Neither of her sisters answered, although Clara joined Laurel on the sofa back as Becca rose and began to pace.
“Hey, Gaia. Thanks for picking up.” Becca was doing her best to be casual. Clara could hear the slight singsong cadence of her voice. Until she stopped and stood up straight. “Gaia, what’s wrong? You don’t sound good. You—what? Did you say ‘numb’? Where are you?” She started looking around, and Clara rolled a pencil out from under the sofa for her person to grab. “I’ll call you right back.”
“Emergency? I just spoke with a friend at 932 River…” As Becca spoke, she headed toward the door, grabbing her coat as she did. “You need to send an ambulance there now.”
Chapter 20
Clara didn’t even consult with her sisters. As quickly as she could fade her orange spots to gray, she followed Becca out the door and down to the street, where Becca hailed a passing cab. Overcoming her natural feline distrust of motorized vehicles, Clara even managed to scramble onto the black vinyl seatbeside her.
“Mount Auburn Hospital,” Becca told the cabbie. “I’m sorry, I don’t have the address.”
“Emergency?” The cabbie’s voice emerged from his darkly shadowed jowls.
“What? No, I’m fine.”
“Emergency room, I meant.” Dark eyes caught hers in the rearview. “Don’t worry. I actually drive for a living.”
“Of course.” Clara didn’t understand the slight blush that crept into Becca’s cheeks. She did know that the car was moving more smoothly than Becca’s usual ride shares. In the seat beside her, Clara was taking no chances, however, and dug her claws into the slick upholstery. The small risk that Becca would notice the indents was worth not being thrown around should the car stop short.
“Uh, miss?” Clara needn’t have worried. Becca was so distracted that she was halfway out of the cab before the driver called her back.
“I’m sorry.” Becca fished out her wallet and handed the driver a bill. “And thanks.”
If Clara thought the ride was bad, the scene that met her when she followed Becca through the sliding glass doors was worse. Beeps and blats, along with a terrifying array of smells stopped her in her tracks. Only the rattle of wheels alerted her to jump to one side in time to avoid being run down as some kind of a trolley rolled by, propelled by four white-clad feet clearly in a hurry.
“Gaia—Gail Linquist?” Becca’s voice, over by a window, made Clara focus once more and she hurried to join her by the safety of the wall. “Has she been brought in?”
“One moment, please.” Considering all the noise and activity, the woman who responded sounded surprisingly calm. “Are you family?”
“No, I’m a…a friend.” Becca leaned in. “I’m the one who called an ambulance for her.”
“Becca Colwin.” A male voice, deep and oddly familiar. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Detective Abrams.” Becca, breathless, barely got the words out as Clara identified the large and rumpled man who had come up behind her. Clad in a tweed jacket that sagged at the elbows and wrinkled khakis, the man smelled of stale coffee, the dust of paperwork, and the sweat of many, many hands. In other words, he was a cop. That he was familiar with Becca, and she with him, put the small cat somewhat at ease. She, too, remembered the unexpected gentleness of the big man. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Becca’s voice lifted with relief. “I’ve been meaning to come talk to you.”
Eyebrows like untrimmed hedges rose as the detective sipped from a paper cup.
“I shouldn’t be surprised.” A rumble like the wheels of that trolley. “Only when your name came up, I thought I would insert myself into this…situation.” He motioned with the cup. “Shall we go have a chat?”
“I can’t.” Becca looked over the window, but from all Clara could see, the woman on the other side did not respond. “I’m waiting to hear about Gaia. Gail, I mean. She’s a friend. A client. Well, sort of.”
“Let’s go chat, Becca Colwin.” One large hand reached out behind her to propel her along. “I think you’ll want to talk to me about this ‘Gaia Gail friend client sort of’ of yours.”
Chapter 21
As relieved as Clara was to leave behind the noise and traffic of the waiting room, the idea of her person heading off with the rumpled cop wasn’t exactly comforting. Yes, she knew—or hoped she knew—that the big man was both kind and fair. However, he did work in a building that resembled a giant cage. Also, as he walked Becca along, one big mitt behind her as if to stop her from escaping, he propelled her first through a set of double doors that threatened to close on the skittish cat and then a long passage that smelled of chemicals, all the while herding Becca like a determined sheepdog. Even as she paused, looking back toward the loud room, he kept his sad, dark eyes on her, taking in everything, Clara thought.
In the past, this large man had proved himself more gentle than his rough exterior suggested. Still, Becca was clearly ill at ease, looking up at him as they walked, and so, despite her own discomfort with their surroundings, her loyal cat stayed close, waiting for a chance to break them both away.
“Why don’t we have a seat?” Holding out a hand the size of Harriet’s water dish, he directed Becca toward a row of molded plastic chairs in relatively quiet alcove. Apparently carved out of the hallway, it appeared to be a waiting room, though for what, the little cat could not tell. It hadno windows, and she couldn’t read the signs that hung overhead. It also had no carpet, and no plants for cover, and so Clara focused hard on her shading as she ducked around her person to take up position beneath an orange seat.
Looking as skittish as Laurel, Becca perched on the edge of one of the hard plastic chairs like she was readying herself to leap.
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Abrams fished a pad out of his jacket as he settled, more heavily, beside her. “What brings you to the ER this evening, Ms. Colwin?”
“I told you. I’m here for Gaia—you probably know her as Gail.” Becca glanced back down the hall. “When I called for an ambulance, the EMTs said they would be taking her here.”
“And you know this Gail, how?”
“She hired me. She thought—well, it doesn’t matter now. It can’t. Not really.”
The big man leaned forward.
“It was a stupid prank. That’s all. But when I went to talk with her again, I saw something.”
The big man’s capacity for stillness was impressive, thought Clara. He’s a hunter, she realized, waiting for small prey to emerge. Waiting for…Becca?
Clara jumped to her feet, the fur along her spine rising as her back arched. Eyes wide and whiskers flared on the alert, she eyed the hallway. If she darted out, she could turn and jump. She had no hope of holding the large man, but she could create a distraction. Buy a few seconds, maybe, that would allow Becca to escape. Her ears picked up that Becca’s tone had risen and she could feel the air as she gestured. She was helpless, and only Clara could help.
Only Becca didn’t seem to realize the danger she was in. In fact, the calico realized as she readied to spring, her person was leaning toward the big man and almost touching him as she explained the day’s events.
“So that’s why I was trying to reach Gaia,” Becca was saying. Her voice, Clara realized, was raised in excitement or frustration, perhaps. Not fear. “I wanted her to come with me to talk with you. Something odd is going on, and I don’t know how it all ties together. But both Gaia and Margaret Cross were accusing each other of the most awful things, and Gaia was involved with Margaret’s husband—”
“Hold on, please.” That big hand went up like a stop sign. Even Clara had sat to listen by this point. “What exactly is your role in this?”
“I’m a witch, ah, investigator.” Clara’s ears flicked as Becca stumbled over her customary title. “Because these women are in the community, they asked if I could help them out.”