“Well, it was their fault.” Another sniff of that neat black velvet nose. Laurel claimed their family history as her own area of expertise. “Great Grandmama would never have been so careless.”
Clara didn’t comment. In part, because she agreed—cats had been caught up in witchcraft trials over the centuries almost always because of mistakes their people had made. In part, because she was also hoping to hear more of what Becca was trying to communicate to this aunt of hers. Although she vaguely understood the idea of writing, she couldn’t read. It was only because of her diligence staring at Becca’s keyboard that she even managed to make sense of the flat, scentless images that popped up there, seemingly at the coaxing of her person’s quick-moving fingers. Thanks to Laurel—even if she was loath to admit it—Clara knew the basics of her own family history. Knew about their ancient lineage and their bond with the special humans with whom they lived. Still, both her sisters had been frustratingly vague about the details of their royal duties. Clara was hoping for more.
So, it seemed, was Becca, from the hopeful lift in her voice. “If you have any information, would you let me know?”
A flourish and a final tap, and Becca sat back with a sigh that would have done Harriet proud. Of course, by then, Clara’s oldest sister was snoring gently once again on her special velvet pillow. In truth, Clara was starting to doze, too. But when Becca roused herself to head toward her bed soon after, her smallest cat joined her, knowing her sisters would be along soon.
Chapter 10
It seemed but a moment later that Becca’s phone began to buzz.
“Aunt Tabby?” Becca sat up, blinking, as if from a pleasant dream, unsettling the three felines who were stretched out alongside her. “No, wait,” she reached for the device, which had begun to skitter across the nightstand like a beetle on its back. “Of course not. Hey, Maddy, what’s up? How was the party?”
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.