by Clea Simon
“I was not looking to have any financial records sealed. Not that it’s any of your business.” Her mouth closed so tight, the lines showed her age.
“I’m sure the police will disagree…”
“It was my divorce proceedings, if you must know.” Larissa spat out the words. “I knew you were poking about, and I didn’t want anyone finding out about Graham, and about, well, you know…”
“Your adult son, Nathan?” Becca’s brows went up. “The police still have motive. Suzanne was involved with Trent, and you know it.”
“So what?” A toss of the hair, but not a denial.
“You were jealous,” said Becca. “She was pretty—and younger. Maybe you didn’t mean to kill her when you lashed out. Obsession can be dangerous.”
To her surprise, the older woman laughed. “Obsessed? Are you kidding? Was my little fancy supposed to make me lash out?”
“Who’s lashing out?” Trent walked in. “And what are you two still doing in here? I thought we were leaving, Larissa. Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine.” Larissa brooked no argument.
“No, it’s not.” Becca lifted her heavy head to take in Trent. “Larissa found out about Suzanne. She saw the pendant you’d given her—here, when Suzanne wore it by mistake. The crystal teardrop.”
“What? No.” Trent giggled, a high, nervous sound. “That’s crazy. I would never—”
“That’s why you went to Suzanne’s, wasn’t it?”
The warlock blinked as if he’d been slapped. “No, I—no,” he stammered, the color leaving his face.
Becca’s voice was flat. But even exhausted, she was relentless. “You wanted that necklace back, before it cost you your place.”
“Suzanne liked that crystal better than she did me.” His whisper was barely perceptible. “She said it was more real.”
Becca ignored him. “You’re lucky the parking meter alibi’d you, but you must have wondered. That’s why you ran to Larissa as soon as the police had released you. Why she was the first person to call me—even before my mother. She wanted to find out what I knew. What I’d figured out.”
“I didn’t think Larissa had hurt Suzanne.” Trent was growing desperate. “I never thought …”
A beringed hand flicked the back of his head.
“Oh, stuff it, Trent,” Larissa cut him off, then turned back to Becca. “I knew about Suzanne. Just as I knew about his fling with Ande and his little flirtation with you. Those dalliances mean nothing. He always comes back to me.”
Trent’s mouth opened and closed, like a beached fish, but neither of the women were watching.
“You can’t prove that.” Becca considered, and for the first time, Clara heard doubt in her voice.
“As a matter of fact.” Larissa beckoned and Trent stepped toward her, his face unreadable. With one long claw, she hooked the chain around his neck and pulled it forward, forcing him to bend. Taking the amulet between two fingers, she briefly examined it—flipping it over to its backside before holding it out to Becca. “Read,” she commanded.
“Love renewed,” Becca read aloud, “under the Flower Moon.” The inscription ended with the date of the coven meeting—the Wednesday before Suzanne’s murder.
“What was that?” As Becca stood silent, trying to make sense of what she’d read, Clara turned to Harriet for an answer. The calico didn’t need to remind her sister that this inscription hadn’t been duplicated on her summoned facsimile.
“I didn’t see any words when I grabbed it.” Harriet blinked. “Besides, who cares about words? I wanted the pretty shininess of it.”
“Trent’s a boy.” Larissa addressed the stunned Becca, as if the man she was referring to weren’t there. As if she wasn’t holding him, literally, on a chain. “But he’s a good boy. He knows who owns him.”
“What’s going on here?” Marcia poked her head in, her Sox cap already in place. “I thought we needed to get going.”
“Just cleaning up.” Trent pulled back as Larissa released him. His voice was unnaturally high, and the shorter woman looked at him, puzzled. Turning his back on his mistress, he moved toward Marcia, the fingertips of one hand playing down her arm. “But we’re about done, if you want to get out of here, Marcia.”
Only Clara and Harriet could see the leer on his face, but surely Becca could hear the insinuation in his voice. “In fact, Marcia.” His voice sank to its sexy lower register. “I’ve been wondering if you’d ever thought of spending some time with me.” He moved to usher her out of the kitchen, his voice like warm honey. “You’ve got the darkest eyes…”
Clara glanced back at Becca, concerned. Her person had once been interested in this man not that long before.
“Gross.” Marcia’s retort broke through his murmurings. “Just…no, Trent. No. Are you clueless?”
She stepped back. Away to face him. Even Ande, who’d been fussing with her bag, was looking at her now.
“I never got to make my announcement.” Exasperation gave Marcia’s voice an edge. “Luz and I are getting married. We wanted to invite the coven to our ceremony. Maybe even have a hand-fasting or something. But forget it. You’re gross, you…you second-rate lothario.”
As she turned away, Trent burst into tears.
All hell broke loose after that. Larissa pushed by Becca to cradle the crying man in her bosom, and Harriet and Clara had to scurry to avoid being stepped on. Ande stood, transfixed, as Marcia stormed out of the apartment, without even taking her loaf pan. Becca, meanwhile, just sank into a kitchen chair and put her head down on her folded arms.
It was up to Clara to make sense of the scene: Trent, Marcia, even Ande were accounted for, and Larissa had faced Becca’s accusation unfazed. Still, something was wrong. She’d been so sure that Becca had uncovered a hidden truth. She looked around. “Where’s Kathy?” she asked her oldest sister.
“Here!” Another howl came out of Becca’s bedroom, and the cats ran to their litter mate, who was staring at a closed door. “She’s in there,” Laurel explained.
“Enough of that!” Harriet threw her bulk against the door and they all heard the gasp of the startled young woman as the big marmalade tumbled into the bathroom.
“She’s going to throw her out.” Clara turned to Laurel.
“This is my house!” Harriet grumbled, her aggrieved mew echoing on the tile. “Besides, this is what cats do!”
Clara looked back toward the kitchen. Becca still hadn’t emerged, and her pet was growing concerned.
“Hey, what the...?”
Laurel’s ears pricked up and she nosed the door. Clara joined her and soon they were all inside the tiny room with the young woman who was, Clara noted, fully dressed. Ignoring the two cats who had just barged in to join their sister, she was kneeling by the toilet paper roll, as if changing it. Only she seemed to be fussing more than Becca ever had.
“What’s she doing?” Laurel asked her older sister.
“She’s got something.” Harriet craned to look. But by then Kathy was washing her hands and had stepped back into the bedroom. “Something shiny...”
Standing on her hind legs, Harriet knocked the roll off its perch—and as the paper unfurled, something clattered to the tile floor. Clara gasped as it glittered and rolled, making a wide arc that stopped at her front paws. Clear as water, with a silver clasp at one end—it was Suzanne’s crystal teardrop. The one she’d been wearing the last time she’d been here.
“Hello?” Kathy was still in the bedroom. Clara’s ear flicked back to catch what she was saying. “Cambridge police? I can’t talk for long, but I think Rebecca Colwin is involved in the murder of Suzanne Liddle. I just found something that belonged to the victim in her apartment, and I’m now in fear for my life.”
Chapter 39
The three cats glared at each other. This was exactly what Laur
el had warned them about. What Clara had feared, without understanding how it could come to be. An anonymous tip, and in the living room, Kathy was now urging Ande to leave. Larissa could be heard clunking down the stairwell, giving Trent directions as she led him out to the street.
“Let’s let poor Becca be,” Kathy was saying as she ushered Ande toward the door.
“What can we do?” Clara looked at her sisters.
“I have to make her wonder about Kathy…” Laurel began to concentrate, a furrow appearing in her café au lait brow. Ande, meanwhile, was calling out her farewell. Clearly, Becca was not seeing her friends out.
“She’s getting away.” Clara was panicking. “The police are going to find that thing. And Becca is just sitting there.”
“Not on my watch,” said Harriet, and with that she nosed the crystal teardrop and with one quick dab of her tongue, slurped it up.
“Harriet!” Clara bounced back in surprise. “What did you do?”
“No evidence, no worries, right?” The fluffy marmalade licked her chops.
“But—are you going to be all right?”
“I think so.” Harriet hiccupped, lifting one paw as if to cover her mouth. In the hall, they could hear Ande asking Kathy to wait.
“Becca, you okay?” Ande called to their hostess.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Becca roused herself and headed toward the door, where Kathy was visibly fidgeting.
“Poor guy.” Ande was chuckling a bit as Clara emerged from the bedroom. “I told you, you never know what’s going on in anyone else’s relationship.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Becca gave the taller woman a quick peck on the cheek. “I hope Marcia doesn’t give up on the rest of us. I mean, she’s the only one—sorry.” That was for Kathy, who was staring at the closed door as if she, too, were a cat.
Ande reached for the knob. “I hope you feel better,” she said. “Get some sleep.”
“Kathy, do you have a moment?” Becca stopped the redhead as she would have followed. “I just…I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”
“Well, I—” Visibly torn, the other woman stepped back into the apartment. “Sure.”
“I was hoping you could clear something up.” Becca looked puzzled as she wandered back toward the kitchen, picking up the stacked plates on her way, Clara in tow. Harriet, of course, came trotting along too. Her older sister really had earned her treats tonight.
But first the dishes. As all three cats lined up to watch, Becca fussed with a sponge.
“What’s up?” Kathy was fidgeting. “’Cause I should be off too. And you really should get some rest.”
Becca squirted soap on the dish pile and stared at the translucent bubbles that formed as if they held the key to everything. “I was wondering about something,” she said. “You knew that Suzanne was working for Reynolds—for Larissa’s ex.”
“I did?” A shrug. Beneath her freckles, the redhead’s cheeks had gone pale.
“Yes.” Becca nodded as she reviewed some internal script. “I’m sure of it. You said something about me ‘stepping into Suzanne’s shoes’ when I went to interview with Reynolds.”
Another shrug as Kathy eyed the door.
“But you denied knowing her outside of the coven just now.”
Kathy’s mouth went wide. “I was—you had a headache—and—”
Without waiting for her to finish, Becca kept talking. “And what’s going on with you and Ande?”
“Me and…Ande?” Kathy swallowed hard.
“Yeah, you seem really down on her.” She raised her voice to be heard as she ran the water. “You were the one who first told me she went out with Trent, but recently you’ve been talking about her setting him up. It almost sounds like you want me to suspect her—and now you’re all friendly again. Did you two have a falling out?”
“No.” The younger woman barked the word with scorn. “It’s Marcia who’s got the problem. I mean, lashing out at Trent like that?”
Becca turned and regarded her curiously, then started on the mugs.
“I kind of think Marcia had a point.” She sounded thoughtful as she squeezed out her sponge. “And, well, I guess this means you were wrong about her wanting to go out with Trent.”
“Well, I picked up that she had something against him,” Kathy blustered. “I was right about that!”
Becca didn’t respond. Instead, she kept talking as she added more soap. “Come to think of it, Marcia was the one who told me that Suzanne wanted to do a casting out—that there was a problem in the coven. When I brought that up, you pointed out that Suzanne was going to blow the whistle about the coven finances.” She could have been talking to the dishes, but Clara’s ears pricked forward. “You said that Ande had told her someone was embezzling, but Ande didn’t say that. She knew the numbers were off by a few grand, but she assumed Larissa had been sloppy.”
Kathy forced out a laugh that sounded a lot harsher than her usual giggle and stepped closer to the counter, where the loaf pan sat.
“Ande thought a few grand would be small change to Larissa, and when Larissa didn’t say anything about malfeasance, she figured she was right. But, of course, Larissa wouldn’t have complained. She was protecting Trent.” Becca was shaking her head. “And Suzanne never got a chance to tell me what—or who—she suspected. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and it seems that the only person who you haven’t cast aspersions on is the one person who probably did make off with some of the coven money: Trent.”
As Clara looked on in horror, Kathy reached toward the pan—and past it, for the bread knife that Marcia had used to cut the sweet loaf.
“Do something!” The cry came out as high and plaintive mew.
“Hang on, kitties.” Becca was up to her elbows in suds. “You’ll get your treats. Kathy, can you grab that little canister?”
“Yeah, sure.” But the other woman was holding the knife, not the cat treats, as she took a step closer.
“Until tonight, I kind of thought Larissa might have, well, done something.” Becca turned on the tap to rinse her hands. “Only—”
Clara opened her mouth to howl again, but stopped herself. If Becca turned now, without knowing what was going on…
A sudden pounding on the door did the trick. Both women turned. “Police!” A male voice, deep and insistent. “Open up!”
“Coming!” Becca reached for a dish towel as Kathy stepped back, sliding the knife back onto the counter. But even as Becca turned away from the sink, she stopped in horror. Harriet, front paws spread, was huffing, as if short of breath. Her stout body jerked once, twice, and then with a sound reminiscent of a stopped drain opening, she urped up the crystal teardrop.
“Kitty!” Ignoring the pounding that continued on the door, Becca knelt. With one hand on the plump marmalade, who sat up and licked her chops, she looked down at the little puddle—and the pendant lying there.
“What?” She reached for it, still kneeling. “Suzanne’s necklace?” And whether it was because of the accumulated evidence or that Laurel’s furious concentration had finally gotten through to her, she looked up, then, at Kathy. “Kathy?” Her voice was sad rather than angry. Solemn, rather than scared. “Why?”
The other woman only shook her head. “She was going to ruin him,” she said, as if her conclusion were obvious, her voice barely above a whisper. “She was going to ruin Trent! He’s special. You know how precious he is. She was going to expose him. Tell everybody that he was writing checks on Larissa’s account—taking her money to buy presents for his other little chippies.”
“Oh, Kathy.” Sorrow infused Becca’s voice. “She wouldn’t have ruined him. She couldn’t have. He and Larissa have an understanding. She’d have forgiven him. She already has.”
“Police!” The pounding more insistent. “We’re coming in!”
“Hang
on!” Pendant in hand, Becca rose, heading toward the door. “I’m sorry, Kathy,” she said. She didn’t see the other woman reach once again for the knife.
“Becca!” Clara mewed one last time, but her soft cry was drowned out by the pounding on the door. Laurel, by then, was concentrating so hard her ears stood out sideways and her blue eyes crossed. Even Clara could feel the vibrations emanating from the determined seal point—urging Becca to turn. To look.
For a moment, Laurel’s thought bomb seemed to be working. Becca paused, as if confused, her hand on the front door even as the cops called out one more time. But it was too late. Kathy was coming up behind her, knife raised. So Clara, shading herself as quickly as she could, dashed in front of the onrushing woman, sending Kathy flying and the knife clattering down. And Harriet, who knew in her proud marmalade heart that she had done quite enough with her normal digestive processes, did not deign to provide a pillow and simply sat and watched as Kathy fell sprawling to the floor.
Chapter 40
What happened next was hectic, and—their jobs done—the cats did their best to scurry out of the way. With a gasp, Becca turned, having unlatched the door. Two uniformed officers pushed in.
“Are you all right, miss?” The first officer bent to help Kathy to her knees. “We received your call. Are you the victim of an assault?”
“Bruce, wait.” His partner nodded toward the knife, which was still spinning on the floor, just out of reach of the prone woman’s hand, and then to Becca, who was backing away in horror.
“Ma’am?” The second officer reached to support her as she collapsed against the wall. She looked up, stunned, then held out her open palm—revealing the crystal teardrop.
“This was Suzanne’s. It’s kind of sticky.” She apologized as a look of wonder came over here. “Did you—did I summon you?”
Clara closed her eyes, even as Laurel yowled in protest. Harriet, meanwhile, waddled over to the sofa, where she settled on her pillow, as proud as could be.
***
Twenty minutes later, the events of the last few minutes had been sorted. Becca still had the wet dishcloth in hand, and Kathy wasn’t even denying what she’d done.