“I get that she’s embarrassed.” Becca filled in the blank. “But she’ll have to file for insurance, especially if there are family heirlooms involved.”
“Of course, and we are family.” Elizabeth reached out, putting her cool hand on top of Becca’s. “Be careful, dear.”
Becca nodded, a million thoughts playing across her face. “Thanks,” she said, and turned away.
“And you, too.” Elizabeth whispered, her gaze directed to the shadowed calico at her feet.
Chapter 7
“I must have imagined that,” Clara told herself, frozen to the spot. “Could I have misheard?”
Fancy rarely got the better of the little calico. Cats in general are extremely practical. But recently Clara had realized that she’d been taking on some of Becca’s quirks, most likely because she loved her so—a trait her own two sisters never hesitated to point out. After all, nothing else made sense. So when the older woman turned, chuckling softly, back to the shadowed building entrance, Clara shook herself whiskers to tail, and looked around for Becca.
Her person had paused only a few yards away in front of that colorful Charm and Cherish window, now lit from within as the afternoon sun faded. But although Becca appeared to be considering her options, she didn’t pull open the door with its friendly bell. Instead, she stayed on the sidewalk, her round face drawn with concern, as she gazed in at the raven-haired salesgirl behind the counter who appeared utterly absorbed in her cell phone.
Was her person considering warning Gaia/Gail about her employer’s rage or interrogating her further about the identity of her not-a-boyfriend? Clara couldn’t tell, although the slight frown on her person’s face alerted her that some serious thinking was going on. And so when Becca shook her head and kept walking, her pet could only be relieved. It wasn’t that late. This time of year, dusk came early. Still, it was time for Becca and her pet to retire. Clara wanted to think through that odd final encounter with that strange Elizabeth. The two sisters might look alike, but Clara had the distinct impression that they were as different as, well, Clara and her siblings. And no matter how nasty that Margaret might be, Clara couldn’t help but think that she was the safer one for Becca—and for herself.
Clara was musing about how odd humans could be when she suddenly realized that she had lost her person in the growing dark. Panicked, she dropped her shading for a moment, her back arching like a Halloween cat.
“What the—!” A man in a business suit stopped just short of tripping over her, causing the bike messenger behind him to swerve. The cyclist nearly hit a tree, and while Clara looked up at the businessman in a silent, wide-eyed apology, he had turned to vent his rage elsewhere.
“You’re not supposed to ride on the sidewalk!” he screamed at the cyclist. “And you’re supposed to have a light.”
Hopping on one foot as he righted his bike, the cyclist eyed him coolly, blue eyes wide. Dressed in a black pullover and jeans dyed the same hue, he looked lean and fit, a creature of the growing dark, with a helmet to match and a scent that was vaguely familiar. If these two were to fight, Clara would have bet on the cyclist, despite the businessman’s obvious pique. That is, if cats were gambling animals. Which, the plump animal reminded herself, they were not.
Nor was the slender young man the type to take offense. “Sorry, man,” was all he said, but his voice wasn’t the one Clara was expecting. Her faint memory dissipated as, readjusting his helmet, the cyclist kicked off and was gone. By the time the pedestrian had turned back to Clara, she had shaded herself once again and dashed behind him, desperate to figure out where her person had gone.
Being a cat has some advantages. Small and agile, if not quite as lithe as Laurel, Clara was able to weave through the crowd emerging from the T. Shaded and nearly invisible, she had to be extra careful, especially when a young mother pushing a stroller lost her grip, for a moment, on the hand of her toddler, who stumbled right at the calico.
“Kitty!” The little girl chortled with glee as Clara scrambled up the trunk of a small maple.
Alerted by the cry, her frazzled-looking mother reached over and grabbed her hand. “There’s no kitty there, Lily,” she said.
Clara didn’t have time to puzzle out what had happened. Had she let her shading fade once again, startled by the oncoming stroller? Or did the child have power of some sort? She thought again of Elizabeth and her odd farewell. She’d bring it up to her sisters later, she decided as she craned around. The maple wasn’t tall, though its placement broke up the concrete cityscape nicely. And Clara had to maneuver around a squirrel who had already tucked himself in for the night in order to spy through a break in the scarlet leaves.
“I mean no harm,” she murmured as the fluffy rodent started in alarm, scrabbling at the tree’s smooth bark as he did. For a moment, she thought about uncloaking, then decided against it. From the look on that grey face, the sudden appearance of a cat might be enough to cause him to fall off the limb entirely.
The height didn’t help. Even though her feline vision barely acknowledged the growing dusk, Clara couldn’t see Becca’s curls or her silly velvet hat. Not even that perky feather showed itself above the crowd. That didn’t mean she should worry; Clara knew that. After all, maybe Becca had just stopped to pick up some dinner or a treat for later. But something was making the fur along her spine stiffen. Maybe it was the bitterness with which the older woman talked about her employee. Or maybe it was Gaia herself. Something was off with those two women, and every guard hair on her body was on alert. In desperation, she closed her eyes, raising her nose into the air.
Success! She got it—a slight scent of her person, faint but distinct. Over…where was it? Yes, toward the river. Scrambling down the tree in a rush that nearly upset the squirrel, she dashed down into the gutter, the better to make a beeline toward the young woman whose happiness and safety were Clara’s main responsibility.
By the time she reached her, the young woman was heading down a street Clara had never seen before. Though only a few blocks away, it felt like a different city. Clara was used to her own part of Cambridge. In their own neighborhood, even the larger red-brick buildings were softened by window boxes and a few stately beech trees. On the main drag they had just visited, at least the lights were colorful, as was that captive maple poking out of the sidewalk.
The street they had just turned down might as well have been on the moon. Treeless—grassless, even—all was hard and dry, and in the growing dark, the industrial buildings that climbed above the concrete sidewalks loomed like watchful giants. Sniffing the air, Clara caught traces of the river, and the reeds along its shore. Even with her superior night vision, however, she could see no sign of such greenery. Not through the high chain-link fence that Becca now approached, or in the cracked asphalt of the lot beyond.
Instead of grass or trees, Clara could see several cars that seemed to be frozen in time, judging from the fine layer of dust on all but one of them. Only minutes from the bustling city center, the strip felt foreign—and dangerous. Every instinct told the small cat not to go farther. But there was Becca, walking through that deserted lot, toward the cinder-block building at its center. The squat building, at least, showed signs of life. Its glass front shown with light, and from where she watched, Clara could see the glow from another opening in the back. And so, gathering up her courage, the little cat dashed over the open tarmac to catch up with her, just as Becca pushed the door open.
“Hello?” The room was dominated by an empty desk and the strong smell of burned coffee. Overhead, a fluorescent bulb buzzed. “Is there anyone here?”