By the time they emerged, Becca had gone into full-on hostess mode, arranging her small apartment for the arrival of her friends. The three cats took refuge on the sofa, until an extra vigorous fluffing of pillows sent Laurel scampering once more, and an aggressive wiping down of the table had even Harriet hesitant to hover, no matter what tempting crumbs might have gone flying.
Only Clara remained, to show her support as her person fussed. She might as well have been invisible, however, as Becca nearly tripped over her in her frenzy.
“I’m sorry, kitty.” She reached down and scooped up her youngest cat. And although the embrace was a tad awkward—Clara’s foot stuck out and she could feel the bulk of her body already sliding through Becca’s arms—she began to purr. Clearly, Becca was still bothered. Whether that was because of her friend Maddy or because of what she’d found on her laptop, Clara couldn’t tell. Still, any opportunity the plump calico had to soothe her person was worth a little discomfort.
“Hang on!” At the sound of the doorbell, Becca shifted, and Clara managed a decent landing on the floor.
“Graceful,” Laurel snarled quietly from under the sofa.
“I just wanted to make her feel better.” Clara sat and began to groom the fur on her back, where Becca’s embrace had ruffled it.
“I thought you wanted her to give up all this witch silliness.” With Becca safely at the door, Laurel ventured from her hiding spot. “Give up the idea of being a detective, too. Too dangerous, you said. Too risky for a human to try. And that root…”
Clara paused, tongue hanging out between her discreet white fangs. It was true that she had hoped that Becca would go back to being a researcher. The idea that she, or any human, could have magical powers was silly. Any cat would agree.
The worst part, of course, was that Clara and her sisters were responsible for Becca’s obsession. It had been Harriet’s summoning of a pillow—the golden velvet pillow that had been plumped up so vigorously—that had started the trouble, when Becca had misread its appearance as the manifestation of her own attempt at a spell. But recently, she’d come around to the idea that her person might be more like, well, like her cats. And if there were humans who had powers, then their Becca should be one of them.
“You look like a dog, with your tongue out like that.” Harriet emerged from the sanctuary of the bedroom to saunter past. Clara quickly closed her mouth as her oldest sister began snuffling up the crumbs that had gone flying. “Not to mention the way you tag along after her,” the marmalade added as she licked up a particularly tasty morsel.
“It’s not like you need to.” Laurel appeared alongside her and, with a wiggle of her hindquarters, launched herself to the tabletop. “Together, we could—”
“Kitties! No!” A loud clapping made Harriet put her ears back and Laurel leap to the floor. Only Clara looked up to see the tall, slender woman who was laughing behind her hands. The first of the guests had arrived.
“Honestly, Becca, they’re fine.” Ande, a member of Becca’s self-styled coven, wiped tears of laughter from cheeks that were a shade darker than Laurel’s fur. “I mean, if you didn’t have cats, maybe you wouldn’t have your powers.”
All three cats stopped at that and stared up at the newcomer as she walked past them into the kitchen. Even Becca froze, mouth open as if about to phrase a life-altering question.
“That’s so funny you would say that,” Becca managed, her voice breathless. “I was just reading—”
“Yoo-hoo!” Before Becca could elaborate, another voice rang out. “Everything okay?”
“Marcia.” Becca turned to greet the petite newcomer who bounded in, dark eyes wide. “How’re you—I mean, merry meet!”
“Merry meet yourself, Becca. But you shouldn’t leave your door open like that!” Taking off her ever-present Red Sox cap, she ran a hand through her brunette pageboy. “I got scared there for a minute.”
“Why?” Ande stepped back into the apartment’s main room. She was holding the teapot that was always filled for the coven’s gatherings. “What’s up?”
“Don’t you come through Central Square?” Marcia looked from Ande to Becca in disbelief. “Something’s happening at Charm and Cherish.”
“Oh, yeah, I was down there this morning.” Becca took the teapot from Ande, who stood stock still, and proceeded back into the kitchen. “Are the police still there?”
“Yeah.” Marcia dragged the word out as she looked from Ande to Becca. “You okay?”
“Of course.” Ande managed a smile. Laurel, meanwhile, had re-emerged and began sniffing at Marcia’s high-top sneakers. “Becca, what were you saying?”
Marcia wasn’t waiting. “Did you hear anything?” She tagged after Becca, stepping over the cat. “Is it related to that hit and run? I got an alert that the police are on the lookout for a red sports car with out-of-state plates. I guess the poor guy is still critical. It’s a good thing there was a vet nearby.”
“Good thing he knew emergency medicine.” Becca raised her voice to be heard over the running water.
“Yeah, well, that’s part of the training, isn’t it?” Marcia looked at Ande. The taller woman simply shrugged. “They’re calling him the hero vet.”
“Isn’t that redundant?” Becca waved Marcia off as she reached for the kettle. “But, no, that was down by the river. The reason for all the fuss around the shop is because of Frank Cross, the owner’s husband. He’s…well, it seems he’s died.” Clara could hear the water reaching a boil. With her superior feline senses, she could also hear Ande’s startled gasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I hear it might have been a coronary.”
“And you were there?” Ande’s voice was tense with dread. “At the shop?”
Becca shook her head as she counted out scoops of the fragrant mint tea. “Three. Four. Uh-huh,” she said. “No, not when it happened. I mean, I was at the shop earlier, but I think he was at his office when—oh, bother.”
“You’d gotten to five,” said Marcia. “And it’s just us three today.”
“Well, there’ll be seconds.” Becca shot her friend a grin as she poured the water into the teapot. “But, anyway, Margaret had wanted to hire me for a case—she had a problem with the shop. I told her I had a conflict and I couldn’t take it. But there was one thing I thought I could straighten out for her, just to put her mind at rest. It involved Frank, kind of, so I went down to his office—you know that car lot on Putnam? Anyway, he was alive then.”
“Well, this must be something different.” Marcia turned her Sox cap in her hands as she thought. “There were a ton of cops by the shop, not an ambulance or anything.”
“Margaret did tell me some valuables had gone missing,” Becca confided, her hand going up to the blue stone pendant. “She thought maybe Frank had taken them. That was…well, that was part of what I was looking into.”
“Speaking of, nice necklace.” Marcia reached over. “Lapis?”
“Thanks. It’s supposed to help discern truth from lies.”
“Interesting.” Marcia eyed the necklace as Ande stepped closer. “How’s it work?”
“When did you speak with Margaret?” Ande’s question saved Becca from having to confess her ignorance.
“Late this afternoon.” Becca reached for the mugs. “I went there right after talking with Margaret. She lives above the shop and—”