by Clea Simon
Through her purr, Clara could hear Laurel’s scoffing cough. Both the vet and Becca looked over, and the Siamese licked her chops, blue eyes wide and innocent. Clara could sense the vet’s interest diverting and was anticipating a lecture about furballs, when she saw Laurel’s eyes crossing.
“You heard nothing.” The suggestion was so strong, even Clara began to believe it. “Go back to rubbing the clown’s ear.”
Turning obediently back toward Becca, he did just that, to Clara’s relief. It wasn’t simply his careful touch – the light massage rubbing just the right spot at the base of her ear – it was also that she wanted to hear more of their conversation. Something was bothering Becca, that much was clear. If Clara was acting in a way that disturbed her person, she needed to stop it.
“It’s not that she’s seeking attention, exactly.” Becca stared at a spot on the wall over the vet’s shoulder, as if she could read something there, her gaze so intent that Clara turned to look as well. “In fact, half the time I don’t know where she is. But then suddenly she’ll appear underfoot. And, well, it’s almost like I feel her with me all the time – even when I can’t see her. It’s almost as if I’m about to trip over her, but she’s not there. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
Clara froze, the fur along her spine bristling with horror. Becca couldn’t know. Could she? The petite calico had always believed that Becca was special, a particularly sensitive human and almost cat-like at times. But this? It had been ingrained in Clara from earliest kittenhood that cats had to hide their magic from their people. She had always accepted this dictate, even before she understood why. Now that Harriet had begun to share their history – and that of their often ill-fated humans – Clara understood just how dangerous it could be for humans to concern themselves with the affairs of their feline companions. Bad enough that Becca kept involving herself in perilous situations with questionable characters, like that girl Ruby. Worse still that she assumed she had powers. If she actually found out…
Clara was brought to her senses by the vet’s hand. It had stopped moving, she realized belatedly, holding the tender velvet of her ear between his index finger and his thumb. Unlike Laurel, Clara didn’t think this man was dense. If he had noticed how she froze at Becca’s words, the result could be just as bad.
She looked up at his kind brown eyes, pleading silently for him not to notice. For him to move on as if nothing had happened. Surely, as a veterinarian, he was accustomed to cats displaying what he would call extraordinary empathy. Wasn’t he?
“Sorry, kitty.” His voice was soft and seemed to be talking directly to her, and her heart sank. But then he began that lovely circular motion again and it hit her: the kind man thought he had caused her reaction. Maybe even that he had pinched her tender ear. She leaned into his hand and ramped up her purr. Whatever Laurel thought about Dr. Keller, he cared.
And he wasn’t quite as smart as she had feared. In fact, once she butted her head against his hand a second time, he actually chuckled, redoubling his efforts until her ear began to be a bit irritated. No matter, she shuffled slightly to remove herself from his attentions. Better he think she was an oversensitive house pet, reacting simply to his ministrations.
He didn’t notice that she had moved. Instead, he seemed distracted. And while he kept talking down to Clara, as if she were the focus of his thoughts, it was soon apparent that his words were directed to Becca.
“That does sound disturbing,” he said. He was speaking slowly and softly, more as if he were calming a spooked pet than to a woman as accomplished as Becca. “But I wonder. Sometimes, you see, we use our pets as a substitute for ourselves, and it does sound like you’ve had a good deal of upheaval in your life.”
Becca made a noise like she was about to cough. Clara didn’t think she was prone to furballs, but for a moment she wondered. He might have heard her slight gasp, Clara couldn’t tell, but he refrained from commenting. He glanced up, which had the benefit of him leaving her ear alone. It was becoming rather sore. However, he quickly looked down again. As he continued to speak, he examined the tray of utensils on the table besides the cats’ carrier, selecting a syringe. That was just as well, Clara thought, bracing herself for the needle. The vet had a sure hand, she told herself. He also had a very feline sense of privacy.
“Well, my first impression is that everyone is healthy.” He broke the silence a few minutes later, speaking even as he inserted the needle into Clara’s forearm. “Though I’ll give them each a complete blood workup to be sure.”
The two other blood samples weren’t taken entirely without incident. Laurel felt it a matter of honor to howl as if violated, and Harriet, not to be outdone, drew her head back in the most ferocious snarl. That didn’t stop her from accepting treats from the vet, once the vials had been labelled and set aside. Treats that she shared with her sisters only grudgingly.
“You’re only here because of me, you know.” Having snarfed up three in rapid succession, she eyed the one Clara was still licking.
“It was my idea.” Laurel growled, prompting Clara to look up.
“Now, now.” As Harriet had swooped in, two large hands grabbed her around the middle, pulling her back. Those same hands then scooped up Clara’s treats, holding them up to her face.
“He smells nice.” Aware of the honor, she gobbled them down.
Harriet wrinkled up her nose. “If you like disinfectant.”
Clara knew better than to respond, but as she washed, she eyed Laurel, her question at the forefront of her mind. Her sister only yawned and licked her chops, however, her big ears flicking back and forth as the two humans spoke softly above them both.
“If I can do anything, Ms. Colwin,” she heard the vet say. “Please, do let me know.”
Chapter 26.
The visit didn’t entirely ease Becca’s mind, Clara could tell. Once they were home, Becca doled out treats, even before taking off her coat. “He did say you all looked good.” She spoke more to herself than the cats, not knowing they understood every word.
“Better eat up,” Harriet urged. “We don’t want her to worry.”
“You can have mine.” Clara was still a bit nauseous from the carrier. Besides, Becca was already pulling her hat low over her ears. While her person was obviously anxious – to her cats, at any rate – she also was preparing for heading back out
“I won’t be too late, kitties,” she called. “I’ll come straight back after closing.”
“Not a good idea.” Laurel, mouth full, muttered.
“Please, she’s having a hard time.” Clara pleaded with her sisters, but she couldn’t linger. Becca was already out the door.
Despite her lingering concerns, Clara found tagging along beside Becca offered a welcome change to being cooped up. Although the shaded cat had to watch out for pedestrians as her person strode purposefully into the heart of Cambridge, the brisk air was bracing, especially after the almost overwhelming blend of smells inside the animal hospital. The temperature seemed to have risen a bit, as well, losing the harsh dryness that had made her nose sting.
The newly moisture-laden air held scents better, as well, and Clara closed her eyes, the better to take in its hints of the river and the ocean beyond. So intoxicating was the mix that the little calico forgot her concerns for a moment, feeling briefly the call of the wild.
Until, with a shock like a splash of cold water, she realized where Becca was heading. Clara froze in horror, staring up at the large grey building before her. Looming over the sidewalk like a stone owl, she could feel it waiting – or, worse, watching – the creatures scurrying back and forth before it. If Clara could have stopped Becca, even at the expense of her whiskers, she would have. As it was, all she could do was shiver in fear as she watched Becca pause – “Elizabeth did say I could take as much time as I needed” – and then mount the steps to enter the building itself.
Fighting her own urge to flee, Clara dashed up t
he stairs after her, shimmying through the glass doors to find herself in a cavernous waiting room.
“Detective Abrams, please.” Becca was standing by a wooden counter, speaking to a stout woman with a moustache.
“Do you have an appointment?” The woman stared past Becca. Not at Clara, the little cat decided, but at some middle point in space. Nearsighted, she decided. Unless she could spy something beyond even the feline’s acute perception.
“No, but we’ve spoken.” Becca leaned forward, as if to give her words more weight. Her person didn’t like to lie, Clara knew, but she would stretch the point when it seemed important. “I’m following up on an earlier discussion.”
The woman nodded in a way that didn’t inspire confidence. “Wait here.”
Becca visibly relaxed as the woman waddled off. Leaning back on the counter, she took in the waiting area, and it occurred to Clara that she felt safe in this large cage-like building, a worrisome thought. There were too many strange odors circulating here – many carrying the stink of fear or of pain. And as much as Becca appeared to trust the rumpled detective, the calico could not help but remember all the discord that had followed in the wake of the large man.
While Becca waited, Clara did what surveillance she could. Leaping soundlessly to the counter, she peered out over the crowded waiting area, searching for the large man or any other familiar face among the shifting crowd.
With a start, she realized her instincts had steered her correctly. Over by the door, a short man. Collar up, he must have just come in from the cold, and his head swiveled back and forth, deep-set eyes taking in the waiting area. In a moment, he would see Becca. Clara surveyed the room, seeking an exit or a place to hide.
Too late. A sudden stillness alerted the cat that her person had seen and recognized the man. Worse, Becca realized in a flash of horror, Becca was going to approach him. As her person stepped forward, the cat considered her options. She could leap down and trip her. Scratch a stranger – someone who might scream. Anything to keep Becca from confronting the stranger. Only, before she could act, she found her own fur starting up in surprise.
Becca wasn’t heading toward the small dark man who had been prowling through Charm and Cherish, refusing to meet her gaze and allowing her to think that he had come to fix the door. No, her person was in pursuit of a tall, lean figure whose slick hair reflected blue in the light. With a shock that shook her nose to tail, Clara realized who he was – and why Becca was pursuing him. It was the man the police had questioned, after they had found the body of Larry Rakov. The missing neighbor.
“Excuse me!” As Clara watched, the dark-haired figure walked swiftly through the crowd. He must have come from the side of the waiting area, where a door opened onto private offices. Now he was heading to the street, either not hearing or not acknowledging Becca’s calls.
“Hello? Excuse me.” The man was taller than Becca by far and managed to weave through the crowd while Becca found herself blocked first by a woman with a crying child in tow and then by two teens, seized by the sudden urge to kiss. “Coming through!”
Head down, she pushed by but by then the man she knew as her neighbor had made it outside, as quickly as if he had been able to pass through the dirty glass of the door. Unwilling to leave her person, she hung back while Becca waited her turn to pass through.
“Wait,” she called. “Justin? Justin Neil?” The name did it. Halfway down the steps he paused, turning, his eyes growing wide as he spied Becca tripping down the steps toward him.
“You!” He drew back. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”
“Excuse me?” Becca stopped short, her smile evaporating. “What are you talking about?”
His mouth puckered like he’d bitten into something sour. “Harboring a fugitive, I believe they call it.”
“Ruby? She’s an innocent bystander.” Clara heard the slight stumble as her person pronounced “innocent.” She couldn’t tell if the man facing her did. He stared down his nose at her. “She didn’t do anything. We found that poor man together.”
“That poor man…”
It must have been his tone that made Becca snap. “That man – Larry Rakov – worked for you. He was a musician. He had a life.”
“I know that.” Neil reared back, affronted. “I also know he was a swindler. He was taking advantage of me. Illegally renting out my apartment.”
“He must have had his reasons.” Becca grew thoughtful. “Have you spoken to his family?”
“I do not maintain that kind of relationship with my employees.” He frowned.
“Well, I’d like to.” She paused, undoubtedly feeling the heat of his glare. “I met the man, and – and I borrowed something from him.”
“What?” A bark of command, rather than a question.
Chin up, Becca held firm. “I’d rather talk to his family.”
“I don’t have to answer any of your questions.” He turned, giving the building behind him the same disdainful stare. “I’ve already wasted too much time on a project.”
“A project? The apartment – it’s another investment for you.” Realization dawned on Becca, and her eyes grew wide. “You’re not even curious about why that poor man was killed.”
His eyes narrowed further, meeting Becca’s with an intensity the cat by her side could almost feel. She stared back, unblinking, and with a dismissive grunt, he turned aside, continuing down the stairs.
“Wait.” She called after him, nearly tripping in her haste to catch up with him. “You can’t just walk away from this. You own the unit that was illegally rented out – and now a man is dead.”
“So says an angry renter,” he snapped back, his voice sinking to an angry growl. “A woman with an ax to grind – who is already involved with the chief suspect.”
Becca spent the rest of the day at Charm and Cherish. But even though she did her best – stenciling a new mandala on the door and rearranging the crystals to catch the thin winter light – Clara could tell her heart wasn’t in it. Elizabeth seemed to sense this also. Although she yelled out a greeting from the back room, she left Becca to deal with the three customers who came in.
“So you’re open!” The first visitor, bundled into a full-length purple plush coat, barely navigated the first aisle. Still, she walked all three, her eyes on the ceiling rather than the shelves. “Are you new here?”
“Me or the shop?” Becca managed a perky smile. The big coat as well as the boots, looked playful and young, but the woman inside the fluff had to be closer to fifty than fifteen “Charm and Cherish has been around for a little over a year. I’ve only worked here a few months.”
A nod, even as she scanned the counter, apparently intrigued by the clock and the wall-mounted land line beneath. “It’s a good space. Thanks.”
“She wants the shop.” The thought came to Clara as clearly as if she had Laurel’s powers. More likely, she told herself, she was simply getting better at reading people.
“Gracie, come here.” Clara figured the two schoolgirls who came in next as browsers rather than buyers. But Becca kept her eye on them as they made their way around, picking up every candle and figurine.
“These are pretty.” The shorter of the two, her pigtails matching the figure on her anime backpack, ran a black-lacquered nail through the gemstone tray. “What do they do?”
“Well, tradition has it that different stones have different properties. But it depends what you want to believe.” She concluded the abbreviated pitch with her best professional smile, and a glance back toward the back room. Elizabeth had emerged to stand there.
“Take a look at the rose quartz,” the older woman said. “The pink one.”
“This one?” The girl held up the translucent stone. “Gracie, check it out.”
“And for you, the jadeite.” Elizabeth came over and pointed to a dark green disk.
“I like it.” The taller girl cupped the stone in her palm. “It makes me f
eel – I don’t know – calm.”
“Jadeite is centering.” Elizabeth glanced over at Becca before retreating, leaving her to complete the sales – her first of the day.
“Thanks for that.” When the pair had taken off, giggling, Becca found her colleague bent over a carton the back room. “I’m never sure how far to push the powers.”
“You don’t believe?” Elizabeth’s brows rose, though whether in skepticism or surprise Becca couldn’t tell.
“I don’t know anymore.” She sounded so forlorn her cat stared up at her with concern. Only when the other woman didn’t respond did the calico glance up. “I used to think I could help people. Or at least read them.”
Elizabeth was staring at her.
“I get it,” she said, her voice soft. “There’s so much we all still have to learn.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” Despite Becca’s quick response, Clara had the distinct impression that the older woman’s comment had been meant for her multicolored ears as well. Elizabeth was an uncanny woman. Unnerving at best, and Clara could not forget that large, dark volume that Elizabeth had been on the verge of lending Becca only two days before.
As a cat, Clara understood that magic wasn’t something that could be learned – even from an old book. She also sensed how badly Becca wanted magic in her life. But her pet could not feel entirely comfortable with this new relationship. Becca was a mere human, and power was a dangerous thing. What Elizabeth offered might be more than guidance, and the little cat knew her first responsibility was to keep her person safe.
Chapter 27.
Becca left soon after, walking quickly through the early winter dusk. The temperature had fallen once more, although the air still held a damp heaviness that had the other rush hour pedestrians scanning the skies. It wasn’t simply the cold – or the thickening cloud cover that reflected the gray light – propelling Becca along, her cat suspected, especially as her pace picked up as she neared their building. And while Clara wanted to think it was anticipation of seeing her littermates – piqued by concern for Harriet – a prickling feeling along her spine alerted her to other forces at work.