A Cat on the Case

by Clea Simon

  “Yes, yes.” Ruby nodded, fingertips gingerly touching her forehead. “I think I’ll go lie down again.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Relief flooded Becca’s voice. “I’ll wake you when I can leave. I’m almost done here anyway.”

  The rest of the morning was quiet, with only two customers coming in – one asking about candles and the other simply to browse. Becca made good use of the time, finishing the blue zodiac and cleaning the rest of the window to let in the weak winter sun. The work was good – bolder and more detailed than the previous painting – but her cat could tell she wasn’t happy. The set of her mouth and the line between her eyes dismayed the calico, who tagged along as Becca stepped out into the cold to check her work.

  “Maybe it’s the weather.” Becca spoke softly to herself as she glanced up at the milky sky, unaware that her pet was listening. Digging her hands into her pockets, she glanced at the window, stepping back to the curb to take it in.

  Cambridge, even in winter, was alive. Behind Becca, a bike messenger, earbuds in, pumped furiously against the rising wind. Two older women in designer couture stopped in front of her, blocking her view. But if she hoped they would proceed into the shop, she was disappointed.

  “It’s all in the point of view,” said one, turning to face her companion. “Completely unbelievable.”

  “I thought it worked,” her companion argued, waving her hands and almost taking out an oblivious jogger as he passed. A onetime rocker, looking both too old and too cold in his black leather jacket and jeans ducked down, apparently chatting with a tweedy academic with a sensible wool hat pulled low.

  No, she wasn’t leaving Cambridge, her city. If Clara couldn’t hear Becca’s thoughts, she could see her determination as she turned, chin up, back into the shop. With a few quick dabs, she outlined an optimistic-looking sun and then, checking the clock, brought the rest of her supplies into the back.

  “Ready to head out?”

  “Yes and thank you again.” Ruby looked up from her phone. “I was hoping to hear about the scholarship,” she explained as she tucked the device into her purse.

  “These things take time.” Becca improvised, as she washed her hands. “And there’s a storm watch too. We’re expecting a nor’easter, so maybe they’ve closed early.”

  Ruby responded with a tight-lipped smile, and Becca let the subject drop as the two donned their layers. Putting up her break sign – “Back in an hour!” – Becca led the way, locking the door behind them.

  “Your mother must be very proud of you.” The two had stopped at a light.

  “She made all this possible.” Ruby responded, looking around at the busy street in awe. “Are you close to your parents?”

  Becca chuckled. “I guess so. My mom wishes I’d return home. I grew up in the Midwest – in the middle of the country,” she explained. “My mother isn’t a big fan of cities.”

  Ruby nodded, her face grave under that black beret. “My mother worries as well,” she said, her head still swiveling this way and that as the light changed.

  Lost in their thoughts, and propelled by a gusty wind, the two hurried on, and Clara – carefully shaded to avoid detection – had to break into a lope to keep up.

  She was startled, therefore, when Becca came to an abrupt stop, about a half a block from her building. Hard on her heels, Clara heard her sudden intake of breath and, after a quick glance at her person’s face, she followed her gaze. The nasty neighbor was standing in front of the building, speaking to a tall man wearing a tweed jacket. That jacket gave him a professorial look – common enough in what was essentially still a college town, but it wasn’t enough in this weather. Although a natty scarf was knotted around his throat, his ears, peeking out from behind slightly too long sideburns, had turned bright red. The brunette before him, kitted out in what appeared to be ski wear, began playing with the ends of her admittedly glossy curls, either not noticing or not caring that that man she was addressing was freezing.

  Clara looked on, trying to understand such puzzling behavior, when Becca pulled Ruby aside.

  “Change of plans,” she said, speaking quickly. “That’s one of my new neighbors, and we’ve been quarreling.”

  Ruby nodded. “They do not want to see me. Not after…”

  “Probably,” Becca admitted. “But it isn’t you. It’s her. Let’s give it a minute.”

  Backing behind a hedge at the corner of the brick building, the two waited, watching as the conversation on the stoop continued. Soon both were shivering, and when Becca sneezed, Ruby backed away.

  “I should go. It is too cold,” she said, her own lips were rimmed with blue.

  “No, really, Ruby,” Becca reached to stop her. “Wait–”

  Digging into her bag, Becca fished out a keychain. “Look, there’s a back door.” She spoke quickly, holding up one key as she nodded toward the wall. “Why don’t you go around back and let yourself in?”

  Ruby started to protest, when Becca pushed the keys into the other woman’s hand. “I’m going to go talk to her. Try to distract her, and then just go up the alley. You can’t miss it: number six. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Her shivering companion didn’t need any more urging and after a brief pause, Becca continued, walking in a slightly more deliberative manner toward the front door of the building she called home.

  “Good afternoon.” Becca greeted them as she walked by, her voice even. As she passed, the man gave her a quick glance, his gray eyes beseeching. The neighbor looked at Becca too, her pretty face turning sour in a flash. That passed quickly, though, as she realized the man was once again focusing on her, and she smiled, tossing her hair as if to shed the fit of pique she had just displayed.

  “You were saying?” She reached out so that her gloved fingertips just touched the man’s sleeve. But although Clara was curious about what exactly was going on, Becca had mounted the steps to their building and so the cat turned to follow.

  “Excuse me.” Hand on the door, Becca paused – and then turned to acknowledge the summons from the man, who was walking toward her. “Do you live in this building?”

  “Yes.” Becca was trying to sound forceful, but Clara could hear a quaver in her voice that didn’t come from the cold.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” The man in tweed pulled the door open, and the two stepped into the warmth. Out on the sidewalk, Becca’s neighbor scowled. “I’m Matthew Wargill. I represent the new management association.”

  “The management association?” Becca’s confusion was clear in her voice.

  “For the condo association.” He pulled a card case from his pocket, extracting one with cold clumsy fingers. “I didn’t expect to get into a conversation outside,” he explained, with a sheepish grin that lit up his angular face.

  Becca examined the card before responding. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  He nodded. “You’re one of the renters, aren’t you?”

  “She is.” The nasty brunette came in, with another gust of cold. “She lives in number six, right above me. Which means I can hear everything. And next to … you know.”

  “Excuse me.” Becca rarely got angry. When she did, however, she pulled herself up to her full height in the human equivalent of spiking her fur and arching her back. If she had a tail, Clara thought, it would be fluffed out like a bottle brush. “I don’t see how my living situation is any business of yours – of either of yours.”

  The brunette gave the management representative a look, brows raised as if to say, “I told you so.”

  “I’m sorry.” The representative ignored her, his face softening. “I didn’t mean – It’s just that I’ve met most of the new owners already. You must know Deborah – Deborah Miles.” The brunette pursed her lips, but he kept talking. “Please, call me Matt.”

  “Becca Colwin.” She shook his hand, and Clara edged closer to sniff the cuff of his p
ants. “What is this about again?”

  “May we talk somewhere private?” He smiled. “Perhaps upstairs, in your unit?”

  His voice was gentle, but Becca’s eyes narrowed, much like Laurel’s did before she struck. Clara felt a surge of pride. No smooth-talking man would get the better of their person.

  “I’m fine speaking here.” As if to accentuate her point, Becca crossed her arms, leaning back on the closed door.

  “Her place is a wreck.” The brunette – Deborah – didn’t even try to hide the malice in her voice. “It’s filled with animals. Unclean.”

  Becca took a deep breath. To Clara’s surprise, the man did too, before turning to the spiteful brunette. “Thanks so much for speaking with me, Ms. Miles. I’ve really enjoyed meeting you.”

  It was a clear dismissal, but the brunette still lingered a moment, as if searching for just the right scorching comeback. When none presented itself, she sniffed audibly and pushed past Becca, tossing her hair once more for good measure.

  “I’m sorry.” He dipped his head, revealing a bald spot. In a cat, that would have been a submissive gesture, but Clara wasn’t convinced. Neither, she was gratified to see, did Becca. “I understand that sometimes, when someone moves from the suburbs back into the city there can be tensions.”

  “That’s one word for it.” Becca laughed softly and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I recently took a new position, and, well, it is possible that my cats have been making more noise than previously.”

  “Your cats?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his nose.

  “They are allowed according to my lease.” Becca spoke quickly, unnerved, Clara could tell, by the question.

  “No, I’m sorry.” Now it was Matt’s turn to chuckle. “It’s just – I’ve fielded complaints about many things. Dogs, exercise machinery – but cats?”

  “They can be very energetic.” Becca relaxed. “I adopted three littermates – sisters. But they’re all clean and up to date on their shots and everything.” Maybe she wasn’t completely relaxed, Clara thought. What was it Harriet had started to tell her about their history? Something about women who lived with cats, she recalled. Something bad.

  “I’m sure.” His sharp features once again pulled into high relief by his wide grin . “I mean, I’m a dog man, myself. But if I don’t get home at just the right time to walk Tiger, he can tear up the place. Luckily, my roommate always gets in before I do. Do you have a roommate, Becca?”

  “Me? No.” Her voice squeaked, ever so slightly, and she stiffened, as if willing herself to stay focused on the man in front of her. She was thinking of Ruby, her cat realized, although why the young woman’s presence should be of interest to this stranger was not something she understood. In the pause that followed, Clara peered up at him. He didn’t know her person, and his ears were certainly not as sensitive as a cat’s. Still, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Clara felt she could hear his pulse start to race.

  “Occasionally, I have a friend stay over.” Becca must have sensed this too. Clara could hear the effort she was exerting to keep her voice level. “But I value my privacy.”

  A pause, slightly too long to be natural. “I’m with you there,” he said, with another, softer laugh. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time, Ms. Colwin. I hope to be seeing you at a condo association meeting soon.”

  Becca watched him as he walked off. “Values his privacy,” she repeated softly as she climbed the stairs.

  Her relief proved to be short-lived. The third-floor hall was deserted, so she leaned into her apartment door. “Ruby?” She called, keeping her voice low. “Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  “Ruby?” Becca knocked, but the only answer was Laurel’s distinctive yowl.

  “There’s no one here.” Clara’s ears perked up at that, and she looked up at her person. Surely, this hadn’t been expected.

  ‘That other girl – the one with the violin – she was supposed to come here.”

  “Well, she didn’t.” Laurel’s matter-of-fact statement came out more like a howl. “Come see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  “No, I do…” Clara paused, looking up at her person, dismayed to see the worry creasing her brow as she called again for Ruby and rattled the knob. “Maybe we should stop talking. Becca thinks something is wrong.”

  “Something is wrong.” Laurel didn’t bother to mute her distinctive Siamese meow. “Becca can’t get in to feed us.”

  “But…” Clara broke off. It was no use pointing out to her sister that, in fact, they had been fed only a few hours before. If Clara knew anything, it was that Harriet would have already scarfed down the crunchies that were supposed to hold them until their regular dinner time, hours from now.

  Besides, Becca had turned away from the door and was busy with her phone.

  “Ruby? Where are you? I’m at my apartment – and you have my keys.”

  A moment later, she tried again.

  “Maddy? No, I know you’re at work. Do you still have my extra key?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Maddy was calling up the stairs.

  “I grabbed a Lyft.” Even though she had just emerged from a car, Becca’s friend sounded breathless. “I didn’t want to risk you being alone with her.”

  “That’s just it.” Becca shrugged. “She’s not here.”

  Maddy only shook her head, her moon face serious as Becca explained. “I cannot believe you gave her your key,” she said, once Becca had finished. “After last night, too.”

  “She texted me last night, Maddy, and we’ve talked since. You haven’t met her. If anything, I’m worried about what might have happened to her. Maybe she fell or…”

  “Maybe she grabbed your laptop and ran.”

  “No!” Laurel’s yelp carried through the door as Maddy fussed with the lock. “Nobody here!”

  “Well, at least your cats are okay.” Maddy glanced at her friend. “The Siamese-looking one always sounds like that, right?”

  “Yes, she does.” Becca took the key from her friend and opened the door. “Ruby? Are you here?” Ignoring Maddy’s outstretched arm, she walked right in, only to stumble over Harriet.

  “Becca, are you okay?” Maddy reached for her, eyes wide.

  “Yeah.” Becca scooped up the marmalade cat. “But I nearly tripped over Harriet. Are you okay, girl?”

  Harriet closed her eyes, basking in the attention. “I am a queen,” she purred. “Fetch me lunch.”

  Whether Harriet shared Laurel’s powers of suggestion or the sisters simply had Becca well trained, she started toward the kitchen. Only Maddy’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “You can’t just go in there.”

  “It’s my apartment.”

  “That you gave a stranger the key to.” Maddy glowered. “Wait here,” she said, as she pulled her own keys from her bag. Grasping them in her clenched fist, so that one stood out between each knuckle, she made her way toward Becca’s bedroom.

  “Does she think she’s being quiet?” Laurel sauntered into the foyer. “What does she think she’s going to catch?”

  “She thinks there might be a person hiding in there,” Clara explained.

  “Nonsense!” Harriet struggled to be let down. “If someone were here, we’d have been fed already.”

  Clara held back from pointing out the obvious – that Harriet was perfectly capable of consuming multiple back-to-back meals – by Becca’s own explanation.

  “Maddy, relax.” She followed her friend into the bedroom. “If there was a stranger in the house, I’d know it. The cats would let me know.”

  Maddy’s muffled voice came from her closet. “They’re not guard cats, Becca.”

  “No, but I know their behavior. They’d let me know if someone was in here.” Becca knelt. “Nothing under the bed either. I don’t know what happened to her.” Pulling herself up, she headed toward the kitchen.

  �
��Finally.” Harriet trotted off, tail high. Laurel started to follow, albeit at a more dignified pace, when she stopped and turned toward her younger sibling.

  “Good work bringing her home safe, Clown,” she said, her blue eyes closing slowly in an approving blink. “Now if you could just get her to bring one of those interesting men with her…”

  “Which men?” Clara called. “And what was I keeping her safe from?” But Laurel had already moved on, eager as Harriet to queue up for the unexpected bounty.

  “First things first, you need to get your locks changed.” Since Maddy had already left work early, claiming an emergency, she accepted Becca’s invitation to lunch.

  “I need to not jump the gun.” Becca stood at the counter spreading mayo on the bread she had just toasted as the cats circled. They had already had a can each, but Maddy wasn’t the only one who loved how she made turkey sandwiches. “We don’t know what happened. Maybe she saw someone she met at the conservatory or decided to get a bite to eat. Or maybe she’s just a little lost. It’s not like she knows the city yet.”

  Becca followed the mayo with a swipe of mustard, causing Laurel to rear back in disgust. Harriet, undeterred, pushed her aside. Neither noticed how Maddy had frozen, a quizzical expression on her face.

  “So, why did you have to run home? I thought it was to help her out.”

  Becca grew somber as she layered the sliced turkey. “It was, Maddy. But I’m worried about her. She just seems so lost.”

  Maddy rolled her eyes. “She seems very good at getting people to look after her.”

  Becca laid a finishing touch – a pickle slice – on each sandwich before slicing them neatly on the diagonal, focusing on arranging the halves just so instead of responding. Maddy took the point, even as she followed her to the table.

  “So are you going to hang out here all day, waiting for her?” She tried again.

  “No, I’m worried about Charm and Cherish too.” Becca took a big bite, chewing thoughtfully. “We made one sale all morning – a candle,” she said at last. “I don’t know how it’s going to survive.”