A Cat on the Case

by Clea Simon

  “You’re up.” Clara glanced up to see the dark-haired girl enter the kitchen, stifling a yawn. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” Becca said.

  “I was out like a light.” Ruby rubbed her eyes and smiled, suddenly looking younger. “Though your cats…”

  “I know.” Becca winced. “They can make an awful ruckus. The woman downstairs has already complained.”

  “No.” Ruby shook her head. “They were quiet. Only, every now and then I’d wake up and find them staring at me.”

  “Told you.” Laurel smirked.

  “I didn’t say…” Clara caught herself. She had suspected her sister of stretching the truth. And anyway, Becca was still talking.

  “If you don’t mind,” she was saying. The other girl’s smile had faded, and now she simply looked lost.

  “No, that’s fair.” She glanced around, and when Becca motioned to the living room, led the way. Although she’d folded the blanket and sheets, stacking them on the sofa’s arm, she squeezed herself in at the end, as if afraid of taking up too much space.

  “I guess I still have some questions.” Becca spoke gently, but the other girl hung her head. “Would you tell me again about the violin?”

  “It is my grandfather’s.” Ruby responded forcefully. “And we had to sell it. That is the truth. I didn’t think…” Her voice trailed off at that, and a crease appeared on her brow.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “I could have told her that.” Laurel jumped up on the sofa back and began to wash, and Clara had to resist the urge to shush her. Too late, the sealpoint looked up from her neat front paw and snarled gently, revealing one ivory fang.

  “Ruby?” Becca prompted, unaware of the feline drama taking place behind her.

  “Please.” Clara ducked her head in apology. “I want to hear this.”

  “If you’d just listen to their thoughts…” Laurel began, breaking off as Ruby sniffed loudly. Blinking back tears, she nodded. “I did find the violin, but it wasn’t in my case.” Even Laurel looked up at that, although Clara was careful to not even think of commenting.

  “I’d been texting with my landlord – your neighbor. He wanted to know if I’d be around, and I said I was going out. I had my audition. I wanted to talk to him about staying on, and he said we could talk in the evening.

  She rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes. “I was getting ready when I saw the case – the other case. I hadn’t realized he was a violinist too.” Another sniff. “I couldn’t resist. I opened the case – and that’s when I saw it. My grandfather’s violin.”

  “You recognized it?”

  An emphatic nod. “I’d know it anywhere. The carving of the scroll, the color of the varnish, so deep and rich. Only, well, someone had been rough with it. There were scratches, and the bridge was ever so slightly out of line.” She looked up at Becca, eyes wide. “Something like that throws the alignment off entirely. So I picked it up – the bridge was only slightly off true, and I knew I could slide it back if I was very careful. Only, once I had it in my hands…”

  Her wide, wet eyes said it all.

  “You took it.” Becca filled in the blanks, her voice oddly flat.

  “Just to borrow. Just for the audition.” Ruby was insistent. “I told myself that it was fate that it had showed up just then, and that my landlord didn’t care for it. Not properly. The new case was all very nice. But my grandfather’s violin fit so naturally in the old one, even with all the patches…

  “From what he had said, I thought he wouldn’t be back until the evening, and I was only going to be out for a few hours with it.”

  “Only you didn’t bring it back. You left it with me, at the store.”

  Ruby hung her head, her dark hair hiding her face.

  “Did you text him? Leave a note?”

  “I thought he might say no.” Her voice was so soft even Clara had to strain to hear it. “I left my new violin, just in case. I thought, maybe, he is a student too. Maybe he also had an audition.”

  She choked on a sob, but although Clara waited, expectantly, her person offered no words of comfort. “Justin Neil didn’t even know he was a musician,” she said instead, her face unreadable.

  The two stood in silence for a minute, until Ruby pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose. Looking up at Becca, she seemed to have gathered strength from her confession. “I have been thinking, maybe he received my violin as a gift,” she said. “Maybe he too came from my town.”

  She colored and looked aside.

  “What?” Becca pressed. “There’s something else, Ruby. Tell me.”

  “That is how I found the room.”

  “Your benefactor set you up with the rental?”

  A quick shrug. “He knew people. I thought it was fate.”

  “Like ‘finding’ your violin again.”

  She hung her head.

  “Have you tried to contact your benefactor? At the very least, it sounds like he probably knew this Larry, whatever their relationship.”

  “I have to.” Her voice was mouse soft. “I will. I know what I did was wrong. But I never meant–”

  She broke off, biting her lip.

  “So you’re thinking the same thing I am.” Becca said thoughtfully. “Whoever killed my new neighbor was after the violin.”

  Chapter 20.

  “That makes no sense.” Ruby looked more confused than before. “I’m sorry, Becca. I know I did wrong. I shouldn’t have taken the violin, and I feel awful because now I don’t know how to return it. I will never be able to explain. But even here, in Boston…”

  “People will do crazy things for money.”

  Ruby kept shaking her head. “I love this violin. I love how it sounds – how it sounded, anyway. And it reminds me of my grandfather, of course. But it isn’t worth a life.”

  “Well, no, of course not.”

  Ruby cut her off. “Would someone really kill a person for five hundred euros? I understand there is street crime, but in the apartment there was a television and a computer that were surely worth more than–”

  “Wait, what?” Becca was a little slow to jump in, perhaps because it was her turn to be confused. “Five hundred euros?”

  Ruby nodded. “And we were lucky to get that.”

  “Your mother sold your violin for less than a thousand dollars?” Becca was turning into a parrot.

  Ruby nodded.

  “Ruby dear.” Becca said. “I think, maybe, you were ripped off. The dean from the conservatory told me that it’s worth a half a million dollars.”

  “The dean?”

  Quickly, Becca explained about her attempt to find the instrument’s owner and the subsequent visit. She spoke with care, using the same artificially gentle voice she used when trying to coax one of the cats into the carrier for a trip to the vet. But Ruby didn’t lash out or even try to escape. Instead, she burst into laughter.

  “What?” Becca didn’t understand.

  “He was having you on.” Ruby wiped a tear from her eye. “We were lucky to get enough for my airfare and for me to have a little for a room.”

  “Maybe you weren’t aware that your grandfather’s violin was a collector’s piece.”

  “No.” Ruby was firm. “Besides, that violin was stolen – when? Several months ago? We did not even know I would be invited for an audition until the first of the year.”

  There were several responses to that, many of which appeared to be going through Becca’s mind. But before she could voice any of them, a sharp rap on the door made her turn. It also caught Clara, who has been monitoring the conversation by surprise.

  “Who is it?” The calico raced over to the door, where Laurel waited. “What do they want?”

  “What do any of them want?” Laurel stalked off, leaving Clara to stand guard alone. Another series of knocks, and she turned toward her person – but Becca was busy shooing Ruby into
her bedroom.

  “Coming!” She yelled over toward the door, even as she ran back to the table, grabbed the violin, and shoved it into Ruby’s arms. As Clara watched, she stood for a moment at the door and took a deep breath, almost, her cat thought, as if she were readying herself to jump. Then she opened the door.

  “Oh!” She sounded, Clara thought, like someone had stepped on her tail. But as the little cat twined around her ankles to get a better look, she found no cause for alarm. Confusion, yes. The man in tweed was standing there, although his friendly face was now drawn down into a frown. And right behind him stood Deborah Miles, arms crossed, with a look on her face like she’d just swallowed a dust ball thinking it was a moth.

  “Ms. Colwin.” The real estate manager nodded. It wasn’t much of a greeting. It was certainly a departure from his friendly chatter by the door earlier.

  “Mr. Wargill.” Becca didn’t invite either of the visitors in, Clara noticed. Harriet, meanwhile, had lumbered up beside her. “May I help you?”

  “I thought you dispatched these two.” Harriet grumbled at her baby sister, even as she sat heavily on her tail.

  “Dispatched?” Clara turned, confused, even as she tried to slide her tail from under Harriet’s bulk. “Why – and what was I supposed to do?”

  Harriet sniffed. “If you can’t suggest that they leave our person alone and you can’t summon up a decapitated mouse, then I guess you’d have to find your own methods. But really, Clown, there must have been something you could do.”

  Clara started to respond but then decided against it, the memory of that last vision – of the feeling of responsibility it had left her with. Was there something she could have done?

  She looked for Harriet, but her sister had stalked off, pleased to have had the last word. Besides, the calico wanted to hear what her human was saying.

  “You think I’m running a hotel?” Clara looked up at her, but Becca seemed as confused as her cat. “In a one-bedroom apartment?”

  The real estate manager and the neighbor exchanged a weighted glance. “Ms. Miles asked me to speak with you again. She is understandably concerned about noise.”

  “That’s just my cats.” Becca shook her head, searching the manager’s angular face. “I told you – I told you both, I’ve started a new job, and they’re not used to my new hours.”

  “She’s probably the reason why her neighbor was killed.” The glossy brunette interrupted before he could respond. “Letting strangers in here at all hours.”

  “Wait,” Becca broke in. “I thought you wanted me out because of my cats. Now you’re saying it’s not my cats?”

  “I’m afraid we are going to have to revisit the policy on pets at our next condo meeting.” The real estate manager sounded wooden. Almost, Clara thought, as if he were reciting a speech. Becca did not seem to be fazed.

  “You can decide what you want,” she said, standing a little straighter. “It won’t affect me. I’ve got a lease that permits cats, and legally that takes precedence over any decision by any new owner.”

  Deborah Miles’ generous mouth drew up into a pout, her eyes narrowing as if she was about to leap. Clara readied herself, prepared to counterattack, but it was the realtor who responded.

  “That’s true, of course. But you’re a tenant at will, I believe.” As he spoke, he cast a sidelong look at the glossy brunette, and she bared her teeth in what was probably intended as a smile. “That means that your lease can be cancelled by either party with sixty days’ notice. And if you have been running an air B&B here, you’re already in blatant violation.”

  “But I’m not,” Becca protested. “You’re thinking of …” Her answer trailed off.

  “Of course!” Clara lashed her tail. “She’s thinking of Ruby.” The cat might not be sure of the dark-haired girl, but she had to admire her person for her care and concern.

  “Speaking of…” A familiar yowl behind her caused the calico to whirl around. “That girl is acting strange.”

  For a moment, Clara hesitated. Becca was talking, trying to suggest that it was her late neighbor who had been illegally renting out his space without mentioning how she might know such a thing. But Laurel’s comment was just too tempting. Her sealpoint sister wasn’t the kind to ask for help, but that observation sounded awfully like a request. Besides, Becca was likely to be busy with these unwanted visitors for a while, which left her cats to supervise the stranger.

  “What’s she doing?” Clara touched her nose to Laurel’s and then followed her sister back to the bedroom to find Harriet curled up on the bed.

  “There you are.” The marmalade yawned, drawing out the words into a high-pitched squeak. “Watching this one is exhausting.”

  As her big sister stretched, arching her back like a Halloween cat, Clara followed her gaze. On the other side of the bed, she could see the curve of Ruby’s back. The girl was bent over something on the floor.

  One of the advantages of being a cat, Clara had learned, was that humans tend to discount their curiosity. They might have odd sayings about it, but did they ever pause to consider that perhaps their felines were inquisitive for a reason? They did not, Clara knew, and so acting as casually as a cat can, she sauntered around the side of the bed, ears up and tail perky, almost as if she found a stranger kneeling by her person’s bed every day.

  “What is this girl up to now?” Laurel asked as she sidled up to Clara, and together they watched the young woman bent over the open violin case. “She was only looking at it before.”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Clara. “Do you think she’d going to play?”

  Laurel shivered, her sleek café au lait fur shimmering. “I hope not.” Cats have very sensitive years.

  “I hope not, too.” Clara didn’t relish the idea of a high-pitched instrument either. More to the point, she had seen Becca shoo her guest into this room. Any sound she made her give her presence away. As it was, Clara mewed as softly as she could, not that Laurel’s distinctive Siamese vocalizations could be mistaken as coming from anything but a cat.

  As if she could understand what the two felines were saying, Ruby turned and smiled, lifting the instrument from its velvet bed. “Hey, pretty girls,” she said. Such an address made Clara sit up straight in shock. Laurel, however, blinked slowly, accepting such praise as her due. “Are you watching me?” She fished a square of paper out of one of the case’s pockets and held them out for the cats to sniff. “Don’t worry, kitties. These are steel-wound strings.”

  “I think she’s gutting it.” Harriet, leaning over the edge of the bed, looked ready to pounce.

  Clara suspected something else was going on but watched as the young musician then shoved the case under the bed and sat cross-legged, violin in her lap. With a look of intense concentration, she pushed back the dark hair falling over her face, tucking it behind her ears as she began fussing with the instrument’s black wooden pegs. Harriet was right, the cat thought, as Ruby started pulling the violin’s strings from their housing. Only then, to the cat’s confusion, the young musician extracted new ones from the package, wound into a tight circle, and began to feed them into the instrument. The work appeared to take all her concentration, and the cats stayed clear of her swinging foot, even as it pushed the opened case further beneath Becca’s bed. Quickly, however, the new strings fell into place, and the young musician was tightening the pegs as Becca entered the bedroom, almost as quietly as the cats.

  “They’re gone,” she said, sitting on the bed beside Ruby to watch her work. “My downstairs neighbor was complaining, and the manager seems to think I was running an Air B&B. I tried to steer them toward my neighbor, but I didn’t want to bring you into it.”

  “Thank you.” Ruby plucked softly at a string before turning the peg. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  “I understand you were drawn to your grandfather’s violin.” Becca spoke slowly. “But Ruby, I need you to be honest. Are there other things you’r
e not telling me?”

  The violinist hung her head. “You mean, about renting the room?”

  “I was wondering.”

  “I didn’t know,” she said as she reached under the bed for the case. Still shaking her head, she lay the instrument in its well-worn place. “Not for sure. I needed to find a place to say.”

  “Do you think the owner – the real owner – knew his manager was renting it out illegally?”

  Ruby frowned. “I don’t know. I only met that poor man when I got here.” Latching the case, she looked up, eyes wide. “I never meant any of this to happen, Becca. And I would have returned the violin to him, I swear.”

  Chapter 21.

  “Blasphemy!” The voices shout, but the cat hears another. Her person calling out – for her? For her friend? A young woman, bitter and broken, turning away, her face obscured by the smoke. The flames no longer hidden. Rough hands that grabbed the cat and tore her from her person’s side. Four eyes – two blue, two yellow – watching from the rafters, bitter with rebuke.

  “We told you. Warned you, again and again–”

  “Blasphemy! Blasphemer!” In the voices, the cat hears the truth.

  “Daughter of Bast, indeed.” Her sisters scoff. “Your pride, your carelessness…”

  The voices fade and in her deep sorrow she sees the basalt eyes glistening.

  The woman had pleaded, desperate for a remedy, and so she had revealed herself. Shared the power.

  As now she shares the pain.

  Clara slept fitfully that night, her dreams a series of broken images but she really couldn’t blame Becca. Her person had insisted that Ruby stay over, even as she promised to help her look for a more permanent arrangement the next day. It was Clara’s sisters who kept the calico awake. Laurel, specifically. The slender Siamese spent much of the night on alert, leaping down from the bed to spy on Ruby and then leaping back to report.

  “I don’t like this.” Even if her nimble landing hadn’t woken Clara, her lashing tail would have. “There’s something off about that girl. She’s not telling Becca everything.”