by Clea Simon
“More of your magic?” Leaving Becca to shed her snowy outerwear, Maddy took the bag into the apartment.
“Don’t laugh.” Becca hopped as she pulled off a boot. Clara, by her side, had set to work cleaning the ice melt from between her paw pads. “I swear by the goddess that I felt which stone was real.”
“Or you actually saw where it had landed.” Maddy returned with bowls and retreated once more into the kitchen. “Or you’ve stared at that display for so long you have the fake stones memorized.”
“They don’t last long enough for that.” Becca propped her mittens – the spare green pair – and her hat on the radiator. “Margaret was right. They are our bestsellers. And they’re not fake.”
“I know, they’re real semi-precious stones.” Maddy emerged holding two beers. “I’m not supposed to drink for seven days,” she said. “But this is a special occasion, right?”
Becca’s mouth opened, but it didn’t take any power of Clara’s to keep her responding out loud.
“So, as far as we can tell, they probably tried hiding the gem in the violin itself.” The friends had moved on from the dumplings to the noodles as Becca recounted the revelations of the previous days. “That was probably the original plan – the reason for buying the violin. Ruby did say they’d knocked the bridge out of whack.
“When they realized that wouldn’t work, they put it in the case. The lining was so patched up already, nobody noticed, and it was the perfect distraction. Someone might be looking for an antique instrument, but who thinks about the case? And Ruby made the perfect mule. She had no idea she was smuggling contraband, so she didn’t act frightened. And if she was caught, well, she was completely expendable.”
Maddy shivered, even though her apartment was toasty. “Do you think that poor guy – the one you met – knew?”
Becca, who had just inhaled a mouthful of noodles, chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think so. He seemed nice.” She sipped her beer. “I think Wargill initially installed him as part of his side hustle – offering illegal sublets for the students Brewstein referred. This city is so expensive, who would question it? And then, when they needed a place for the exchange, the apartment must have seemed like a natural.”
She picked up a piece of bok choy with her chopsticks and stared at it. “On the other hand, he knew Ruby was going to bring a violin to his place, and that he was supposed to give her the new case.” She ate the green. “I guess he was expendable too.”
The friends ate silently for a while, and Clara, at their feet, began to nod off.
“Do you really think they were going to let her keep the violin?” Maddy sounded desperate for some good news. “It sounds like they set up the hand off, but…”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s a question of whether they thought they’d be safer buying her silence or shutting her up for good.” Becca shook her head at the thought. “Anyway, she’s safe now. As safe as Interpol can keep her. That inspector – Sanglier – has put her up at the agency’s expense, and the conservatory board is working on her visa. They certainly owe her.”
Maddy was wrestling with her next question. Even half-asleep Clara could see that, and so Becca kept talking. “You were right about trusting her, Maddy. But so was I. She knew something was up, but she didn’t know the extent of it. Also, they made it clear they were keeping an eye on her mother. As she told me, she didn’t have a choice – and she really was hoping for some kind of magic to help her out.”
“Some magic.” Maddy wasn’t going to let her have the last word. “If it weren’t for your faith in her.”
“It wasn’t me, Maddy. It was my cats.”
Chapter 42.
Those words haunted Clara, carrying with them the memory of smoke and of pain.
“Is there more?” She pressed her sisters the next morning, as Becca got ready for work. The city was digging out, and she’d promised Margaret and Elizabeth she’d find a way to open. “Please,” Clara debated staying home. The snow made everything so difficult. “Please, teach me.”
“There’s always more,” said Laurel as she eyed her tail. It looked perfectly clean to her younger sister, but Clara knew better than to comment. “And don’t you think about it. You have a job to do – and we have time.”
Harriet, meanwhile, was silent, her head drooping into sleep until a cough woke her and she sat up, licking her chops. Clara turned toward her older sister in alarm. She hadn’t picked up on anything amiss in her sisters – or herself. Then again, she was learning, there was much she didn’t know.
“Oh, Harriet, you’re doing it again.” For example, she hadn’t even realized that Becca was standing in the doorway. “I’ve not been a good caregiver.”
But if Clara expected her person to come into the bedroom to comfort her cat, or even to remove the hiccupping feline from the bedspread to the floor, she was mistaken. Becca had instead walked into the living room, and so the calico followed in time to see her pick up her phone.
“Cambridge Cat? This is Becca Colwin, returning Dr. Keller’s call?” Anxiety tightened her voice to a thin pitch. “Yes, I’ll hold.”
“So much more to learn…” Laurel’s voice, or the memory of it, soothed Clara, even as she strained to listen. “So much more.”
A minute – or maybe ten – and Clara started, aware that she had begun to doze just as her person might have needed her. Adding to her confusion were her sisters, Harriet and Laurel, both regarding her with calm, if concentrated, stares, lulling her once more back to sleep.
“I am sorry,” the cat says, her head hanging low. In her deepest sorrow she sees those basalt eyes glistening. Hears the deep rumbling, at once purr and growl, and she waits for the blow. The bite.
“Fear not, little one. It is not I who am offended. It is that they cannot conceive of the truth. They are unable to handle our power.”
There is truth in this. The goddess does not lie.
Still… “I did wrong,” said the cat. “I should be punished.”
“No, but you will accept this burden.” The voice of command, deep and strong. “Each generation you will find a person and you will serve her as you serve me. Silently and well. Your sisters will aid you in this, but the burden falls hardest on you, little one. For you know well what it is to fail the one you love.
Clara woke with a gasp, Becca’s voice ringing out from the other room.
“Maddy, you’ll never believe this,” she was saying. “I’m sorry, I mean how are you? Are you feeling better?” A brief pause. “Good, good. I’m so glad. So anyway, the vet kept calling. Yup, the new one from Cambridge Cat. I thought Harriet had been acting odd and he took blood, and I’ve been so worried. But with everything going on, I just hadn’t gotten back to him.”
Clara looked at her sisters. But instead of Laurel’s usual sneer or Harriet’s glare, when their person was caught in an obvious lie, they both appeared oddly content, although Laurel’s tail twitched once. “The tests were fine, he said. My cats are in great shape. Maddy, he’d been trying to reach me because he knew I was worried.” In the pause that followed Harriet and Laurel exchanged a glance, sharing a communication that Clara was not party to. “But also because he wanted to ask me out. Maddy, Dr. Keller – Jerry – and I are going to dinner on Friday.”
Clara didn’t need Laurel’s powers to decipher the squawk that followed, or Harriet’s sense of history to understand the nature of what had just happened.
“You’re all dug out.” That night Marcia, as usual, had arrived first, stamping the snow off her boots before she stepped into the apartment.
“I guess that’s one advantage of the building going condo.” Becca reached for her hat and scarf, taking them over to the radiator to dry. “A team came over with a snow blower yesterday morning.”
“Condo fees.” Marcia handed over her coat, leaning against the doorframe to pull off a boot. “Man, I miss my sneakers. Do you want to close
the door while I do this? I don’t want your cats getting out.”
“They’re smart enough to stay inside.” Behind Becca’s back, Laurel swatted at Clara, catching the smaller cat by surprise and making her jump. Becca looked down at the two cats. “At least, I think so.”
“I was thinking more of your neighbor.” Marcia punctuated her explanation with a meaningful glance toward the stairwell.
“Deb Miles?” Becca closed the door behind her. “We’re never going to be best of friends, but she owes me.”
A questioning glance as the doorbell sounded, and Becca buzzed Ande in as she explained about Wargill. “I think he kept encouraging me to buy because he knew I’d need the money.”
“Not anymore.” Ande came clumping up the stairs, beaming. “Becca, I’ve run the numbers and you’re in!”
Marcia looked over at her host. “You can buy?”
Ande answered for her. “I know the reward money hasn’t come through yet, but I think I can get you a great rate. You’ll still have money in the bank.”
“I knew something was going to come together for you.” Marcia looked from one to the other. “So, tell, what did I miss?”
“Tea first.” Becca waved her guests in. “The kettle’s boiling.”
An hour later, the circle had been convened. After the events of the week, the three focused on invocations for protection and, at Becca’s request, healing. She spoke of Maddy, but both the humans and the felines present heard the echo of another name in her voice. “Peace on all who seek their way and their art,” she concluded, before the circle was opened once again.
“Speaking of peace, how are your cats doing?” Ande reached for the tea. “Are they still wreaking havoc?”
“No.” Becca peered over at Laurel, who lay stretched out on the sofa’s back. “I think they’ve gotten used to my schedule.”
“Maybe they knew something was up with your neighbor,” offered Marcia, who was pretty openly sneaking pieces of a butter cookie to Harriet. “Cats can be sensitive to these things. Maybe more sensitive than we are. Speaking of,” she broke another cookie against the plate, “I still don’t understand how you found the ruby.”
“I’m not sure I can explain.” Becca sipped her tea. “I’d like to say it’s because my cats were paying special attention to the case. Laurel, in particular, had grown fond of lying in it when it was open. I guess it’s a good thing that Ruby isn’t allergic. And sometimes, I swear, Clara looks at me like she’s worried I’m going to run off without her or get in trouble.”
Clara, who had been seated at Becca’s feet, rose in alarm, turning toward Laurel, who had perked up at the sound of her name and now perched sphynx-like on the sofa’s spine.
“But in truth, I think it was just process of elimination,” said Becca, reaching to stroke the calico cat at her feet. “Good old logic, and not magic at all.” Behind her back, Laurel winked, as, beneath the table, Harriet began to purr.