by Clea Simon
“That alley has always creeped me out,” said Becca. “But the lot behind the store is usually deserted.”
“I didn’t see anyone,” Maddy agreed. “It’s like someone was waiting.”
“If someone was,” Becca’s voice fell to a whisper, “odds are he was looking for me.”
Chapter 35.
The two friends fell silent, and Clara became more aware of the beeping of machinery further along the corridor.
“I’m okay, Becs.” Maddy blinked her eyes open, gazing up at her friend. “Really. But all I remember is that I had something to tell you, and when I try to remember what that was all I know is there’s nothing there. I just can’t get it back.”
She shook her head, as if to clear it and ended up wincing from the effort. “All I’ve got is that feeling.”
“And the headache.” Becca squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
Her friend managed a wan smile. “Be careful, Becca.” Maddy grasped friend’s hand. “Please, don’t trust anyone you don’t know.”
Becca glanced over her shoulder. Ruby was nowhere to be seen.
If Clara could have she would have saved her person from the frenzy that followed. With the kind of expletive that the mild-mannered young woman did not often employ, Becca jumped to her feet, throwing open the curtain that had shielded her friend’s privacy.
“Where –? Excuse me.” She grabbed a passing orderly. “Did you see a woman – my age – dark hair – walk by?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. This is a restricted area.”
“I know.” Becca was already peering past him. “She came in with me. At least, I thought she did.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, gently removing her hand from his arm. And then he walked on.
“Maddy?” Becca retraced her steps. An attendant was helping her friend sit up. “Did you see when she left?”
“No. Sorry.” Holding tightly to the aide’s arm, Maddy grimaced as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and let him help her into a wheelchair.
The attendant looked up. “Your friend can have more visitors once she’s admitted.”
“Where are you taking her?” Becca blinked, recalled to the moment. “What’s wrong?”
“My head.” Maddy smiled weakly, motioning to the darkening bruise on her face. “They want to keep watch over me.”
“Oh, Maddy! But I’m glad they’re taking care of you. Let me know if you need anything?” Becca backed off as the aide swung the chair around.
“You can check in on your friend with patient information tomorrow.”
“Wait, Maddy!” Becca had stepped back to let them pass, and although she moved to follow them, she found her path blocked. “You didn’t say – did you see her at all?” She called out over a stretcher and its two accompanying EMTs. “Was she behind me when I came in?” But they were gone.
Clara looked on in dismay as Becca wheeled back and forth, visibly torn between following her friend and backtracking to search for Ruby. Even if she could have communicated with her, the little cat wasn’t sure what she could have shared. After braving the noise and odors of the ER, once Becca had found her friend Clara had found herself nodding. Not that napping is unusual for a cat, but seeing Becca’s distress, the petite calico regretted her brief snooze.
“Excuse me.” Becca finally had to move as another attendant pushed by, followed closely by yet another stretcher.
“You can’t wait here, Miss.” A portly man in scrubs called from the safety of the sidelines. “You’ll have to step outside.”
Becca nodded, and for a moment Clara thought she was going to start explaining about Maddy and Ruby. She clearly thought the better of it, though, noting that the passage of one young woman under her own steam most likely wouldn’t have caught anyone’s attention, and headed toward the double doors.
If Becca thought Ruby might be waiting for her, she was disappointed. Clara felt her exhale as the realization hit her, and when her person headed back toward the hospital entrance, the little feline scurried to follow. She had no idea where Becca was headed, but anywhere away from all the noise and scent was good for her.
A quick survey of the street revealed no sign of Ruby, but when Becca pulled her phone from her pocket Clara sighed with relief. If all went as usual, a car would show up, and as much as the cat disliked riding in them, the snow was falling steadily and the temperature dropping. She very much wanted to go home.
Becca’s handling of the device, however, did not produce the expected results. Instead, it emitted a voice – harsh, male – that seemed to take Becca by surprise.
“We should talk.” That was all Clara caught, before Becca was tapping away.
“Thanks for calling, Mr. Neil.” She scanned the street as she spoke, a forced friendliness softening her voice even as she waved down a cab. “I got your message. I’d love to talk, and, yes, I will bring my friend.”
“Central Square,” she told the driver, sliding into the seat. “I’m going to the corner of Mass and Ipswich – a store called Charm and Cherish.”
“Got it.” The driver, an older man, had a South Asian accent that gave his words a sing-song quality. “My daughter told me about that store. Said you have a nice Ganesh in the window.”
“We do indeed.” Becca chirped in response and proceeded to regale the driver with stories about the shop’s inventory, as Clara stared out the window, trying to concentrate on the swirling snow. Cars had their uses, she assumed, but the motion was unnatural, and the sudden appearance of a furball would undoubtedly raise questions.
As the cab pulled to the curb, however, Becca fell silent. As soon as she’d paid, she was out on the sidewalk – her cat scurrying to keep up – and pushing her way through the door.
“Careful!” Margaret barked from behind the counter, her usual sour look in place. “If that glass breaks again, it’s coming out of your pay.”
“Margaret!” Becca stopped short. “I didn’t know – Elizabeth said she was going to come in and do some inventory.”
“She also said you were selling candles,” she said, scowling. “Until you decided to run off. It’s not even six o’clock–”
“I’m sorry, really.” Becca craned toward the back room. “Did a dark-haired woman come in? Ruby?”
“Of course. Bitsy passed your message along to me.”
“I didn’t…” Becca paused. “What message?”
“That some cousin of yours was going to come by.” Margaret shrugged. “Though why we should be catering to your visiting relatives when I’m the one who’s trying to–”
“Cousin?” Becca interrupted her boss. “She said that?” Without waiting for an answer, Becca ran into the back, and Clara scrambled to follow. Margaret did too, though by the time she had extracted her considerable girth from behind the counter, Becca was simply standing there – staring at the empty slot on the shelf.
“What are you doing?” For a moment, it almost sounded like Margaret had forgotten her pique.
“It’s gone.” Becca declared, before turning to face her boss. “What did she mean by ‘cousin?”
“I assume she meant a relation of some sort. Your grandmother’s other daughter or the like.” Margaret pulled herself up to her full five-four, attempting to regain her dignity. “But just because you work here doesn’t mean you can use my shop as a public space.”
“That’s it!” Becca’s cry startled her boss and her cat equally. “Thank you, Margaret,” she called out as she pulled the door, none too gently, and slipped out to the street. “And, and – I’m sorry! I’ll explain everything as soon as I can.”
Chapter 36.
Becca started down the street and then caught herself, stepping off the curb and waving one red mitten furiously. Clara braced – she’d been outside enough to know that this was rush hour, and that meant danger. But Becca hadn’t been the only one to take off early, appar
ently. Traffic was light, and the few vehicles making their way through the snow were moving slowly. Within moments, a cab pulled up to the curb and Becca jumped in, her shaded cat close behind.
“Massachusetts Conservatory.” Becca was leaning forward, over the driver’s seat, as if she were about to grab the wheel.
“The Mass Ave entrance?” The driver glanced up at the sky, rubbing his steamy windshield for a better view.
“No, hang on.” Some fussing with her phone, brought Becca the answer. “The practice rooms are at 385 Hemenway.”
“Fenway, got it.” Clara dug her claws in as the driver pulled into traffic. Becca, at any rate, seemed eager rather than concerned, leaning against the front seat as if she could will herself to move ahead of the car.
Becca, meanwhile, kept fussing with her phone. “Elizabeth? What’s up? I was just at the shop–” Her uncertainty must have been caused by the connection, because after a moment she spoke again. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
Another pause, as she pointed out a turn to the cabbie. “Cut down here.”
Clara’s sharp ears perked up. The voice on the phone was increasing in pitch and volume.
“Margaret told me that that girl – the violinist – came by.” Becca must be distracted to talk back, Clara realized. Indeed, her eyes were still on the road ahead. “She said that you told her she was my cousin?”
The cab pulled over beside a parked car, and the cabbie looked back over his shoulder. “Here, miss?”
But Becca was focused on her phone. “Hang on, Elizabeth. You’re breaking up. Trust? Trust myself? Or–”
She was interrupted by a loud honk. Behind the cab, a driver was gesticulating wildly. “Miss?”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I’ve got to go.”
With that, Becca hung up and dug into her bag for her wallet. As she handed a ten to the driver, she paused – taking in the street. “I’m sorry, but would you mind driving around the block? I think I’d rather go in the back.”
With a shrug, the cabbie pulled back out, quickly enough so that Becca was thrown back against the seat. Clara scrambled to avoid falling on top of her. The sudden weight of a cat she couldn’t see would not be reassuring in this situation.
She needn’t have worried. Even as she pulled herself upright, Becca was transfixed by the sidewalk. By – Clara realized – the sudden appearance of a stooped figure, his head swiveling back and forth nervously as he scanned the crowded city street with dark eyes under heavy brows.
“Here. This is fine.” As the cabbie turned the corner, Becca was already shoving another bill at him. Out on the street, she craned around nervously. Clara wished she could reassure her. While she had missed the sight of the small man from inside the vehicle, out here, where she could pick up both scents and the slightest sounds, she felt confident that the stranger was not yet near. Still, she appreciated the care Becca took as she rounded the corner to the quiet back street where she paused and pressed herself against the brick wall. Taking in her surroundings, she began to walk again, hanging close to that wall until she reached a recessed door decorated with the conservatory’s logo.
“ID?” The voice came from a glass-fronted cubicle to her right. Inside, a stout bearded man, his face as round as an owl’s, looked up from a book one plump hand open on the counter before him.
“Excuse me?” Becca had been looking back through the glass door. Now she turned to take in the gatekeeper, who formed a small hillock in his blue hoodie.
“Conservatory ID?” He blinked up at her, clearly wanting to return to his reading.
“I’m here to see Ruby Grozny.” Becca managed a smile. “I believe she’s in her practice space.”
“Can you call her?” He tilted his head, shifting the beard enough to reveal the conservatory logo. It was a badge of entry, like an ID. The smile wasn’t working, and Clara – who had followed Becca into the claustrophobic entryway – knew she had to think fast. Maybe what Laurel had said was true, and they all shared the same powers to some extent. With that in mind, she focused on Becca’s friendliness. Her inherent decency. That was easy, and if she could only get the man in the cubicle to believe her…
“She left her cell at my place.” Becca shook her head, at her friend’s imagined oversight. Clara sensed a movement beneath the beard. Was that, perhaps, a smile? “I wouldn’t ask, but it’s a family matter,” Becca leaned in.
The note of confidence in her voice must have paid off, if not Clara’s concentrated efforts. Or maybe the gatekeeper simply wanted to get back to his book. Nodding to indicate he’d made a decision, he reached under his desk. A click and a buzz, and Becca was in – with Clara slipping through the door behind her.
“Miss?” The back of his cubicle opened onto the hallway, and that bearded head poked out.
“Yes?” Clara could feel Becca tense and she pulled back, preparing to jump. She wasn’t sure what exactly she could do if this fat man came after her person, but shaded as she was, she’d at least have the element of surprise in her favor.
“Ruby’s in number eight,” he said, waving at some point further down. “Keep going and then turn right. She hasn’t been there for long, so I don’t think you’ll really be interrupting her.”
Becca’s broad smile may have sprung more from relief than gratitude, but it brought an answering grin from the gatekeeper anyway. “Tell her we’re glad she’s with us,” he called, raising one broad hand in salute.
“I will.”
Becca set out with a jaunty step that took her to the turn in the hallway. Then, out of sight of the big man, she slowed, pausing to peer down the hall and, Clara observed, to listen. The cat couldn’t be sure what her person could hear. She picked up a strange reedy rise and fall – a musician practicing scales, Clara realized, though where she got that idea she could not tell – and another counting softly to herself, all from within the series of closed doors that lined the hall.
Finally, as she accompanied Becca down to the end of the passage, another sound announced the presence of the violinist within. One note, soft, plaintive almost, grew in volume and intensity, before giving way to a cascade of tones in rapid succession. The effect was strangely soothing, and Clara felt herself being lulled into an answering purr. Then suddenly, it wasn’t – and Clara started. Becca didn’t seem to notice. Her person was standing by the door, leaning against the frame with a dreamy expression on her face. But to Clara the change was jarring. The vibration – she lacked the words to describe it more fully – was simply off.
But if Becca didn’t hear the strange flatness in the sound, the sudden cessation of the music caught her attention. That and what sounded like a sob had her tapping gently on the door.
“Ruby? Are you there?” She leaned in and kept her voice low. “It’s me, Becca. Please let me in.”
Silence. Becca tried again. “I know you’re in there, Ruby. Please, we have to talk.”
Becca held her breath, but Clara could hear the rustle of movement within. Moments later, when the door inched open, Becca glanced over her shoulder and down the hall.
“Let me in, Ruby. It’s – I’m worried.”
With a nod, the other woman backed up, and once Clara was convinced that nobody was waiting to pounce, she followed her person inside. The practice room was small, the size of a cubicle with white-painted walls and an overhead lighting fixture that played up the pallor of Ruby’s face. As Becca stepped in, the dark-haired girl moved back, bumping into the portable music stand. Behind her, on the room’s one chair, lay the violin case, open to reveal the dark wood of the violin.
“I heard you playing.” Becca started gently, as if trying to calm a spooked animal. “It was beautiful.”
“No. it wasn’t.” Ruby looked mournfully at the instrument. “Something is wrong. They broke – something. It’s not the same.”
“I’m sorry.” Becca stared at the girl but didn’t approach her. She was intentionally bl
ocking the door, her cat realized. Ruby had bolted once. “All the more reason to talk to the authorities.”
Ruby sighed and her shoulders drooped, as if all the air had been let out of her. “I know. I’m sorry. I was hoping…”
“You were hoping that you could keep your grandfather’s violin?” Becca’s voice was gentle.
The faintest nod in response. “How is your friend?”
“She’ll be okay.” Becca mustered a smile, even as an urgency crept into her voice. “Though I’m thinking that she was attacked for the same reason that my apartment was broken into. I’m sorry, I really am, but this violin is in the center of what’s going on.” She stopped, momentarily lost in thought. “Ruby, you didn’t tell anyone else you were coming here. Did you?”
“Me? No.”
“We’ll have to take our chance.” Becca looked around the small space. “They must have figured it out, the same as I did.”
“They? Did you see someone?” Ruby’s eyes grew wide, and Clara could hear her heart begin to race.
Becca nodded. “I think so. That wiry guy? The one with the nose.”
Ruby whirled around, as if the man might have suddenly appeared behind her. “He can’t – we can’t let him find us.”
“I don’t plan to wait for him.” Becca watched as Ruby began gathering up her music. “But Ruby? Who is he? What is going on? I’ve trusted you thus far. You’ve got to trust me now.”
Ruby turned to her, a silent plea on her face. Becca was waiting, though, and so as she slipped the sheets of music into their compartment, Ruby began to talk.
“This violin,” she said, her fingers gently stroking the burnished wood as she set it back in its velvet bed. “My mother did try to pawn it. Not sell, for we hoped to get it back. But in our town, well, there isn’t much money. And nobody wants something that has been used.” She turned, a crooked smile on her face, even as she zipped up the case.