by Clea Simon
“Come on,” Becca urged, and slamming into the door, they tumbled out into the storm. “This way.” Grabbing Ruby’s hand she pulled her to the side of the portico, where giant pillars provided a bit of shelter, the lights from the building making their shadow an even deeper black.
“Which way did they go?” Wargill was the first out, nearly tumbling down the slick steps. The big man followed, running halfway down the stairs before he stopped to scan the street. Behind him, the dean and Neil stood, right by the door, and from where she crouched by Becca’s feet Clara could see Neil’s glower as he cradled his bleeding ankle, peering through the blowing snow to the puddles of light beneath the lights below. The storm’s fury should have cleared the streets, but a handful of pedestrians soldiered on, bundled into anonymity in the blowing white.
“Is that them?” The dean pointed at a couple who had emerged from a shadow to skid toward a waiting bus. The big man took off.
“No, wait.” Brewstein, waving, stepped out into the storm. The heavy snow was already blanketing the stone steps, obscuring any prints. Obscuring the sleet that had fallen earlier, as well, and as the round administrator strained forward, Clara could see his leather shoes begin to slip on the treacherous footing. Flailing, the dean reached backward – grabbing for something, someone to right himself. But Wargill was too far away, having taken shelter deeper under the portico, and Neil simply stepped back, watching as Brewstein came down hard.
“You may as well break you own back,” he said, as the dean scrambled to his feet, his round face a mask of pain. The scar-faced man had disappeared down the street after the bus. “You’ve made a mess of everything. If you weren’t so busy trying to eke out a few extra dollars, that girl would never have been here. She never would have caught on and stolen the case back.”
Clara felt Becca stiffen. Behind her, Ruby had begun to shiver uncontrollably.
“I’ve got it under control.” The dean was brushing himself off. “Don’t forget who I am.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Neil glared. He was leaning against the pillar now, his bitten ankle in his hand.
“I’m a dean at the Massachusetts Conservatory.” Brewstein appeared to puff himself up once more. With the lights of the building behind him, his round features looked sunken and dark. “If I call the police and tell them a student has stolen a valuable instrument, I’m sure they’ll give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Neil looked askance at the little man.
“Especially if I explain that the student is disturbed,” Brewstein continued. “That she has delusions of persecution and was last seen running around in a blizzard with some soon-to-be-homeless weirdo. A clear danger to self, I’d say.” He paused to look down at the darkening leather of his shoes. “Let’s go back inside and I’ll make the call. If I act quickly enough I might be able to save these Ferragamos.”
Another blast of wind settled it, and the three retreated back into the light and the warmth, leaving Becca and Ruby – along with the shaded Clara – on the portico. But the pillar that hid them provided little protection from the worsening storm. Ruby, hugging herself, looked to her companion.
“What should we do?” Her lips were turning blue.
“I don’t know.” Becca appeared so lost in thought that she was oblivious of the cold. Still, Clara could see how she clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. “I like to think that the police could be trusted, but…”
She shifted to look at her companion, her face unbearably sad.
“What about this Elizabeth?” Ruby’s shivering made her words nearly unintelligible. “You said I could trust her.”
“So I did.” As if woken from a trance, Becca reached forward and wrapped her arm around the freezing student. “We’ll go to Charm and Cherish. There’s a land line in the store, and I can call Elizabeth – and we can get out of this storm.”
Picking their way carefully down the stone steps Becca and Ruby made their way down to the street. For Clara, the accumulating coverage presented dual difficulties. As a small creature, she found herself leaping rather than stepping to make her way through what was to her chest-high snow. And although she had been careful to keep herself shaded, she could not control the cat-sized pockmarks she left behind each time she jumped.
“Too much awareness increases their risk.” Her sisters’ lesson echoed as she looked back. Perhaps with her tail, but, no… spurred on by the cold, Becca and Ruby were practically running as they left behind the conservatory and headed for the corner, passing the long stone face of the conservatory She would just have to trust to fate to hide her trail.
But the two young women had stopped. “Closed?” Becca was yelling, a note of fear mixed in with the anger. “How can the T be closed?”
“How do we get there there?” Ruby looked around. “I do not see another bus.”
“I don’t think we can wait.” Becca, cradling her bare hand, scanned the empty street. Under the waves of snow blowing in, each one thicker than the last, even the black pavement began to fade, turning to a muddy gray and then white as they watched.
“Maybe the police would not be so bad.” Ruby’s voice seemed to startle Becca out of a reverie, and she turned. The woman beside her was shivering uncontrollably now, the tip of her nose had turned an angry red. “I do not know…”
“No.” Becca, strained to the limit. “If I had my phone…” She looked around once more, her face white with the cold. “If I could only summon…”
Clara, at her feet, looked up in despair. Her fur had soaked through, and she had too busy chasing her person to clean the ice from between her paw pads. They no longer hurt – either from the sharp ice or the cold – but a strange stiffness had begun to set in. Something more than the usual feline desire to nap was at work.
“What’s that?” Becca pulled Ruby back, nearly tripping over Clara – and rousing the little calico from her stupor. A police cruiser had turned the corner, and Ruby, with a cry, stepped forward raising her arm.
“No!” Becca reached for her – and as she did, Clara felt a surge. She meant to jump, to throw herself between her person and the street – the police. Danger. Only this felt different, as if a hidden source of warmth had surfaced, rushing to her aid.
“Look!” As Ruby stumbled back, clumsy from the cold, Becca pointed. The cruiser had passed by, but turning the corner a lone yellow cab, its wipers working furiously skidded to a halt.
“Ladies.” The driver rolled down his window. “What are you doing out in this weather?”
“It’s a long story.” Becca fumbled at the door with frozen hands. “Can you take us to Central Square?”
“I was heading home, but I surely can’t see leaving you out here.” The lock popped and the door came free. “Climb in.”
Chapter 39.
Clara had fully cleaned her toes by the time the cab reached Charm and Cherish, the cab’s noisy heater helping to melt the last stubborn crystals. Her coat would take longer – the soft underlayer had gotten soaked through, but as the two women consulted in whispers she had managed to given herself a thorough tongue bath, making sure those all-important guard hairs were back in place. As she groomed, the calico thought back to that strange burst of warmth. Had it been an illusion? The appearance of this taxi a happy coincidence?
The cab came to a halt before she’d reached any resolution.
“No charge.” The cabbie waved away Becca’s protestations about the shop and the register. “You two just stay safe,” he said, and drove away, disappearing into the dark as the snow continued to fall.
Becca frozen fingers fumbled with the lock, but soon the two were inside. Ruby, who had begun to revive in the overheated cab, began to brush down the violin even before the bells on the door stopped jingling, knocking the accumulated ice and melting snow off its canvas cover with her red, chapped hands.
“Here, let me.” Becca reached for the instrument and placed it
on the counter, beside the register, pushing aside the dish of colored stones. “I have a dust cloth here someplace. As soon as I call Elizabeth, I’ll find it.”
“No matter.” Ruby had opened the case and sighed with relief. Although the edges of the velvet appeared to have darkened with moisture and the crystal of the hygrometer was misty, the violin itself was dry and intact, showing no more wear than it had the day before. Unbuttoning her coat, she rubbed her hands back to life against her sweater, and then lifted the instrument from its worn, if plush, bed, holding it carefully away from her dripping hair and clothes.
Becca, meanwhile, had picked up the phone behind the register. “Elizabeth? I know it’s late. I’m sorry. I’m – we’re – downstairs.” She was staring at the violin case, Clara realized. Her voice distracted as she told the woman on the other end. “We need your help.”
Whoever she was speaking to must have had questions. Clara could hear her voice, but Becca had already hung up, focusing intently on the empty case in front of her.
“What did Neil mean, Ruby?” Her voice sounded distant. Preoccupied. “She never would have stolen the case back from us?”
“What?” Ruby looked up. The color – a healthy pink – was returning to her cheeks. “I don’t understand.”
“No, maybe you didn’t.” Becca’s pulled the case toward her, her hands running over the velvet. “You said the violin has been messed with.”
“Yes.” Ruby looked down at the instrument in her hands. “The bridge had been moved, and there are scratches.”
“But otherwise it’s fine, right? There isn’t anything rattling around inside it or anything?”
“What? No.”
Becca nodded, as if this made sense, and Clara, curious, jumped silently up to the counter. Once again, she found herself drawn to the pretty stones, feeling the warmth that emanated in waves from their rich colors. But, stepping carefully by the shallow dish, she realized she was sensing something stronger, warmer from the old velvet case. Still cold, still wet, she longed to snuggle down into the cavity that had held the violin. To sprawl, as Laurel had, along its plush lining.
No wonder Becca was running her hand over the lining. Could she be sensing this warmth? They had all been so cold only minutes before.
But, no, Becca paused, her fingers playing with a patch that had been sewn in place. “Do you remember this?”
Her question sounded out of place, but Ruby answered. “Yes. My mother sewed that for her father. A music stand, I believe, had fallen…”
Becca’s fingers moved on, resting on the dial of the hygrometer. “This was new though. Yes?”
“Yes.” Ruby nodded. “Many of the new cases have them.”
But Becca wasn’t listening. Looking around frantically – for what, Clara didn’t know – she finally gave up and started grabbing at the edge of the tiny dial, trying to pull it forth with her fingernails.
“What are you doing?” Ruby reached to stop her, transferring the violin to her other hand.
“I don’t think this was to make the case better.” Becca dug in, and Clara itched to help her. Her own claws, after all, would be much more efficient at digging into that soft fabric. Digging for the source of that heat. “This was to hide the prize they wanted you to smuggle.”
“What? No.” Ruby shook her head. “Becca, you make no sense.”
Becca didn’t answer, so intent was she on grasping the metal rim of the instrument until finally, with a small pop, the metal cylinder came free. Tossing it on the counter she reached inside the cavity. “Then what do you make of this?” She held up a stone as red as fire. Smooth and round, it caught the light and shot it forth like flame, flickering as the bells on the shop door rang out as if in response.
“You caught on.” A man, his face stern and lined, a snow-covered cap pulled low over his heavy brow. “I was wondering when I would finally see that.”
Chapter 40.
Becca acted as quickly as a cat, tossing the ruby into the dish with the other colored stones.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, standing tall. “And for the record, we’re closed.”
He chuckled and shook his head as he pointed to the collection of colored stones, even as the bells jingled once more. Elizabeth quickly sized up the situation.
“Becca, thank you for coming in.” She glanced sideways at the man. “I’ve already alerted the authorities.”
The man laughed again, softly, as if at a private joke. “No, you haven’t.”
He slipped one hand inside his jacket, and the woman stepped back. Becca reached forward, as if to pull Ruby to her. Clara braced. But all the man pulled out was a billfold, which opened to reveal a photo ID.
“But I have. Paul Sanglier,” he said by way of explanation, showing the opened billfold to Elizabeth, before stepping forward to present it to Ruby and Becca. “Interpol.”
“Interpol?” Elizabeth’s brows went up in surprise. “I wasn’t aware there was a red notice out.”
Sanglier frowned. “This is not about an individual.” He spoke as if he were reading from a script. “We are assisting the Hungarian authorities in the retrieval of an object of cultural significance.”
“The Vére ruby.” Elizabeth nodded. To Clara’s amazement, she didn’t seem surprised.
“And the counterfeits it has spawned, which are spawning their own wave of illegal activity.” He eyed the dish of colored stones. “I’ll take those.”
“You can’t do that.” Margaret appeared in the doorway, shaking the snow from an umbrella. “They’re my best sellers.”
“Margaret, we have a box of them in back.” Elizabeth’s eyed the ceiling in exasperation.
“I don’t care.” The little woman crossed her arms. “This is my shop. I’ll sue. Get a warrant.”
Sanglier nodded. “I can do that. We do prefer to work through the local authorities. Of course, I will need to surrender these young women as well. They can join the four men my colleagues in the Boston police have already picked up for questioning. There may also be a question about a student visa for this young woman here. If it was obtained under false pretenses...”
“I don’t care.” Margaret widened her stance, as Ruby turned toward Becca, a panicked look on her face.
“Becca, those men…”
Elizabeth frowned, settling her gaze on a spot on the counter. “Clara?” One word, so soft as to be barely audible.
“What did you say?” Becca started.
“You have power.” Elizabeth raised her voice a fraction. “Use it.”
“Well, I…” Becca looked down at the counter, her cheeks reddening once more.
“What do I do? Great Bast.” Clara, sat there frozen, aware of the disconcerting gaze of the older woman. Aware, as well, that all eyes were on her person, her beloved Becca. “Laurel? Harriet?”
“Your prime duty is to aid your person.” The response, like an echo, in the close air.
Becca’s hand was hovering over the dish. Surely, she could feel the warmth given off by the stones. The pulse of the tiger eye. The pure and steady heat from that ruby. She reached down, her finger going toward a garnet, the one Marcia had so admired only a few days before. A red stone, but the wrong one.
“This is nonsense.” The Interpol man stepped forward. “I’m not leaving without that stone. You’ll get your paperwork–”
Margaret stepped forward to block him. “You do that–”
A nudge, that was all. With a flick of her paw, Clara pushed the ruby from the pile and watched as the round, bright stone slid over the others towards Becca’s outstretched hand.
“It’s this one.” Becca lifted it for all to see. “Here’s your ruby, Mr. Sanglier.”
The man took it, squinting down at the stone. “How can you be sure?”
Clara concentrated. Not on the man – not at first – but on her sister, Laurel, with her power of suggestion. On Harriet,
and all she had taught her. On all the cats who had come before and the people they served…
The warmth from the stone welled up, and the little cat felt a surge. The man before her appeared to have felt it too. He tilted his head, his lower lip jutting forward as if he were considering its source.
“Then again, my team is well equipped…” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped the stone in it. “I may as well take this to be tested.”
With a nod, he turned and walked back out into the storm.
“How did you do that?” Ruby was breathless with awe.
“I’m not sure.” Becca spoke slowly, as she tried to work out what had happened. “I was trying to feel if there was any difference – and that stone just came to me.” A pause, as an unreadable expression crossed her face. “I hope it was the right one.”
“It was.” Elizabeth voiced with certainty. “You have a gift.”
“I knew it.” Ruby, beaming, threw herself at Becca, clasping her in an enthusiastic embrace. Elizabeth, meanwhile, looked down at the counter, where Clara sat, still stunned by her own actions, and, with a sly smile, winked.
Chapter 41.
By the time the storm had passed, it had dumped fourteen inches of snow on the city, a load that the ferocious winds had kicked up into drifts too high for any cat to jump over. Clara, therefore, had to tag close behind Becca as her person made her way past the industrious shovelers and city plows to visit her friend Maddy. The detour she’d made to pick up dinner at Zoe’s had made the trip take nearly twice as long. But with the shop and nearly everything else in the city – except for the friends’ favorite restaurant – closed, Becca seemed to be enjoying the walk.
“Ta da!” She lifted the bag in triumph when Maddy came to the door. Her friend looked the worse for wear, pale except for the purple bruising that extended beyond the bandage on her forehead, her fine hair hanging free of its usual neat bun. She managed a smile, however, as she ushered her friend inside.