suit yourself.” Harriet began to bathe, working on one fluffy hind leg as if it were a drumstick. “But you said…”
“I know.” Clara sighed. “But I worry that anything so…creative will only make things worse for her. Becca is so down already.”
“If I could’ve gotten her into that outfit…”
“That wouldn’t have solved anything.” Clara cut her sister off. It was time for drastic measures. “Hang on. I want to see what she’s searching for with that machine.”
Leaping up beside the seated girl, Clara willed herself to be if not invisible then at least not easily detected. That went against the grain for a cat, and she could feel her two sisters eying her with curiosity. But unlike the usual morning, when Clara would be the first to rub her head against the young woman’s arm and try to cheer her up with a rousing purr, right now, Clara wanted to pass unnoticed. Better that Becca should keep on with whatever she was typing, so Clara could figure out what to do next. Clara knew that cats can’t read, per se, but they can get a lot from the images on a screen—even without psychic powers. But just as Clara crept close enough to focus, Becca closed the laptop and reached for her phone.
“I’m just being silly,” she said, turning toward the cat. “And I’ve got you kitties depending on me.”
Clara looked on in mute sympathy as Becca dialed. “I’m calling for Eric Marshfield.” As she spoke, she sat up, her posture as crisp as her diction. “Mr. Marshfield,” she said a moment later. “Thank you for taking my call. I’m contacting you about the open position? I couldn’t see a way to submit a resumé on your site.” The voice on the other end caught her up short. “I gather it’s data entry, but I can promise you that I—” Another pause. “I’m sorry, a friend told me about it. I gather it hasn’t been posted yet. Shall I send you my resumé anyway?” This time, Becca was holding her breath. “Well, then, thank you again for your time, and I’m—”
She stared at the phone as if the device had bitten her.
***
“Nexus?” Clara muttered to herself, sounding out the word she had heard her person mutter only moments before. Then
the screen changed, and she understood. Becca still had the library access she had used in her last job. Good, the calico thought. Becca was good at research, and it made her feel better about herself. But the next screen that came up only made the little cat’s whiskers sag. Becca wasn’t reading up on criminal law or even the forensics of a stabbing. No, as the branching chart materialized in the screen in front of her person, Clara knew the situation was dire. Becca was once again tracing her own lineage in the futile search to uncover the magical roots that, in truth, led to Clara and her littermates.
“This is worse than I thought.” Clara jumped down as soundlessly as she had ascended, ready to address her sisters.
“Oh?” Laurel flicked her tail. Harriet, Clara noted, was already curling for her mid-morning nap.
“Becca thinks she can do this by herself..” Clara turned back. No, the young woman was still at it. “She thinks she can do it with magic.”
“Fine, let her.” Harriet wasn’t going to forget that missing scone. “What do we care?”
This time it was Laurel who swiped at her. Though whether that was out of sympathy with Clara or simply because she enjoyed provoking her fluffy sister Clara didn’t know for sure.
What she did know was that Becca needed her. Needed them all, actually. That was why they’d been placed with her. And although her sisters seemed to believe that such placement was random—much as Becca voiced the opinion that she’d “adopted” all three cats of her own free will—Clara knew better.
“Hecate, come to me!” While still seated on the couch, Becca had raised her hands from the keyboard. Head back, she opened her arms, as if readying for an embrace.
“Oh! That’s my cue!” Harriet wiggled her plump bottom, readying to jump.
“No!” Once again, it fell to Clara to restrain her oldest sister.
“What’s the matter?” The marmalade cat turned, her pique evident in her flattened ears. “You don’t want me to materialize anything? You said it yourself, Becca needs help.”