A few minutes later and Harriet was once again asleep. Laurel had jumped down in search of some more entertaining company, while Clara, eyes still closed, was doing her best to remember a particularly fascinating dream.
“A cute new feline specialist?” Her person’s voice reached her through her drowse, but even as she listened, she let herself continue to drift. Something about their mother…or was it their great-grandmother? Becca’s voice broke in once more. “Do you mean for me or for the cats?”
A pause, but the dream image was gone.
“Okay, not cute. Sweet. So, did you like him?”
As Becca rambled on, Clara stretched. She had slept through most of the night, which was unusual. The day’s adventures had clearly taken their toll, and she’d been grateful to have her person safe at home. If only she could count on a lazy Sunday, she thought, examining one white front paw, all would be well. However, a tingling of her long guard hairs alerted her that something was up, and she sheathed the claws she’d begun trimming. Becca might not realize it yet, but she was about to require her pet’s full attention.
“Wait, Maddy, you’re not making sense. He does emergency care? Oh, hang on.” Becca held the phone away from her ear and studied it with the intensity Laurel would give a bug. “I’ve got…I’ve got to take this.”
Perhaps to change her view, Becca stood and walked toward the window.“Hi, Mrs. Cross,” she said. The smile on her face must have been a little bit forced, but it lightened her voice regardless. “I was meaning to call you. I might have been a bit rude—uh, hasty in some things I said, but I’m afraid I really can’t reconsider. I understand that you’re upset, but my other client did approach me first. For what it’s worth, I did attempt to speak to your husband…”
Becca jumped down, accidentally nudging Harriet, who grunted.“What’s up?”She blinked up at Clara and then over at their person.“Why’s Becca so awake?”
“I think she’s upset,” answered Clara with concern.
“Wait, no. Mrs. Cross—Margaret, please slow down.” Becca put a hand out, as if she could physically contain the woman on the other end. “No, I didn’t see him. I went down to the lot, though, and I heard him. I thought you two were talking on the phone… What do you mean, did I talk to the police? Mrs. Cross, please—I’m sorry, what? But that’s impossible. I was just there. And I know that when I left, your husband was still alive.”
***
“What is she doing?”Even though Becca had hurriedly served her cats their breakfast, Harriet was fretting. And for once, Clara couldn’t blame her. Here it was, Sunday morning, and yet Becca had already grabbed her coat and was in the process of wrapping a scarf around her neck. The three cats circled her uneasily as she searched for her hat.“Doesn’t she know we need her here?”
“I’m sure she’ll be back in time for dinner.” Laurel had mastered the feline equivalent of side eye, quite a feat considering that her blue eyes tended to cross when she concentrated.“What I want to know is why she’s bundling up like some arctic explorer.”
“A what?” Harriet scrunched up her already abbreviated nose.“Oh, you mean the scarf?”
Becca had found the velvet cloche by then, on the floor behind the sofa. Its distinctive feather was missing.
“It was a fashion decision,” Laurel huffed a bit defensively.“But, no, I meant that awful puffy coat.”
“It must be getting cooler out.”Clara didn’t want to pick a fight, but she couldn’t help feeling protective. After all, her sisters rarely left the house.“And she doesn’t have lovely, thick fur like you do,” she added in an attempt to mollify her oldest sister.
“There are other ways to get warm.” Laurel rolled the last word into a suggestive purr.“And if she happens to meet someone…”Clara knew her sister was going to suggest something slinkier, but Clara didn’t linger to hear it. Becca had donned her hat and was heading out the door.
“I’m sorry, Maddy, you wouldn’t believe what happened.” Becca was walking so quickly, Clara had a hard time keeping pace. Only when she paused to call her friend back could the little calico catch up. “That was Margaret Cross on the other line. Her husband has been in some kind of an accident, I think. No, I don’t have any details. That’s why I’m on my way back there. Maddy, I have to go.” Another pause as Becca waited to cross the street. “I was just at his office, you know, that lot by the river, last night, and she wants to talk with me. She’s really upset.”
This didn’t seem to satisfy Becca’s friend any more than it did Clara. In the bright morning light, the calico deepened her shading to remain unseen. However, being virtually invisible brought its own dangers, and the little cat’s ears and whiskers were on high alert as Becca rushed heedlessly on, weaving between the churchgoers and the students out for Sunday brunch who seemed to congregate on every corner.
“No, you don’t have to.” Becca seemed to be talking her friend down from something as she race-walked into Central Square. “I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on. I promise.”
To Clara’s relief, the young woman shoved the phone in her pocket and actually looked around as she readied to cross Mass Ave. with its constant traffic. Down the block, Clara could see the red brick building that housed the magic shop and the Cross’s apartment, as well as the blue-and-white Cambridge police cruiser out front.
“Excuse me.” Becca began to work her way through the crowd of onlookers who blocked the store’s brightly painted window. “I’m trying to reach the apartments.”
A uniformed officer stood by the recessed entrance, blocking the building’s metal door. “Are you a resident?”
“No, but I know a woman—”
“Residents only.” He resumed his sentry position, staring over her head once more.
Becca stepped back as another couple pushed forward, either to try their luck or to pass through the crowd. Clara, who had hung back to avoid getting stepped on, saw Becca focus on Charm and Cherish. From this side, she could see the shop’s colorful glass window and the lights that signaled it was occupied, if not open for business. Those lights seemed to draw Becca, and Clara couldn’t help worrying as her person turned and began to make for the little shop’s door.
“Gaia!” Becca called, and waved, perching on her toes to be seen above the crowd. Inside, behind the zodiac symbols, Clara could now see the black-haired shop girl talking to a man in a trench coat. “Over here!”
In the shop, the man had stepped away, and Gaia resumed her customary slump back against the wall, with its shelves of leaves and roots. Seeing an opening, Becca stepped forward, until a hand reached out to stop her.
“I wouldn’t.” Tall and lean, with black bangs that hung over a pale and serious face, he smelled vaguely familiar to Clara. Something about him must have gotten Becca’s attention, too, the calico realized, as her person peered up at him.
“Excuse me?” She pulled her arm away as she spoke.
“I’m sorry.” The flash of a grin as he ducked his head in an apology that even Harriet would understand. “I just…I think maybe it’s better to stay out of this.”
“But I know Gaia,” Becca started to explain. “I mean, not well. I’ve been helping her. It’s complicated.” Becca turned back to the shop, which now appeared to be empty. Gaia and her interrogator had either stepped into the back or left through another exit.
“I get it.” That smile again. Almost wolfish, Clara thought, especially against that dark hair. “Things with Gaia can be complicated.” If he didn’t exactly roll his eyes, he came close, before covering by brushing his hair back from his face.
“You know her? Wait, you’re the bike messenger. The one who almost ran me over yesterday.”