“She…collects men?” Laurel interrupted before Clara could get up to the strange interaction with Elizabeth, and the calico flicked her own tail in annoyance. The sealpoint sister had long wanted Becca to be more romantically adventurous, but Clara didn’t think this was the way to do it.
“Other women’s men,”cautioned the calico.
“Oh, that’s not good.” Laurel’s ears lay flat, and she turned toward Harriet.
“What?”Harriet turned toward the front door.“You told me that you wanted to let Becca do this by herself, and now…”
“Harriet, what did you do…?” But it was too late. Even before Clara could finish her thought, her sisters had raced ahead to stand at attention at the door. A moment later, they could hear the familiar footsteps slowly ascending the stairs and then the key in the lock.
“Hi, kitties.” Becca’s good cheer sounded intact, even if her voice was tired. “How nice of you to meet me like this.”
“You!” Harriet mewed plaintively.“Where were you?”
“I bet you want your dinner, don’t you?”
Laurel’s eyes closed in satisfaction. Not that she’d have had to work that hard to suggest the idea to their generous human.
“I’ll get right to it, as soon as I get my coat and hat off.”
“Thank you!”Clara twined around Becca’s legs, grateful to finally be able to express herself physically. Her person seemed to appreciate the contact, even as she almost tripped, laughing, over the plump cat. It was Harriet who put a stop to the fooling around.
“Stop that!” she hissed, cuffing her baby sister on the ear.
Hunger, Clara figured, and accepted the rebuke quietly. But even though her oldest sister made quick work of her can, Clara couldn’t help but wonder at her comparative lack of enthusiasm. For a change, it was Laurel who looked over, licking her chops, to see if Clara was going to leave anything behind. Harriet had already raced ahead to the living room.
“What’s with Harriet?” Clara asked.“Is she feeling all right?”
“Why don’t you go see?”Laurel eyed the crumbs in Clara’s dish, and after a moment’s hesitation, Clara backed off. Harriet might be a pain, but she was her sister. She trotted into the living room after her.
“Maddy? I’m home.” Becca spoke to her phone in much the tone of voice she used with her cats. “Sorry, I should have called you five minutes ago but I had to feed the kitties.”
A smile down at Clara warmed the little calico.
“No, I think I’m in for the night. It’s been a big day, but thank you.” Even as she spoke, Becca shed her shoes and settled on the sofa. “I haven’t had a chance to even look at my own work today. You know.” She reached to rub her foot, and Clara made a mental note to knead it later. “Those documents about my family.”
She was taking up a position near her person’s ankle as Maddy rambled on. Something about a party, Clara gathered. A man—or men—that Maddy wanted Becca to meet, and for a moment she found herself remembering the kind-faced stranger in the square.
“I think I’m just not ready yet.” Becca could have been talking to Clara, and so the calico bent to her task, kneading the stockinged foot. “I do not want a knight in shining armor, Maddy.” The foot withdrew. “I just…well, for tonight, I’m happy with my cats. Have a blast, Maddy. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”
With that, Clara got back to her work, albeit gentler than before. Becca opened her laptop and soon the machine was purring in her lap, as Laurel stretched her tawny length across the sofa’s back. Within minutes Harriet had joined them on the sofa and was lounging on her pillow, one paw flicking its golden tassels. Another perfect evening, as far as the calico was concerned.
But even as Clara focused on Becca’s foot, she picked up that something was off. It couldn’t be her kneading. She was very careful not to use any claw at all. Nor was it the laptop. Although Becca often reacted strangely to the images she’d summoned, tonight she was actually humming as she read, and Laurel, in an ostentatiousshow of self-restraint, wasn’t even trying to bat at its warm and enticing surface. No, it was Harriet. Although to all outward appearances, her oldest sister was as relaxed as usual, her impressive bulk spread out across the pillow, the oldest of the three cats was holding herself back.
She was not only tense, Clara realized, she was concentrating—on the edge of a small baggie peeking out from beneath the coffee table.
“You returned it?” Clara chirped softly. Harriet didn’t usually admit to mistakes.“How wise of you.”
The compliment earned a snort.“I had to dig it out of the litter.” Harriet’s head reared back in disgust.“But you were right. Becca seems to think this is important.”
“Shall I?”Clara didn’t want to interfere if Harriet had a plan.
“Go ahead!”
Clara jumped to the floor and with a well-aimed tap sent the plastic baggie spinning on the pivot of the lumpy root inside. Sure enough, a moment later, Becca was on her knees beside the sofa.
“Well, I’ll be…” She grabbed the baggie and examined its odoriferous contents. “I could’ve sworn I looked under here.”
Clara, who was licking her paw, didn’t comment. That musty smell carried even through the baggie.
“How do you feel?” Laurel peeked over the edge of the sofa, blue eyes wide.
“A little dirty,”Clara admitted, even as she dug in between her toes.
“No dizziness? Shortness of breath?”
Clara paused, mouth open.“You don’t think that the poison…”
The feline equivalent of a shrug.“Harriet’s got more mass, shall we say…”
“Hey!” A white mitt slapped Laurel’s chocolate ear.“Watch it!”
“Sorry.” Laurel’s face retreated, but Clara could imagine her sister’s head ducked in submission. Harriet’s largesse only extended so far.
“I think we’re fine,”the calico called up.“Only the smell lingers.”
“Good.”Laurel’s head appeared over the lip of the sofa again, her eyes slightly crossed.“’Cause I’m not so sure about Becca.”
Clara whipped around, alarmed. Sure enough, Becca was sitting on the floor beside her, frowning as she held the baggie up to the light.
“I don’t know about this,” she was saying. Clara looked up at Laurel, but her sister only shrugged. “And I’m glad I didn’t come right out and accuse her. But I do think I owe Margaret Cross an apology.”
Chapter 9
“Now you’ve done it!” Clara was struggling to keep her voice level. Her fur was already standing up along her spine and it was only by holding her tail down with one paw that she managed to keep that from turning into a bottle-brush of fright.“Becca was off that case, and now she’s going to talk to that crazy woman again.”
Her slinky sister eyed her, curious, but Clara turned away. Bad enough Laurel could read human minds. Clara wasn’t ready yet to share what had happened at the Cross apartment. That woman—Elizabeth—had unnerved her, as few human beings could, and the moment when she could have disclosed the odd interaction had passed. This left Clara feeling out of sorts, almost as if she were alone in a shelter. Or a trap.
If Becca ran out to confront that woman again, Clara wasn’t sure what she would do.
For the moment, though, her fear was allayed. After another examination of the bagged root, Becca set it aside and, after carefully washing her hands, prepared her own dinner, which involved too many plants to be of interest to her pets. More satisfying was the speed with which she finished and settled back on the sofa with her laptop.
“Of course she does that after eating. For her, that’s like grooming,” Laurel noted as she pretzeled herself around to lick her haunches. The part-Siamese didn’t quite understand Becca’s research—none of the cats did entirely—but Clara saw enough truth in her observation not to correct her. She might not understand Becca’s work in depth, but she did know that “doing research,” as her person put it, made her happy. Besides, she was too grateful for her person’s continued presence to object. For comfort, she joined Becca on the sofa. Harriet was already nestled by her side, her fluffy form stretched not only over her special velvet pillow but extending nearly to the arm rest. But Clara was still too agitated for a nap. Instead, she perched on the sofa’s upholstered back, from where she could peer over Becca’s shoulder at the screen.