by Clea Simon
“Detective Abrams? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
The man froze, and just as silently – although a sight more quickly – he steppeds backward. Opening the door so carefully that even the small bells at the end of the rope weren’t jarred into noise, he slipped out to the street and disappeared.
Chapter 23.
“So, in brief, if I can offer any kind of testimonial or – or, I don’t know, character witness…” Five minutes later, Becca was running out of steam. “Anyway, I wanted to reach out. I feel responsible, you know?”
Clara couldn’t quite make out the rumbling voice on the other end of the line. Feline ears are more attuned to the higher pitches of birds and rodents, or female humans. She did get a sense of the rumpled, burly man whom Becca had encountered before. And while it may have been a memory, the calico got a strong sense of barely concealed impatience.
“No, I didn’t mean–” Becca was trying to cut in. “No, I – I understand. That’s funny.”
The change in her tone must have elicited a question from the other end. “No, I’m sorry. I’m at work and there was a technician here and now he’s – never mind. No, I don’t have to go. Really. Oh, well, thank you. And, please remember–”
With a deep sigh, Becca put down her phone. Just then, a gentle rap sounded on the door frame, and a head poked in. Salt-and-pepper hair, with a moustache to match, set off round wire-frame glasses.
“Hello! I’m here.”
“So you are.” Becca couldn’t help but smile. “Please, come in. We’re open.”
The man unzipped a parka, revealing a denim coverall so spattered with paint it matched his hair. Rather, thought Clara, as if he were almost a calico too.
“I’m here about the window?” He turned back to take in the board. “Is this the entire job?”
“That’s it. Your colleague must have stepped out to get his tools.”
“Colleague?” He turned to take her in, the glasses making his eyes owlishly large. “For a job like this? I’ll have this fixed up within the hour.”
With that he stepped out, leaving Becca, her mouth gaping like a goldfish. She rallied before he could return, however, and raced back out to the sidewalk.
“I’m right here, Miss.” The bespectacled tech was pulling a tool kit from a truck clearly labeled Saldana Glass. “I’ll be right back.”
“No, I…” Her head swiveled. “I was looking for the other man. A big guy with an eye...” With one finger, she drew down the corner of her eye.
“Are you sure he was a glazier?” His bushy brows hunched together. “Did you call another company?”
“No, I didn’t – and I don’t think my boss would have either.” Becca peered up the sidewalk and then turned to look the other way, shaking her head. “I don’t think he was here about the door at all.”
With that, she turned and walked back into the shop, ignoring the puzzled look of the glazier.
“Detective Abrams, please.” Tense fingers beat a tattoo on the countertop, rattling the dish of colored stones. “Yes, this is Becca Colwin again, but I have something new to report.”
The rat-a-tat-tat of the nails was almost too percussive for Clara’s ears. But the set of her person’s jaw kept the little calico alert and by her side.
“He’s not? Did you tell him there was something new?” Becca stared down at the counter, but Clara had the distinct impression that she wasn’t seeing the collection of colored charms in the bowl before her. “Well, then, yes. Yes, please. At his earliest opportunity,” she said forcefully. “I need him to know that I’m not crying wolf.”
As soon as she put the phone down it buzzed once more.
“Thank you for – oh.” She stood up, turning to check out the clock. “Yes, that should work. All three? I’ll be there. Thanks so much.”
Clara braced herself to run. Becca had a wild look in her eyes, as she grabbed her coat. Only just then, the glazier came back in, with a pane of glass and the intoxicating aroma of warm glue.
“I’ll have this up in a jiff.” A smile appeared under the moustache, and then he turned to his work. Becca, still by the counter, barely registered the technician and stared instead at something even Clara couldn’t see.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Maddy.” Becca shrugged into her coat even as she spoke. “Yeah, I couldn’t find anything either. Maybe the dean was wrong.
“Brewstein,” she said, after a pause. “Norm Brewstein. I owe him an apology. His manner was kind of off-putting, but who knows? But if you can find out anything. Maybe Ruby didn’t understand…”
Becca broke off, interrupted by her friend. As Maddy spoke, she glanced toward the front of the store, where the glazier was finishing up. With her eyes on the mustachioed man, her voice dropped to a breathy murmur.
“No, I’m not trying to get her out any longer. In fact, I hope they don’t release her any time soon.”
From the squawk on the line, Clara could tell that Maddy agreed with this last statement.
“No, it’s not what you think, Maddy.” Becca’s eyes darted to the front of the shop, where the technician appeared to be gathering up his tools. Standing, he pulled on that parka and a pair of gloves.
“Miss?” Maddy was still talking, but Becca nodded.
“Hang on a minute, Mads. I’ve got someone here. Yes?”
“I’m done, but this should really be let to set for at least an hour.” He eyed the door. “Is there another entrance you can use?”
“There is!” Becca’s enthusiasm clearly startled him. “In fact, I’ll put a sign on the door. Thanks so much.”
Shaking his head, he let himself out, bracing the door so it closed slowly behind him. Becca smiled through the new glass as she clicked the lock back in place and turned the sign to to “closed.”
“I’ve got to run.” Back on the phone, Becca was already heading toward the back room. “No, I’m not going to bail Ruby out. It’s Harriet. She’s developed this odd occasional cough. It’s probably nothing, but the vet had a cancellation and can fit us in. If I hurry, I can make it.”
Clara’s ears went up at that. The vet? Her sisters would weigh in on that, but Laurel, in particular, would be intrigued. Her immediate concern however, was the key that had just turned in the locked front door.
“She’s innocent – well, she’s innocent of murder, at any rate.” Becca, pulling on her coat, was oblivious to door opening behind her. “But all things considered, I think this may be a good thing. I think she may be safer in custody.”
Chapter 24.
“You’re simply leaving? In the middle of the day?” Margaret frowned as she looked around. “This is getting to be a habit. A bad one.”
“I’m sorry, but this is an emergency. A pet emergency.” Becca was trying to be reasonable, but Clara could hear the strain in her voice. “One of my cats has been showing symptoms, and my vet had a cancellation. Besides, the glazier said we shouldn’t use the front door.”
“I used it,” her boss protested, as if that made it all right. She waved a gloved hand toward the entrance as she waddled down the first of the little shop’s aisles. “We could leave it propped open.”
“In this weather?” Becca posed the question gently, softening it with a smile. “You know, they’re predicting snow.”
The logic was inescapable. That didn’t mean her boss liked it and finding her hat didn’t seem to help. Grabbing it off the statuette as roughly as if the stone cat were somehow to blame, Margaret retreated back to the counter, eying her employee with what was probably supposed to be an intimidating stare. On the small, round woman, however, the resulting grimace came out more like an angry sparrow.
But Becca was no worm. “I promise I’ll come right back, as soon as I drop my cats off.”
“And in the meantime, what do you expect me to do? Margaret flapped dismissively, as if the turmoil of the last few days could be so easily brushed
away. “Run the shop myself?”
“Of course not.” The deeper voice of Margaret’s older sister made them both turn. Elizabeth had come in through the back and was already tying back her wild gray hair. “I’ll do it. I’ll post a sign about the door, asking people to come around the back. I’ve been meaning to finish the inventory, and it will be easy enough for me to hear if anyone knocks.”
“Why are you covering for her?” Margaret’s tone grew waspy, even as she arranged the brimmed topper. “It’s not like she has a family emergency.”
“Not an emergency, but family.” Elizabeth, already a good head taller than her sister, pulled herself up to her full height as she spoke. Specially, Clara thought, so she could look down her nose at her sister. It was a move Harriet often used, though Elizabeth’s Roman nose was much more intimidating than Harriet’s Persian pug. “And family,” she reminded her baby sister, “looks out for each other.”
Margaret had no response to that, none she would vent in front of Becca, anyway. And so with a bit more grumbling and another dismissive wave, she walked out to the street – closing the door behind her with exaggerated care. Becca, however, remained rooted in place. Unsure, her cat thought, whether she had been given permission or possibly if she would have a position to come back to.
“Go on.” Elizabeth nodded toward the door. “I really do have inventory to look into, and you don’t want to be late.”
“No, I don’t.” Becca broke into a grin, which Elizabeth returned, as Clara looked on in wonder. “Thanks, Elizabeth. You don’t know how much…”
“I have an idea.” The older woman headed back into the storeroom. “And if you want to take the rest of the day that’s fine. I suspect your cats are in tip-top shape, but I meant what I said about family. And they’d do the same for you.”
Becca was still grinning as she followed, retrieving her own coat and hat. So set on gathering up her pets and making the appointment, she didn’t even look back as she called out her thanks once more and made her own way out via the back. And so she didn’t see Elizabeth look up as she left. She certainly didn’t see the smile on the older woman’s face – or the quick wink she gave to Clara.
That threw the calico, and she had to hurry to catch up to Becca, who had rounded the corner and was race-walking down the street. Her person was spurred by the cold, Clara knew. But she was also anxious, and as her pet trotted unseen by her feet, she thought of all she wished she could share. For starters, that the three sisters didn’t usually mind going to the vet, weighing the attention – and the inevitable follow-up treats – as adequate recompense for the discomfort of the carrier and the unfortunate recurrence of shots.
More important, Clara wished she could ease her person’s worries. The three litter mates, she knew, were young and generally healthy, and Clara had reason to believe that her oldest sister’s powers helped protect them from various threats and illnesses. That was why she hadn’t worried much when she had heard Harriet coughing, a short bark of a sound more fitting to a canine than a majestic cat like her sister.
Actually, Clara thought, Harriet’s grandeur might be what concerned their person. While neither of her sisters would ever dare mention it, Harriet was on the heavy side, and with her tendency to overindulge she would occasionally barf up some of the many treats she had heedlessly scarfed down. And while Laurel considered the well-placed furball a respectable form of expression, Harriet’s cough had become more frequent. Add in that the older cat’s flattened Persian features made her more susceptible to respiratory issues, and Clara understood her person’s concern.
More to the point, as Becca hurried through the city crowds, Clara found herself wondering if another factor was at work. Clara had seen the way Laurel and Harriet had looked at each other when Marcia had mentioned the cute vet. Plus, she suspected, that at times her sisters played at being normal cats in part to keep their person occupied. She herself tried never to worry Becca, though she had caused her distress on occasion just through the normal chain of events.
Still, the three knew what was expected of them. And so, once Becca brought out the big carrier, they led Becca on a merry chase for several minutes.
“Oh, please.” Becca reached to pull Laurel from the upper bookshelf, just as Harriet managed to unlock the carrier’s catch and free herself. “Not you too.”
“Please, Laurel.” Clara, who had squeezed herself into one corner of the big plastic box, to leave more room for her sisters, pleaded. “She’s getting upset.”
“You’ve let her get soft,” her sister complained, even as she let Becca lift her by her tawny midsection and lift her down into the box. “Besides this vet isn’t that cute.”
Clara didn’t respond. Better to let Laurel win this round, even if she disagreed. Dr. Keller might not be as dashing as the sealpoint would have preferred. Although tall, the vet was lanky, rather than muscular, with a long, weathered face dominated by large, sad brown eyes that, along with his slightly shaggy hair, reminded her of the elderly retriever who used to live next door, a good dog if such a thing were possible. Even if there weren’t – and Clara knew Laurel would surely have argued that case given the chance – there was a gentleness to the veterinarian that made the calico trust him.
“Gentle, huh!” Harriet grunted as Becca lifted her back into the carrier, an exhalation that turned into a cough. “Injecting us without our explicit permission. As if we would allow ourselves to get rabies. I may bite him, if I get the chance.”
Again, Clara held her tongue, trusting that – in Harriet’s case, at least – some combination of dignity and lethargy would prevail and that her cough, as worrisome as it sounded, would prove to be nothing at all.
Chapter 25.
Forty-five minutes later, Clara stepped cautiously out of the carrier. Unused to being carried, she felt a little wobbly from the back and forth and was still waiting for the cool, sterile room to settle down.
“Car sick?” Laurel had by then perched herself on the edge of the metal examination table, from which she could view the room. “What a pity. This place is fascinating.”
“I consider it an affront.” Harriet, of course, refused to leave her case, though whether that was in protest of simple inertia was hard to tell. As the vet lifted her onto the table, she went limp, letting her hindlegs hanging down like fluffy white bloomers.
“She’s a big girl.” The vet placed her gently beside Clara.
“I try to watch what they eat.” Becca sounded apologetic. Harriet, on the other hand, preened under what she considered a compliment. “It’s been challenging. Harriet does tend to hog the food.”
“And these two let her?” Laurel stretched, flexing her claws, in silent rebuke to his apparent disbelief. Not that the humans noticed.
“Clara – the calico – does. I try to keep an eye on them, but there’s been a lot going on. There’s so much going on. I’ve got a new job so I’m away from home for so much of the day, and I may have to find a new place to live.”
He turned to her with a questioning gaze, even as he reached to pull Clara closer to her siblings. His hands, Clara was relieved to note, were warm.
“My building’s going condo, and I’m a renter, so…” Becca shrugged, and turned away, blinking back the tears that had sprung to her eyes.
The vet’s eyes grew sad, his voice soft. “I’m sorry. I do see that might be difficult, especially with three cats.”
Becca managed a weak smile. “Thanks. That’s one of the reasons I’m worried. Maybe I missed something…” She broke off.
“I understand.” The room grew silent as he lifted Harriet, peering into her eyes and then into each velvety ear. “Better to be careful, especially in winter, with the heat on. Cats are prone to respiratory viruses much like we are,” he said, as he thumbed her mouth open, taking in her glistening fangs.
“Very good, my girl.” Harriet smiled, her eyes closing as she prepared to shuffle off. She was stop
ped by a large hand on her back as, with the other, the vet lifted the diaphragm of his stethoscope, warming it with his breath. Holding the marmalade under her front legs, he raised her, almost to a sitting position, while with his other hand he moved the stethoscope around.
“She’s not coughing now.” While Harriet’s eyes grew wide, he shifted again, pressing the disc against the softness of her belly.
“Cough? I’m so going to bite him.” Her annoyed mew alarmed Clara, who silently begged her sister to behave. “Or maybe just barf.”
“Everything sounds okay. I’ll do some tests, to be sure.”
Placing the big marmalade back on the table, he reached for Laurel. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He palpated her velvety, and her eyes crossed. “This pretty lady seems to be in good shape.”
“I am.” Laurel purred, her eyes closing with pleasure at the compliment. In contrast to Harriet, the sealpoint accepted the vet’s ministrations gracefully, even quieting her purr briefly as he listened to her heart and lungs.
“And how’s this little one?”
“I’ve been a little worried about Clara, to be honest,” said Becca. That calico stiffened at the sound of her name, but if the vet noticed, he didn’t respond. If anything, he grew more solicitous, one warm finger moving to stroke the smooth fur beneath her chin, as his otoscope parted the long hair in her ear.
“She’s been, well, jumpy lately. Nervous.”
“Is she off her food?” He frowned as he stared into one green eye.
“No.” Becca frowned. “At least, I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell with the three of them. But she seems to be underfoot more recently.”
“Is it that she wants more attention?” That warm finger now circled the base of Clara’s ear, and she began to purr. “If your new job is taking you out of the house more, she may be suffering from separation anxiety.”