As she slipped in the closing door and waited by the one empty table, Clara tried to focus on what Becca needed—and what one small feline could do for a beleaguered human.
“Here, drink this.” Nathan had insisted that Becca sit—choosing the same table Clara had picked out—and returned a minute later with a large, froth-topped mug. “You’ve had a shock.”
“Thanks.” A sound rather like a purr emanated from Becca’s mouth, and she licked away a foam moustache with a gesture Laurel would have been proud of. “I really need—what is this?”
“Mocha cappuccino.” Nathan put his own mug down and went back to the counter. By the time he returned, with muffins, Becca had begun to look more like herself, the warmth, milk, and sugar augmenting the caffeine in her recovery.
“I figure you’ve been through an ordeal.” He raised his own mug to drink, but Clara could see he was watching the young woman who sat opposite him. “Were they brutal?”
“It was one man—a detective—and he was, well, full of questions,” Becca said, reaching for the closest muffin. “Though he seemed to know a lot.” She broke off a piece and nibbled at it absently. Clara, who enjoyed her food almost as much as her sisters did, thought she wasn’t really tasting it. “What did you tell them about me?”
“About you?” Nathan’s eyebrows rose. “Just that I let you in.”
“Did you tell them what time?” But the man seated opposite was shaking his head.
“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really keeping track.” He had the decency to look abashed. “And they asked, and so I had to tell them that you looked distracted. But, then, I went around the back again, until, well, until you started screaming.”
“Did you at least tell them how brief my visit was?” Becca broke off another piece, but only crumbled it between her fingers. “I mean, you must have only gotten back to work.”
It was not to be.“Sorry. I had my music playing, and I was really done with the painting for the day. It being Saturday and all, I’d only come by to do another coat on the trim. But, well, I’d noticed you.” He looked down at his mug and thus missed seeing the blush climbing into her cheeks. “I’d seen you coming up the street and I’d been kind of hoping you’d come out soon, and so I was taking my time, cleaning up, until I heard—well, you know. And then I ran around front and saw that other guy holding you, hustling you out of the building. I was ready to jump in. But just then, I heard sirens and the cops were pulling up, and I realized I should stay out of the way.”
Becca blinked up at him.
“Until you’d been taken care of, of course.” The painter’s eyes opened wide. They were blue, Clara noted, but a more grey-blue than Laurel’s. “By the EMT, that is. Then I came forward—anyway, I’m sorry. Finding your friend like that must have been awful.”
“Yeah, it was. Thanks.” Becca held her mug close as color drained from her face to leave her sickly pale. “But Suzanne and I weren’t friends. Not exactly.”
“Ah.” Now it was his turn to look thoughtful. “Work colleagues?”
“We’re in a cov—a group. A discussion group. Wewere,” she corrected herself as her color returned to something like normal. “We had just had our weekly meeting a few days before, and she’d asked me to come by.”
“And she called you that morning, right?” He bit into his own muffin while he waited for her answer.
“No.” Becca shook her head. “She’d asked me when we last met. Why?”
“Huh.” Another bite, and his face grew thoughtful as he chewed and swallowed. “That’s strange. I heard her on the phone earlier that morning—maybe an hour or two before you showed up. She sounded like something was on her mind. Honestly? Maybe even angry.”
Becca nodded. Clara didn’t have to be as psychic as Laurel to know she was thinking of Jeff and of what he’d told her. “So you did hear some things,” she said, and Clara looked up with pride. Cats don’t tend to think of their humans as successful hunters. They know the average biped is far too inept. But this girl was sharp.
“I was working right outside her apartment at that point.” Nathan spoke as if it were no big deal, but Becca was on it like a kitten on a catnip mouse.
“And I assume you told the police that her living room window was open?”
Clara held her breath, every guard hair on alert.
“I’m sure they know.” Now it was his turn to look away, flustered. “And they had people all over that apartment. I haven’t been allowed back to finish, or even get my gear.”
“You haven’t—” Becca tilted her head, as if she’d heard a whistle far away. Maybe, Clara thought, she was thinking of keys—and access to a young woman’s apartment. “How well did you know Suzanne?”
“Me? Not at all.” He shook his head. “We said hi a few times.” His sadness seemed genuine, but Becca pushed on. “I didn’t know any of the tenants.”
“So then who hired you, Nathan?”
“Some management company.” He was staring at the door, like Harriet at a cabinet full of treats. “I get referrals. Why are you asking—you don’t think that I…”
“I don’t know what to think.” Becca said, speaking slowly. “I’ve never been involved in a murder investigation before.”
Chapter 14
Becca was on her phone as soon as she left the coffee house.
“Maddy, I’ve had the weirdest morning, you wouldn’t believe who I just had coffee with.” She sounded breathless, and Clara didn’t think that was due to her pace. Nor did she give her friend a chance to answer. “That painter I told you about?”
Late morning, and it was easy for the shadowing feline to keep up, the rush hour crowds she’d battled earlier having all dispersed to their various daytime destinations. As Becca walked, holding her phone to her ear, Clara realized that her friend was one of those office drones. That would explain why her person was sharing her news over the phone rather than at one of their customary confabs. It might also have explained the friend’s mood, which—from Becca’s face—was not improved by the news that Becca had shared a snack with this particular young man, no matter how solicitous he might have seemed.
“Maddy…Maddy, wait.” Becca actually stopped, raising her hand as if her friend could see her. “This wasn’t a date. I know he was there. We ran into each other at the police station. Look, we talked about it. I asked him a bunch of questions, and they did too. No, he’s not a suspect.” She lowered her voice on that last word, but Clara’s ears pitched forward to catch it all. “I was down there answering questions too, Maddy.”
After she hung up, Becca walked the rest of the way in silence. That gave her pet a chance to mull over what she’d learned—and what she could infer. This Nathan, for example, was not previously known, not even to Becca’s more gossipy friend. That he seemed to like Becca was obvious, even without that rather flattering admission.
To her cat, this made perfect sense. Clara knew Becca was an attractive young woman. Her coat was smooth and glossy, and she always smelled nice to the little feline. Plus, as her pet well knew, Becca hadn’t had any suitors since Jeff had broken her heart. And while Trent had seemed promising—those flowers had been good enough to eat—he hadn’t made any moves that a friend wouldn’t. Well, if you bought his line about the bouquet being a hostess gift, that is. It didn’t take any magic to see that Becca liked the painter as well, perhaps because of his pleasant pine-y aroma. And while Becca had been appropriately skeptical, asking some good questions, Clara had witnessed that blush.
But the conversation had taken a dark turn once Becca had brought up the ongoing investigation. For all that the cute painter had claimed not to have kept track of the time, he did seem to keep adding details to his recollections—details that might implicate Becca. And when Becca had asked about his work—about who owned or managed Suzanne’s apartment—he’d become as skittish as a kitchen mouse. Clara could tell that Becca was disconcerted when the handsome painter had excused himself rather suddenly and left. Whatshe didn’t know was whether her human had been more upset by the questions he had left unanswered—or the ones that he had failed to ask her.