She couldn’t, of course. To do so would not only break the rules, it would unnerve the young woman, and the plump feline suspected that Becca would need all of her wits in the interrogation to come. Thus, the loyal feline was forced to hang back, in the shadow of that maple, and watch as Becca, looking as uncomfortable as a cat in the rain, finished the spell. At least, Clara thought she did—as she watched, her person wrung her hands in what could only be understood as an attempt to stroke herself back into good humor. Clearly, she was trying to muster the courage to enter the building that loomed before her.
Perhaps it was unfair of Clara to blame Harriet, but the calico couldn’t help it. Her big sister’s carelessness had set in motion a chain of events that at least had disconcerted their beloved person, and then her selfishness had exacerbated the situation. Of course, none of that would have mattered if Becca hadn’t gotten involved in the coven or ever flirted with the dashing warlock.
“Trent!” Clara blinked up as Becca called out. Sure enough, there was the warlock—coming down the steps of the precinct. Could it be, she wondered, that her personhad in fact summoned him?“Over here!”
“Becca?” The bearded man who turned toward her was nearly unrecognizable. His usually sleek dark hair hung lank, his darkly shining eyes looked tired, set deep into shadowed sockets. Even his usual open-necked blouse had been replaced by ratty sweats, the droopy pants pulled up to reveal bunched white socks above worn sneakers. “Is that you?”
She stepped forward, into the light, and Trent rushed over to her. He would have taken her hands, Clara thought, only, at the last moment, her person stepped back. In response, he raised one hand to his oily hair, pushing it back from a forehead that Clara could now see was quite lined.
It wasn’t the hair though, or even his overall appearance that held her back.
“Are you okay?” said Becca, her voice low, her gaze shifting over to the building he had just left.
“Of course. What brings you here?” As he spoke, he stood up straighter and attempted a smile. To the observant cat, his teeth looked like fangs. “Are you—” His eyes darted nervously as he spoke, as if checking to make sure nobody had come from the police station behind him. But even as his scanned the street, he seemed to gather himself, his voice lowering into the confident baritone Becca knew well. “Are you going in to chat with the detectives again?”
“They called me,” Becca admitted, her face pinching up. “Twice. But why are you back here? Did something happen?”
“Not at all.” The smile stiffened as two uniformed officers descended the stairs, and he paused until they had walked by. “I gather there have been some developments, and I came in to offer my assistance, of course.”
“You volunteered?” Becca glanced down at his sweatshirt, the sweat pants, and sneakers. “Trent, if you don’t mind me asking, do you have a job?”
“Not you too.” For a moment, his face contorted in anguish, the sharp planes of his cheeks becoming drawn and desperate. Then, just as quickly, he recovered. “I do have a promising prospect—or I did.” He licked dry lips. “It’s nothing I’m at liberty to talk about right now. Of course, I do have other projects ongoing. A few investments.”
Becca didn’t appear convinced, to her cat’s clear-eyed gaze. Instead, it seemed like she was formulating a follow-up question, when he chuckled.
“Oh, is it my outfit?” He struck a pose, even as his grin wobbled. “I was working out, and after a run by the river, I found myself nearby the precinct.”
“You found yourself…? That’s right!” Becca’s eyes went wide as whatever query she’d been about to pose was eclipsed. “Your amulet! I found it. I mean, I thought you had already found it, but then it turned up, and I was going to call you. Only, I lost it again.”
“What are you talking about?” The fake smile was gone.
“The one you dropped when my cat broke the chain.” A rushed whisper of explanation.
“That’s crazy.” Trent shook his head, and the greasy locks fell back over his forehead.
“Ms. Colwin?” a voice called out. The rumpled detective was standing on the stairs. “Is that you?”
She ignored him in her rush to explain.“I thought maybe you didn’t care that much. I mean, it looks like an expensive piece, but maybe—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trent’s hand went to the neckline of his dirty sweatshirt and pulled out a chain. “I have it. I took it with me—you saw that. I only had to put it on a different chain.”
“Rebecca Colwin?” The detective again.
Clara could only look on in sympathy as Becca stared in mute horror at the amulet in Trent’s hand. “See?”
Chapter 37
“This makes no sense.” Three minutes later, Becca was still rooted to the spot by the impossibility of what she had seen. Trent, whose confidence began to crumble as more uniforms strolled by, had taken off with a brittle giggle and a promise to be in touch. By then, the rumpled detective had finished his smoke and returned inside.
Only after one of those passing officers had paused on the walk beside Becca, turning as if to question her, did she move on. Even then, she could have been sleepwalking, her mind reeling with confusion. It was all too much, and when she rounded the corner, she leaned back against a brick wall, closing her eyes as she slid to the ground, desperate to gather her thoughts.
“Miss, are you all right?” a bearded stranger, his panting Labrador looking on placidly, asked with concern.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Becca bounced back to her feet but could only produce a feeble attempt at a smile. “I’ve just had a shock.”
“Do you have a friend you can call?” The good Samaritan looked ready to move along. “Someone you can talk to?”
She had held the amulet in her hand. Maddy had seen it. It didn’t make sense. Unfortunately, what did make sense was Trent’s appearance, here at the police station. The warlock had been called back—she didn’t buy his story about volunteering for a second—and he’d just as clearly been questioned about his finances. That meant somebody had made a call. Maybe Ande had said something. Only, Kathy had said that Ande was out to get Trent. Which seemed odd in that Ande had been so reluctant to come forward, despite Becca’s urging—and despite her knowing that the group’s bank account had been plundered. Was this all connected somehow? Was Ande behind it all—or Larissa, with her money? Suzanne had wanted to talk to Becca about the group’s finances. She, not Ande, had been alarmed about the money going missing. But before she could explain, she’d been killed.
“I’m not sure,” said Becca to the concerned stranger, and then she got up and walked away.
***
“Ande? Please call me back.” Becca had been calling as she walked, pacing the city streets like an anxious cat. With each new voice message, she’d become more annoyed—and more certain that everything was indeed interconnected. Yes, Ande had been the one to note the financial disparities. She’d also been the one to downplay them—only a few thousand, she had said—to Becca and, possibly, to Suzanne as well. But if she couldn’t reach the wiccan accountant, she was going to have to tell the police detective all she knew. Only, she was hoping to have a little more information beforeshe bearded that particular rumpled lion in his den.
“Ande, if I don’t hear from you soon, I’m going to tell the cops everything. I have to.” Even as she spoke, she had another thought. “And, I’m sorry. I know you told me stuff in confidence, but I’m going to tell them about Larissa too.” She paused. “Please, call me.”