by Clea Simon
“Laurel’s right.” Clara hesitated, unsure how to explain. Their person had taken her laptop into her bed, displacing the calico. Becca did that sometimes, and her cat had learned to accept it. This time, however, her person wasn’t peacefully reading. Instead, she kept tapping away, at times with increasing fervor. From the muttered exclamations, Clara could tell that whatever she was seeking in the flat device was proving elusive. “Becca knows something is off.”
“Sounds like you’re finally learning about trust.” Harriet broke off into a yawn. Their oldest sister had been snoozing, too, Clara noted. “Not that either of them is going to do anything while they’re asleep – not with you patrolling like a dog.”
“If you’d stayed awake during your turn to watch, you’d sense that something is off.” Laurel sniped.
“You’re about to be off.” Harriet lumbered to her feet, growling.
“Please! Sisters!” Clara nuzzled up between them. “Becca needs her rest. I’ll take the next shift.”
That offer calmed things down, Harriet’s grumble fading into a snore as her yellow eyes slowly closed. Laurel, for her part, settled on the bed by Becca’s feet, as the bigger cat began to snore. That was Clara’s usual place, but she ceded it with a dip of her head, seeing an opportunity to question her sister.
“What did she mean by trust?” The memory of smoke came back to her and the image of a woman who turned away. “Who can we trust? How do we know?”
Clara tilted her ears forward in vain.
“Huh.” The sealpoint pulled a tuft of fur from her tongue. “Haven’t you figured out anything, Clown?”
The calico looked around. With Harriet and Becca asleep, everything seemed peaceful – and yet… She dipped her head. “Please.”
“This is why we hide our powers, runt.” Her toilette completed, Laurel arranged herself into a disc. “Why you shade yourself. The dangers…” Her voice began to fade. “Can’t see everything…”
For a count of breaths, Clara waited, hoping her sister would explain. But the slender sealpoint was fast asleep, her own high-pitched snuffle playing counterpoint to Harriet’s deeper snorts. The calico longed to join them. The knocking of the radiator only served to remind her of the cold outside, and she found herself recalling a winter long ago. Kittens, then, they had huddled together under their mother’s watchful gaze. Waiting, she now realized, to be sent off. For their human to appear…
“Your first duty…” The phrase woke her, and shaking off her own sleepiness, the little cat jumped to the floor, the rules echoing in her mind. “Protect your person. Learn. Observe, while being unobserved.”
Eschewing the armchair, she leapt instead to the table, where the violin case lay. From here she could see the top of Ruby’s head, just over the edge of the sofa. Any outsider in the house made the confirmed housecat uneasy – and this one who had already proved she could not be trusted. Although Becca seemed to care for this one, her cat would rests easier once this Ruby had moved on.
She wasn’t dozing at all, therefore, when a slight movement by her feet alerted her. Becca’s phone had whirred ever so slightly, and unable to resist, Clara had pawed at it, causing the little beast to awake.
“What’s that?” Becca sat up and yawned. “Clara, no, that’s not a toy.”
The tiny beast had buzzed again, jittering across the desktop. Clara was only right to try to trap it.
“I thought I turned notifications off.” Becca slid out of bed, not even waking the two cats who snored gently on. “Oh, oh good.”
Clara looked up to see her smiling, and as if her person could read her thoughts, she reached out and stroked the calico’s back.
“I don’t know if I left this on or you turned it to vibrate somehow.” Becca sat at her desk and pulled the pliant cat into her lap. “It’s that dean. He wants to confirm that Ruby is at this address. I guess they need to send her registration materials.”
She tapped a few buttons and replaced the phone on the desktop.
“Thanks, Clara.” She reached to fondle the base of her cat’s ears. “Thanks to you, we’ll have a nice surprise for Ruby in the morning.”
The banging, an hour later, woke them all. Clara, aware that she was supposed to be on duty, sprang up first. Back arching, she positioned herself at the foot of the bed, where she could defend her person.
“Hang on.” Becca slipped around her and reached for her robe. And although Clara did her best to stop her, twining around her ankles as she left the room, her person made her way to the front of the apartment. “Who is it?”
Ruby was sitting up on the sofa, eyes wide as she grasped the blanket to her.
“Cambridge police.” A brusque voice called out. “Open up.”
“What?” Becca’s foot caught Clara in the belly as she reached for the door. Before the calico could plan a next move, her person had opened it. “What’s happened?”
The tall detective from the shop stood there, a portly uniform behind her, matching her glower for glower. “Becca Colwin?”
“Yes, we met at Charm and Cherish.”
But the detective wasn’t done. “I believe I warned you about withholding information. That includes knowledge of any person of interest who may be wanted for questioning.”
“Person of interest?” But her confusion cleared as the detective pushed past her. “Wait, you can’t come in here.”
The detective didn’t spare her a glance. “Ruby Grozny, I’d like you to come with me.”
The wide-eyed girl looked from the detective to Becca and back. “You can get dressed first.” The detective turned to her portly colleague. “Sanders, you can remain here. I’m going to close the door.”
As soon as she did, Clara was on her – sniffing at her thick-soled shoes and trying to get a take on the intruder. Pavement, an office, the scent of other humans, sad and sweaty both, had her flattening her ears in dismay, and she looked up at Becca in concern. Her person was no longer standing behind her, however. She had gone over to Ruby, and although she was speaking softly, Clara’s sharp ears could hear her talking softly to the girl. She was telling her not to worry, although both their faces were drawn in panic. She also sounded like she was promising something – but her words about “spring” and “a solution” didn’t make much sense to the disconcerted cat. Determined to uncover anything that would help, she turned back to the detective’s black shoes, aware all the while that the woman was ignoring her because she was so focused on Becca and Ruby.
“You’re not going to get anything.” Laurel stood in the bedroom doorway. “She may look stern, but that’s just how she is. Kind of like that bulldog down the block.”
“But can’t you make her go? Suggest that she leave?” Clara looked up anxiously. Becca was wrapping a sweater around Ruby that Clara was sure was one of her own favorites. “Becca doesn’t want her here.”
“She doesn’t?” Laurel stretched, showing her front claws. “Are you sure? Because this person seems to believe that Becca invited her in.”
“She did not!” Clara hissed. She didn’t mean to, but Laurel’s comment had unnerved her. In response, the detective looked down.
“Ms Colwin? Would you remove your animal?” She did not, Clara noted, move away.
“Now you’ve got her.” Laurel sauntered over. “She’s afraid you’re going to attack.”
Becca must have been as well. She raced over and grabbed Clara, hoisting her by her middle. “She’s not used to strangers,” Becca apologized, holding her a little too tightly.
“Really?” Skepticism dripped from the detective’s one-word reply, and Clara strained to face her. Something was going on, and she didn’t want Becca to have to face it alone.
“You must have startled her.” Clara gave up trying to maneuver. Every move she made only prompted Becca to squeeze her closer. “She’s a very sweet cat.”
The detective didn’t bother to respond. “Ms. Grozny? Shall we?”
“Where are you taking her?” Becca’s heart was beating so loudly Clara had to flick her ears to hear the response.
“We’d like to ask her a few more questions.” It was a non-answer. Clara could only hope that Laurel was getting more. “As you know.”
“Becca?” Ruby’s voice, closer now. The girl must have finished dressing, Clara realized, and was standing by the door.
“It was your host who informed us of your whereabouts.” The slight squeak of the door and a waft of air as the detective ushered the scared girl out into the hall. “You didn’t know? She reached out to us by text this morning, even if she’s doing a good job of hiding it.”
Clara didn’t have to imagine the shocked look on Ruby’s face. She could feel Becca recoil as if she’d been struck and, as the door closed, heard the intake of breath that was more of a sob.
Chapter 22.
“Not only did you disabuse my trust, you acted unethically toward a student.” Becca paused. “A potential student. And all for nothing!”
Clara didn’t know who her person had called, but whoever was on the line was getting a tongue lashing.
“I couldn’t find anything on this so-called theft!” When Becca put her phone down to grab a pen and paper, she did get to hear part of the response.
“– security concerns. A loss of this magnitude is always kept quiet. Investigations are discreet.” The last word was drawn into an unfortunate hiss.
“Having the cops bust into my apartment is ‘discreet’?” Becca snatched up the phone. “What do you mean? Who else could it have been?”
Although Clara couldn’t make out the response, the tone sounded even and calm.
“I’m sorry.” Becca sounded appalled. “I thought – Please, Dean Brewstein, don’t hold this against Ruby.”
She hadn’t calmed down much by her next call.
“But Maddy, I didn’t. Or, well, I didn’t mean to call the police. I wanted to talk to that dean. I was trying to look up the theft he’d told me about, and I couldn’t find anything. When I saw the text, I assumed that was his cell…” All three cats were watching as Becca paced. She was supposedly dressing – Clara got that from the clothes she kept pulling from the closet and throwing on the bed – but clearly her attention was not on getting ready for work. “Anyway, I was wondering… you’ve always been better at research than I.” From the sounds on the line, it was clear Becca’s friend was arguing this point. “No, really. And, okay, you’ve got access to more databases now. But do you think you could poke around and see if you can find anything? No, I’m not going to do anything. Honest, I’m just curious.”
Clara could hear the squeak of Maddy’s response but she didn’t bother to decipher it. Her friend had been remarkably consistent. “Good riddance,” was the only thing she could make out, followed by a question.
“No, I’m not going to let it drop.” Becca had managed to get her jeans on. The socks were proving a challenge. “I feel responsible, even if I didn’t mean to be.”
Even through the phone, Maddy’s irritation was clear.
“My key? I don’t know, Maddy. The hustled her out of here so quickly. It’s probably in her bag. At any rate, she’s with the police. Surely, you can’t think that she’s any threat to me now.”
The call ended without a resolution, leaving Becca in a foul mood. “Was one of you sleeping on my sweater again?” With rougher strokes than she would ever use on any of the cats, Becca brushed several strands of white fur from her black mohair sweater. “Clara, bad girl!”
Clara sat there, wide eyed but silent. Her person needed to vent. Otherwise, she’d surely have noticed that the errant hairs were longer than her own.
“If she doesn’t want us to sleep on her clothes, she shouldn’t leave the drawers open.” Harriet purred, unfazed, as she kneaded the comforter on Becca’s bed.
“But she didn’t. That was in the box under the bed.” Fundamentally lazy, Harriet could be quite deft with those mitten-like paws. “And now she’s blaming me.”
“Whatever, it was warm.”
Curling into a neat circle, Harriet was soon snoring gently, her big head bobbing with each breath. Becca paused to watch her, one hand reaching out as if to stroke the wide white head. When she held back, Clara studied her face. As the big marmalade’s baby sister, Clara would rarely choose to wake Harriet, knowing full well how much her oldest sibling valued her rest. Becca, however, had never scrupled to pet her cats, almost as if she understood at some level how they vied for her attention, and to the calico her reticence seemed to stem from a private concern. As Clara watched, Becca’s lips tightened, a worry line appearing between her brows that seemed at odds with Harriet’s peaceful snore. But Clara had no time to consider the cause for such distress. Becca was heading out the door.
“See you later, kitties,” she called, unaware that Clara was readying to join her. “Try not to destroy the apartment. Okay?”
With that, she grabbed her hat and slipped out the door, locking it carefully behind her as Clara, with a shimmy and a leap, slipped out beside her, shading herself from sight. While she couldn’t clear her name in the case of the mohair sweater, she could at least accompany her person and make sure she stayed out of trouble.
What a relief then that Becca headed straight to work, and that the little shop appeared to be in no more disarray than the day before. Although the door’s window was still boarded up, its lock was intact, and when Becca opened it, the pleasantly warm interior gave up the slightly spicy, musty scent of the candles and herbs within. Nobody had been here, Clara noted with a sigh. Becca seemed to sense this too, though she locked the door behind her and checked the back room and bath before once more flipping the lock – as well as the sign that announced Charm and Cherish was open for business.
“Good morning.” The jingle of bells announced Elizabeth, who entered swathed in a colorful patchwork clock and holding two steaming mugs of peppermint tea. “I thought you might want something soothing to start the day.”
“Excuse me? I mean, thank you.” Becca accepted the mug, wrapping her hands around its warmth, but kept her gaze on the older woman. “But how did you know?”
Elizabeth smiled and raised one untamed brow, but before she could answer, Becca chuckled. “Of course. The police must have called you, as well. Did they come by here?”
“They had no reason to.”
“Of course not.” Becca shook her head. “I can’t believe I led them to her.”
“Are you sure you did? She’s old enough to be responsible for her actions.”
“You mean, borrowing the violin? Did I tell you about that?” Becca smiled ruefully. “She’s paying an awfully big price for a small act.”
“Small things matter.” Elizabeth looked down. She might have been thinking, but Clara couldn’t help but feel that the woman was staring directly at her.
Becca, preoccupied, barely seemed to notice.
“I’m going to make some queries,” she said. “She’s doesn’t have anyone else here to help her out.”
“Help who out?” The bells’ jangle sounded more dissonant as Elizabeth’s sister Margaret pushed her way in dressed in a camel wool coat and matching hat that must have been the height of fashion four decades earlier. The shop might be hers, but she looked out of place among the mystical and religious ephemera, and as she removed the hat – perching it atop a black basalt cat statuette – Clara bristled as if an intruder had invaded the space. “We’re not running a charity here.”
“No, of course not.” Becca stood up straight, tucking the mug out of sight. “I was just talking.”
“Humph.” The shorter woman looked down her long nose. “Well, I don’t have time for chit chat. The glazier will be here within the hour. Keep an eye on him, won’t you? I gave him he exact dimensions and specified safety glass. If he tries to install anything else – or wants to sell you anything – call me right away. Elizabeth?”
Giving Becca a look that Clara couldn’t quite interpret, the older sister of the two deposited her own empty mug on the counter and followed her kid sister back out of the store.
“I guess it’s good that we’re getting the door fixed.” Becca might have been talking to herself as she carried the empty into the back, but Clara liked to think her person could sense her presence. “Though, I wonder if I have time…”
A moment of staring into space must have supplied the answer. Or maybe it was the tea, because, as Becca drained her own mug, she fished out her phone and punched in a number that she seemed to know well. “Hi, Becca Colwin, calling for Detective Abrams. Yes, I’ll wait.”
As she stood there, the bells rang again, and a big man in a work jacket and worn jeans stepped in with a gust of frosty air. Although his turned-up collar hid most of his face, his black knit cap, pulled low, couldn’t quite hide the scar that split one eyebrow, pulling the corner of one eye down.
“Hello.” Becca pointed to her phone. “I’ll be with you in a minute. If you want to get your tools and get started, that will be fine.”
Just then, a tinny squawk announced someone had picked up her call, and she turned away, to give herself some privacy. The man, meanwhile, seemed in no hurry to get started. Instead, he was taking in the store – peering up at the tops of the shelves and back at the intact front window with a frown on his piggish face.
“Just the door.” Becca must have noticed, because she called over her shoulder. “Mrs. Cross was very clear.”
She turned back. “No, I can’t really. It’s personal and it’s kind of complicated.”
Becca was talking softly, and the store was quiet. But Clara noticed that the man was quiet too. With only the slightest squeak of his boots, he took a step toward Becca, paused, and then took another. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Clara felt the fur rise along her spine. If he could have seen her, he might have backed off. Instead, he crept forward with the slow, deliberate tread of a hunter.