That resolution, as much as the assurance in Becca’s tone, set the calico purring as the three bent to their breakfasts. Even Harriet seemed to have a good appetite, despite her dislike of the infamous tuna treat. Still, Clara couldn’t but be a bit distracted as Becca left the kitchen without preparing anything for herself. When she heard her open her laptop, she looked up in concern.
“You going to finish that?” Clara felt the nudge of a wet nose and looked over to see her biggest sister staring down at her can.“’Cause, if you’re not…”
“All yours.”Clara lowered her head, blinking slowly as a sign of affection and submission. She’d eaten enough, and she owed her oldest sister. Besides, right then, Becca was her priority.
Even before Harriet could finish what remained of her food, Clara was beside Becca, perched on the arm of the sofa as her person typed on the keyboard.
“Dear Mr. Reynolds,” Becca read aloud to herself as she pecked away, which made things easier for Clara. “I’m writing on the recommendation of Larissa Fox…”
“What’s going on?” Laurel landed beside her and immediately began to groom.
“I’m not sure,” admitted Clara.“I think she’s looking for another job.”
“Too bad.” The Siamese extended one dark chocolate paw.“She needs to focus more on us.”
Before Clara could respond, their person had stood. Reaching for her phone, she punched in numbers and began to pace.
“Mr. Reynolds? Thank you so much for getting back to me.” A pause. Despite her sister’s assumed nonchalance, Clara could tell that Laurel was listening too. “Why, yes, thank you. I would love to come in tomorrow for an interview.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Laurel snarled as she and Clara watched Becca head off to shower and start her day.
“What?” Clara didn’t understand her sister’s pique.
“Pushing her to be all proactive. To go outside, and all.” As she spoke, Laurel stepped down onto the sofa cushion their person had just vacated, carefully arranging herself in a perfect circle.“If she’d kept that handsome Trent here, she wouldn’t be running off.”
“That wasn’t me.” Clara bristled at the injustice.“It was Harriet who went for that pendant he was wearing.”
“But you’ve been following her, and I know she senses your presence. Pushing her to ask questions and uncover every little thing.” Laurel was beginning to doze off, which was never her most logical mode.
“Besides, if Becca were still in bed, then we wouldn’t have had breakfast.” Harriet had finally joined them, licking her chops.
“I don’t think it’s bad for her to go outside.” Clara knew she was in the minority, and the sidelong glances of her sisters confirmed this opinion.“Besides,”she added as a way of making peace,“I doubt she’s leaving right away.”
“You heard her.” Harriet was in a mood, and Clara kept silent. Most cats live in the present, which makes the idea of“tomorrow”—or of any appointment, really—hard to grasp. Luckily, it also keeps them from worrying too much about the future or even holding on to a grudge for too long. Indeed, by the time Becca returned, showered and dressed, and sat back down on the sofa, Laurel and Harriet had seemed to forget their earlier pique. As Becca typed, it was Clara who grew concerned. Surely, it wasn’t good for a healthy young woman to spend an entire sunny spring day indoors. Not even a sweet one who had been through the mill recently, both personally and professionally.
“What are you complaining about?” Laurel’s fangs showed as she yawned, and her claws unsheathed as she stretched.“This is perfect!”
“I don’t know.” Clara didn’t want to leave Becca’s side. Still, she found herself pacing as the morning passed. She was even grateful when Becca picked up the phone again, as poor a substitute for fresh air and real contact as it might be.
“Hey, Maddy.” Becca sounded happy, at least, and willing to forgive her old friend her well-intentioned lapse. “You wouldn’t believe what I just found in the genealogy archives. A woodcut of my great-great-whatever. Oh, and I’ve got an interview! Call me?”
Harriet was asleep on her pillow by then, and Laurel halfway there, her dark-tipped tail lashing languorously across the sofa. Clara, however, found herself intrigued by Becca’s message, and when she jumped to the back of the sofa, she realized why. There—on the screen—was a picture. All lines and in black and white, it took a moment for the cat to make sense of it. An image without a scent is only half what it should be to most cats. But as she stared, she had the most profound realization. There, on the computer screen, was a print of her great-great-great-great-great-grand dam. The witch cat of Salem! Standing next to a nice-enough looking lady. A woman who—Clara leaned in to get a better view—kind of looked like Becca, if Becca had grown her hair long and then tied it all back in a knot.
“Laurel, check this out.” Clara nudged her sleepy sister.“It’s Grandma.”
“It’s a box.” Laurel stretched and rolled over.“A box you can’t even sit in. Though it is warm…”
“No, look—” But before Clara could convince her sister to try to make sense of the flat, odorless image, the phone had rung again, and Becca, reaching for it, had closed the electronic device.
“Maddy? Oh.” From the way she straightened in her seat, Clara could tell that her person was surprised. Not unhappy, though. “Hi, Nathan. I was expecting…someone else.”
Clara angled her ear and was able to pick up the voice of the painter, if not his pleasant pine scent.
“I realized I should take the initiative.” A nervous edge—or maybe it was the connection—pitched his voice high and brittle. “I know you’ve been through so much, but I was hoping we could get together, if you’ve got time.”
Poor connection or not, Becca’s face lit up as he spoke, in a smile that warmed Clara like a purr—at least for the few moments before her brows drew together in consternation. “Wait, how’d you get my number?” There was a sharpness to her voice that made Clara take note.
“I have my ways.” Clara heard Becca’s quick intake of breath. “I’m sorry, not funny.” Apparently, Nathan had too. “I got it from Larissa.” The answer came quickly and easily, his tone calming down to what the little cat remembered. But something about the way Becca had tilted her head—her lips tightly closed—made her pet think it wasn’t sufficient. “I mentioned meeting you to her the other day, when we ran into each other.”
“Uh-huh.” Becca wanted more.
“She seems to think we should get to know each other.” He laughed. “I know, pushy, huh? But you can ask her. I gather you’re getting together for a memorial tonight?”
“Tonight?” Becca started and then caught herself, as if the man on the other end of the line could see her. Then she paused, and to her cat she appeared to be wrestling with a question other than the one she had just answered. “Look, Nathan, can I get back to you? This is an odd time.”
Clara couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed when she rang off and, instead, began fiddling with her phone, tapping away at the device with her thumbs. While it was true that none of them knew this young man, the plump feline had liked his scent. Even more, she had liked the way he had treated Becca, taking her out for treats after that disconcerting meeting with the police. But Becca wasn’t Harriet, and if she had doubts, they were probably sensible, the pet reminded herself.
Still, the little cat looked up hopefully when the phone rang again. Becca was no house pet to spend all her time on the sofa.