by Clea Simon
Chapter 30.
Walking briskly through the frigid afternoon, Becca set back off down Massachusetts Avenue. Not, Clara realized with drooping whiskers, to their home, where her sisters waited. But also not across the river – toward the conservatory. Instead, she was heading into Harvard Square, the chic student-filled center of the city.
Clara had always liked the square. Not only was its preponderance of red brick warm but its age meant every corner had nooks and crannies likely to hold mice or, at the very least, some interesting scents. This trip felt different, however. As the sky continued to glower and darken, the streets were unusual empty, the few other pedestrians hurrying by with an urgency that reminded Clara of her dream. Even in her boots, Becca’s quick steps echoed that anxiety, her pulse racing loud enough for her cat to hear, even beneath all her layers of clothing. The oncoming snow had the city spooked, Clara suspected. There was more going on, however.
When Becca’s phone buzzed and she jumped, her cat knew she’d been right. Becca was not herself. She was – the little cat felt her own heart sinking with the realization – anxious.
“Maddy? I can’t talk right now.” Becca spoke with hushed urgency as her eyes swept the street. Already, security gates were coming down and curtains drawn. “I’m heading into the Square. I figure everything’s closing early because of the nor’easter. Call you back?”
Her friend’s response – tinny and faint over the phone – sounded just as stressed, the volume rising as she spoke. Clara strained to hear more, but the wind had begun to pick up, tossing paper and dust as it whistled between the big brick buildings.
“I’m sorry, Mads.” From the way she spoke, Becca was interrupting her friend. “Later.” She hung up.
The building, right in Harvard Square, might have been anywhere in the city. In contrast to its red-brick neighbors, the slick tower – all steel and smoked glass – looked cold. Like a trap, Clara thought. And yet when Becca pulled open the glass front door, her pet followed. If Becca needs help getting out of this, I may as well be with her.
After checking in with the bored security guard, Becca headed to the elevator. Such things made Clara anxious. Cats may like boxes, but the subtle vibration as the lift ascended reminded her too much of the carrier that took her and her siblings away from their mother, early on, before she had any awareness of her powers. That had been her mother’s intent. “You have a destiny and a duty,” she had told her three kittens. That hadn’t made the parting any easier.
Memories, and her own lingering questions about her history, distracted Clara to the point where she almost didn’t notice when the elevator stopped.
Luckily, the steel doors posed no problem to the talented calico. And so when the machinery started up again with a shudder, Clara gathered herself up, hindquarters twitching, and leaped, landing on her feet in the sixth-floor hallway, just in time to see Becca disappear behind a door at the far end.
Racing to catch up with her, her claws scrabbling on the slick tile floor, Clara missed Becca’s first words. Her person must have had an exchange with the receptionist, however. She was shaking her head, and the petite woman behind the desk – her hair as sleek as Laurel’s – was speaking in the exaggerated tones humans used when they had to repeat themselves more than once.
The receptionist pulled back, and Clara braced herself, unsure whether the sleek woman was retreating into her shell or preparing to strike.
“Is there a problem here?” A familiar voice broke her concentration as a smiling man in a tweed suit emerged from a hidden door. “Ms. Colwin, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Becca studied the sharply angled face of the man who had just appeared. “Mr. Wargill?”
“Please, call me Matt.” He strode forward, hand outstretched, and Becca quickly tucked the card back into her pocket before she accepted his hearty shake. “Thanks, Francine. I’ll take over from here.”
With a smile as bright as the reflection off Francine’s desk, he gestured toward the now open door. “It’s so great to see you again, Ms. Colwin. I’m so glad you came in.”
“I’m a little confused.” Becca followed him into a long room dominated by an oval table that ran nearly its full length. While prints on three walls showed scullers on the river, the windows that made up the fourth wall opened on the real thing, a few blocks away. Over the black roofs of the neighboring buildings, and an oversized HVAC unit that almost ruined the view, the river reflecting back the marbled gray of the sky. “The sign says Student Stay. I thought your firm was Red Brick Realty.”
“We share a conference space.” Still smiling, he took a seat at the head of the table, motioning for Becca to sit facing the windows. “I’m so glad you came in. Does this mean you’re ready to take that next step?”
“Excuse me?” She’d been staring at those clouds.
“Aren’t you here to discuss purchasing your unit?” The smile faltered slightly. “You must know that the resident discount is considerable – and time limited.”
“I do. But –”
“You should know, we have some very creative options.” He leaned over his desk, gray eyes intent. “Very creative.”
“No. Thank you, though.” Becca drew back slightly. “I’m looking to contact my neighbor – Justin Neil.”
The realtor stared at her, his face a blank.
“Do you have a number for him?”
He tilted his head, scratching at one sideburn. “Why do you need to speak to Mr. Neil?”
“Well, really, I’m trying to reach the family of that poor man who worked for him, Larry Rakov,” Becca explained. “Mr. Neil hasn’t moved in yet, and I would imagine that after what had happened it might be a while.
“Oh, yes. Of course.” The realtor turned away, as if embarrassed, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’m afraid I can’t simply share his information, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“I know he and I got off on the wrong foot.” Becca offered. “But we are going to be neighbors.”
“And when you are, you’ll be able to cultivate your own relationship with him, I have no douhbt.” Wargill smiled once more, as if this settled everything, and started to rise. When he saw that Becca remained seated, he paused, looking down at her. “I have my own relationship with Mr. Neil,” he added.
“Of course.” Becca nodded as the tall man sat back down. “He’s in venture capital. Is he considering buying other units?”
Wargill paused, and so Becca kept on speaking. “Because if that’s his plan, and he’s looking for another unit in our building – one that has a tenant in place…” She waited but Wargill’s face was once again unreadable. “I have been a good tenant,” she added.
“I’m sure you have, Ms. Colwin.” He made a show of checking his phone. “I do have your contact info, and I’ll be sure to let Mr. Neil know of your interest.”
“And that I’m trying to reach the family of Larry–” She didn’t get to finish. The realtor was already on his feet.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a showing to get to. As I’m sure I’ve told you, properties in this market don’t last long.”
Chapter 31.
It was much too cold out for a human to go about with bare hands, and so Clara grew alarmed when her person pulled off one of the fluffy red mittens and tucked it into her pocket as she walked. Her own paws were much more resilient, and even she felt the cold of the sidewalk through her leather pads, a chill that made the tufts of fur between her toes feel hopelessly inadequate. As Becca approached the Charles, Clara shivered. Bad enough the bridge was exposed, with no place to shelter from the gusting wind. The fact of all that water moving underneath would unnerve any cat.
“Hey, Ande. Glad I caught you.” Becca hunched over as she walked, a diehard jogger in MIT sweats the only other pedestrian. “No, I haven’t had a chance to look at the material you dropped off. But I’m thinking there might be another approach.”
She paused as her friend responded. “No, I really can’t ask my mom. And I’m thinking that buying might not be the answer. I just had a very interesting conversation with the real estate manager. He was evasive, but from various things I’ve heard I think that my neighbor is buying up properties as an investment. No, it’s not great for the neighborhood – but, Ande? I was thinking. Maybe, he’d be interested in buying mine – and keeping me on as a tenant.”
A longer pause and Becca switched hands, shoving her bare hand into her pocket. “Well, for starters, I’m a good tenant.” Maybe it was the cold making Becca a bit defensive. As she switched hands once more, after pulling the mitten back on, she thawed. “Also, I was wondering, maybe if he bought through me, he could get it at the tenant discount. I was wondering if you knew anything about how these sales work. I mean, the goal is to help long-term tenants stay in their apartments, right?”
Another pause, as Becca paused to look up at a street sign, her breath a white puff of condensation. “It would be a partnership of some sort. Wouldn’t it? I guess I really need to talk to him. The problem is the realtor’s spooked. He’s trying to keep everything copacetic at my building, and I think he’s afraid I’m going to go off on Neil. We didn’t have the best introduction,” she continued. “I’ll have to try to track him down tonight.”
“No, I left early because of the storm,” she explained, after a pause. “I’m going to meet Ruby – the conservatory student who came into the shop. She’s got a lead on a student apartment, and I told her I’d check it out with her. I’m a little concerned about the neighborhood.” She read an address to her friend. “Makes me even more aware of how hard it is to find a place.”
Suddenly, Becca smiled. “You would? Thanks, Ande. It would be wonderful to have you with me. I mean, you could explain the finances and everything. I’ll let you know if I can find a number. It’s Neil – he’s in venture capital if that helps.” Becca kept walking, and Clara almost believed she could hear her friend’s fingers tapping away at the keys.
“Huh, so he’s got his own company? Maybe that’s good. Maybe that will mean he’ll have some more flexibility. Thanks, Ande. Would you text that to me? I’ll call him now. And, yes, I = will look at the info you dropped off this weekend. I promise.”
The mitten came off again as Becca fussed with her phone, gnawing on her lip as she held it back up to her ear. “Mr. Neil?” Becca sniffed, her nose as red as that mitten. “Becca Colwin here. I have – well, it’s a business proposal. I’d like to come talk with you about it. I’ve got a friend who might be better able to explain everything, and we’d like to speak with you as soon as possible.” Another sniff. “Would you get back to me? Thanks.”
Shoving the phone – and her bare hand – into her pocket, Becca picked up her pace, and Clara had to trot to keep up. The sidewalks were emptier here on the Boston side of the river, the buildings less charming. As the two passed quickly by an ultra-modern high-rise, Clara found herself thinking of her dreams. Surely, there was history here, behind the stone-and-steel facades. Surely, other cats made lives with their people in these tall and faceless buildings, but the calico found such lives hard to imagine. As Becca turned off the avenue to a block of worn-down brick, she sensed the presence of other animals. Not friendly ones, necessarily. The calico drew closer to her person, even as she hurried on. These streets were cold in more ways than one.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” The sky was fully dark by the time Becca reached Ruby’s new apartment. “It was a little hard to find,” she offered by way of an explanation. Clara, who had followed her, understood this to be a half-truth. She’d seen Becca walking up and down the middle of the tiny street. Tucked into an industrial area only a block from the conservatory, it felt unloved, rather than old, and Becca had plainly been more comfortable on the rutted pavement rather than passing too close to the boarded windows. She’d checked her phone several times before finally entering the rundown yellow brick building. Even then, she’d opted to climb three stories rather than trust the tiny elevator that ran alongside the staircase, its open-work cage wheezing and bumping on its way down.
“It isn’t as nice as your neighborhood.” Ruby ducked her head in an almost cat-like acknowledgment as she ushered Becca into the small studio. “But it is furnished.”
“So I see.” Becca might be straining to keep her voice neutral. Clara didn’t have to make the effort, instead focusing on sniffing the battered sofa that ran alongside one wall. It smelled of cigarettes and sweat, while the single bed opposite – a bare mattress on a metal frame – had a musty order that had the calico looking up, searching for signs of a leak above. Her cursory examination of the scratched dresser at the bed’s foot completed her survey of the room, and she jumped up on the ledge of the one window. The direct view looked out on the brick of the adjacent building, but leaning against the panes, Clara could see the street out front, where a figure in an overcoat had taken shelter against the wind.
She turned back to the humans inside the room.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring your violin and your bag – I decided to make a stop first. I was hoping to get some information about the family of Larry Rakov, the man who – your landlord,” her person was saying. “A name and a phone number at least.”
Ruby nodded. “I would like that. That poor man bought my violin.”
“Would you like to be the one to return it?” Becca spoke the question deliberately, and Clara could tell she was watching Ruby’s face.
“Yes.” The other woman nodded vigorously. “Thank you. I would like to meet them. To tell them the story of my grandfather’s violin. To–”
Whatever Ruby was about to say next was interrupted by a loud metallic knocking. “The pipes.” She smiled apologetically. “The kitchen is not in such great shape.”
“I think it may be coming from the hall.” Becca turned toward the door.
“The elevator then.” Ruby moved to open it. “The man who arranged the rental did say he would come by with something for me to sign.”
“Wait.” Becca put out a hand to restrain her. “You haven’t signed a lease yet?”
“No.” Ruby turned back to her. “But it is a good deal, no?”
“No, it’s not.” Becca grabbed for her coat and Ruby’s. “Quick, let’s take the stairs. At the very least, I want to see what else is out there before you commit to this dump.”
“I should leave a note for Matt.” Ruby’s protest was overruled as Becca threw her coat over her shoulders and pulled her out of the apartment. “He was a very kind man, and for a student, it is a saving…”
“It’s not worth it if it’s not safe.” Becca paused on the landing to take stock. From the creak and grind of the elevator, it was clear it was still rising, and she started down the stairs. “The rental you were in before was illegal.” She spoke softly, looking up to make sure Ruby was behind her and missing the sight of a large man, with one drooping eye, as the elevator passed them on its way up. “I don’t think this one would be any better. There are fire hazards, safety codes… Put it down to my sensitivity, if you will. I want to talk to some people at least.”
Ruby hesitated. “And you don’t want me to talk to the landlord?”
“If he is the landlord.” Becca reached for Ruby, to hurry her toward the door. “Wait – Matt? What did you say the agency was called?”
“I don’t know if it is an agency.” Ruby was fussing with the big buttons on her own coat. “The man at the conservatory said it is for students–”
“Student Stay?” Becca stuck her head out the door, letting in a burst of freezing air.
“I believe so.” Ruby was pulling on her beret. “Why?”
“I think I know him.” But before Becca could explain, Ruby was stumbling backwards, her eyes wide with panic.
“What is it?” Becca grabbed her shoulders, steadying her. “Are you okay?”
“That man.” She stared over Becca’s sho
ulder. “He’s here.”
“What man?” Becca turned. The rutted street was empty of everything but some trash, the only thing moving a paper bag caught in the wind. “The realtor?
“No, no.” Ruby pulled back, breaking free. “I don’t know. It’s not – That man.”
Becca followed her gaze, even as Ruby shrunk back against the wall. She was staring at the corner of the building, where man was watching the street. His profile – unsoftened by the shadow – looked more hawk-like than human, an impression that had Clara hunkering down, especially as he turned slowly to take in the empty street with his raptor gaze.
“I’ve seen him before.” Becca stepped back, closing the door to all but a sliver. “Who is he? What does he want?”
“I don’t know.” A rising note of panic in Ruby’s whisper. “He’s been following me.”
“Wait, what?” Becca whirled to face Ruby. “You never said.:”
“I’m sorry.” Ruby looked up, pleading. “That is why – that first day. I went into your shop. To get off the street.”
Becca nodded slowly, remembering. “And then you saw him go by and you ran. And he’s come back.”
Ruby’s silence was her answer.
“Is he why you left the violin? Did this start when you took it?”
“No, I swear.” She raised her hand palm outward. “He has been there since I left home. I thought, at first, I imagined it. But he is there.”