“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 had no 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.”
A slow nod made Clara think that the big man understood more than he was letting on.
“So both Gail and Margaret hired you?”
“Well, they both tried to. I told Margaret I couldn’t work for her because Gaia had hired me first. That was before Margaret lost her husband.”
Another nod. “And how exactly did you come to be here, at the hospital, this evening?”
“Well, I had been trying to reach Gaia. She and I were going to come talk to you about…about, well, something I saw. And a plant. It’s a long story. Honest, but when I finally reached her, she said she was feeling funny. Her mouth had gone numb, and she was slurring her words. So I called 9-1-1.” She’d glided over the part with Gaia slipping away, Clara noted. The way the big man waited made her think that he’d noticed something was missing from her story, too.
“You were coming in to speak with me?” His voice flat as a stepped-on mouse.
“Yes.” Becca paused, and Clara thought she was going to explain, then, about seeing Elizabeth—about the missing plant and Gaia bolting. Instead, she simply forged ahead. “She and I had talked about it. Her ex-boyfriend—I’d just met with him. He was worried about Gaia. He thought someone was out to get her, and I guess he was right.”
“This boyfriend have a name?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Tiger. I mean, that’s probably a nickname, but that’s what everyone calls him. Have you spoken with him? Because he thought that someone was stalking Gaia. He warned her to be careful.”
“And you’ve met this Tiger?” His voice was still soft. His eyes, dark and kind. Maybe it was the way he leaned forward or some undefinable note underlying his questions, but Clara’s fur began to rise once more.
“Yes, we had lunch and he told me that he thought that Margaret maybe, but no…” Becca shook her head, picking up on the shift in tone that was causing Clara’s unease. “I just saw her, and Tiger’s wrong, at least about Margaret and her sister. I mean, she was angry at her husband. And at Gaia, too. But she didn’t put the root in her mug. Besides, it was just asafetida, which smells awful but isn’t dangerous.”