She turned, maneuvering Clara like a kitten. Sure enough, Becca was standing on the sidewalk, alone. The man she had known as Tiger appeared to have fled, leaving her gaping, her head swiveling between the sidewalk and the hat that now lay squashed flat in the road before her. But it wasn’t the cloche she seemed to see.
“Clara?” She was blinking at the traffic, which sped past unabated. “Clara kitty?”
“She can’t see us.”Laurel muttered.“Not now.”
“But she’ll be worried.” Despite the pulse of pain, she yearned to be back on the ground with her person.
“She’s about to be very busy,”said her sister. Sure enough, a siren added its wail to the noise, causing Becca to turn in its direction and set off at a run.“Now are you content, you silly clown? Because I’ve got enough to do to get us both home without having to answer all your questions.”
With that, Laurel began to purr, and the rising and falling vibration lulled Clara, who closed her eyes and felt herself a kitten again. She was carried like this once. She recalled a storm and a sudden exodus. The abandoned shed where she and her sisters had been born was no longer safe, a soft voice purred. They were going to a new home and to a new responsibility. They were to take up the mantle of the cats before them, joining forces to assist a young woman who was also just beginning to make her way in the world.
“You’ll be fine here.”She recalled a gentle push. A nudge with a wet nose sending her waddling after her sisters into the box trap the shelter worker had set out.“Look out for each other, girls!”
“We will, Mama,” Clara called. And her sisters? They must have been there before her. All she could remember was that rough, warm tongue.
“There we go. Almost all better now.”
It felt so good. The pain was almost gone, and Clara looked up to see not green eyes but gold. Harriet’s warm bulk towered over her as she groomed Clara’s injured leg. They were on the sofa, in Becca’s apartment. Safe.
“Harriet?” Clara blinked, confused.
“Hush, little one.” Between Harriet’s warm bulk and the reassurance of her purr, Clara relaxed. Strangely, she did feel better. She didn’t know Harriet could heal.
“There’s lots you don’t know, Clown.” Laurel, washing her own booties, murmured from her perch on the sofa’s back.“Not that you’d ever listen…”
“Hush.” Harriet looked up. Clara felt it too, the rapid patter of footsteps running up the stairs. A moment later, the sound of a key in the lock, and then Becca,their Becca, was racing in. She scooped Clara up in her arms.
“Clara! I was so worried.” She hugged the calico close. “I thought I saw you outside. I thought you were hit by a car. I was so scared.”
Clara mewed softly and squirmed to be put down. The affection was lovely, but the embrace was making her leg ache.
“Clara?” Becca held her pet before her, then gently placed her on the floor. Clara stepped gingerly. Yes, her leg no longer throbbed, and it bore her weight. Still, she lifted it ever so slightly. “You’re limping,” her person noted.
As if to prove her wrong, Clara walked over to Harriet and nuzzled her oldest sister. It was the least she could do.“Thank you.”
***
“I don’t understand. I was sure…” Becca shook her head. Without her new hat, her curls sprang free. Clara had never seen a more welcome sight. “Anyway, you’re here. All three of you, and now I’ve got to go. I’ve got to meet Detective Abrams and explain everything. The minute this isall settled, though, I’m taking you to the vet.”
“Good job.” Laurel’s retort lacked its usual bite, and Clara looked over at her sister.“Little Miss Know-it-all.”
Harriet, settling back on the carpet, simply closed her eyes and continued with that self-satisfied, healing purr.
“I have to say, this one is coming along rather well.”Laurel watched as, after another round of pets and some treats, Becca found another hat and, with a last backward glance, locked the door behind her.
“Coming along?”Clara looked at her sister.“You mean, she can learn?”
But Laurel only gave the feline equivalent of a shrug. And since Harriet was now sound asleep—snoring, in fact—Clara lifted her tender paw, shimmied her hind quarters, and leaped through the wall to follow their person back down to the street.
“Oh, don’t be silly.”The voice beside her startled Clara, and she landed hard on the sidewalk. Laurel’s presence was unnerving. Even more so was the feel of teeth on her skin as her older sister once again lifted her by the scruff. Sleepiness and that strange tingling, and then they were in Central Square, outside Charm and Cherish, as Becca came up the block.
“How did you…?”Clara twisted around to face her sister.
“Quiet, silly! Listen and learn.”
“Elizabeth!” Becca was banging on the door.
“Calm down, child.” The older sister was opening it, still in her cleaning clothes. “I knew you’d be back. All of you.”
“All? Never mind, I’m here to warn you. A plant, a poisonous plant, has been planted…I mean, someone is trying to frame…”
“Ah, Ms. Colwin.” She stopped talking as a large, familiar man stepped out of the back room. “Why am I not surprised to see you again?”
“I left a message that I’d meet you here.” Becca sounded a bit defensive. “I had to make a stop first.”
“And you thought you’d warn Ms. Elizabeth?” His voice rumbled like a growl. “Tell her to get rid of evidence?”
“It’s a plant.” Becca caught herself. “In both senses. I don’t think Elizabeth took it. I think Tiger, or whatever his real name is, did. He’s had it all along. The real Tiger said he’d seen someone hanging around. He must have stolen it from the shop after hearing Elizabeth lecture Gaia. He thought it might come in handy while he was keeping an eye on Frank Cross. Maybe he knew Elizabeth did some gardening—she had an aloe plant. Maybe he’d seen that and it gave him the idea, and when questions came up about Frank’s death, he tried to frame Margaret and Elizabeth.”
“I think you’re forgetting someone.”
“Gaia? She was an afterthought. Part of his ‘cleanup,’ in case she knew anything. Though I guess he might have wanted it to look like a guilt-ridden suicide attempt.”
Abrams was shaking his head.“No, Becca. You.”
“Me?” Becca blanched, and her hand went to her bag.
But the detective only smiled.“An over-eager amateur poking her nose in where it doesn’t belong could get in trouble, you know.”
Becca’s color turned from pale to pink. “You wouldn’t have known about the license plate without me. Or the wolf’s bane, for that matter.”
“We have Frank Cross’s financial records,” he said gently. “We have a description of the car. We knew he was in over his head.”
“But I gave you Tiger.”
“And I’m not going to prosecute you for soliciting as a private investigator without a license.”
Becca didn’t need Laurel’s suggestion to let the detective have the last word.
Chapter 39
The next few days were crazy, with phone calls and visits from Detective Abrams and his colleagues. Harriet was permanently fluffed with annoyance, and Laurel had taken to sleeping on her perch on the bookshelf, what with all the interruptions. Clara, however, kept closer to her person than ever. She’d seen the hat and remembered all too well how close she’d been to losing her. The plump calico was on the back of the sofa, nuzzling up to Becca’s neck, when Maddy came by with the news.
“They’ve found him. Tiger, that is.” Maddy held out her phone. “Your Tiger, I mean. That’s him, right?”
“Yeah.” Becca’s voice went soft as she read out loud. “That’s him—Thomas O’Hara. ‘A onetime bicycle racer, O’Hara had been disqualified for betting on his own races.’”
On the small screen, Clara could see that wide grin and the jet-black hair that fell over his eyes. Before she could examine the photo more closely, Becca let out a small cry.