“Maddy, I’m onto something.” Becca lowered her voice, even though there was nobody around to overhear on the shady street. “The craft runs in my family, through the matrilineal line. We’ve long been wise women, serving the community.”
Maddy only shook her head.
“You’ll see,” her friend said. “But that’s not why I called you. I have a theory about who told the cops about me, but this time I want to make sure before I do anything.”
The two fell silent as they continued walking. Clara, trotting to keep up, could feel the tension between them. What she couldn’t figure out was how to ease it. Becca needed friends, the little cat felt strongly. Maddy might not agree with all of Becca’s ideas, or even the path she’d chosen to pursue professionally, but she’d been there for her friend in ways that Clara could only envy. Even before Clara and her sisters had come to live with Becca, Maddy had been an integral part of Becca’s life. Clara might not be able to define exactly why that made her more trustworthy, but it did. Maddy was more like a sister than a buddy. Or, she silently corrected herself, like one would want a sister to be—not annoying like Laurel and Harriet.
It was a pity Maddy couldn’t believe in Becca. That seemed to be the sticking point between them, but, in truth, that made Clara trust her more. Maddy at least had the sense to know what was real. When Clara thought of that Gaia, with all her piercings and black, she knew there was a lot to be said for someone a little less fancy and a little more committed to hard work and honesty, even if she pooh-poohed the idea of magic and hurt Becca’s feelings in the process.
Besides, she was here, helping Becca out, a fact Becca didn’t seem to fully appreciate. As the two made their way down the street, the silence was growing increasingly awkward. Clara could see Becca stealing peeks at her friend, while Maddy fumed, so intent on staring at the ground in front of her that it was a wonder she didn’t walk into a lamppost.
“So, where are we going?” Maddy asked finally. If Becca could hear the effort Maddy was making to keep her voice even, she didn’t let on. And Clara was grateful. Not only should these two be on better terms, but the little cat was curious as well.
“Frank Cross’s car lot.” Becca smiled as Maddy gasped and came to a sudden halt. “Please, I’ll explain.”
Urging her friend along, Becca did just that, her voice rising with urgency and purpose. “It was what that cop told me,” she said as they turned a corner into the industrial area that Clara remembered all too well. “That they knew I’d been down there the day that he was killed. It got me thinking.”
Now it was Becca’s turn to pause, and she met her friend’s eyes. “How did they know I was at the lot? I didn’t leave anything, and I never even spoke to Frank Cross, so it wasn’t like he could have told anyone or written down that I was there.”
“And you think that going back there is going to tell you something?” Maddy sounded incredulous, even as the two started off again, the brick beneath them giving way to concrete.
“I’m not sure.” Becca smiled mischievously. “But with your help, I’m going to find out.”
***
By the time they got to the lot, Clara was as curious as Maddy. She may have had more faith in Becca, but she still watched her intently, following her every move as she walked slowly around the perimeter. The lot was still a moonscape, though in the morning light she could see that the pitted asphalt was punctuated by a few dying weeds. Plus, the small building at its center had taken on some color. Yellow crime scene tape circled it, crossing that front window and running over the door that Becca had entered on her earlier visit—and which now looked locked tight.
That didn’t stop Becca, who crossed the now-empty lot to try that door. Maddy followed, watching as Becca rattled the knob. From the way her head swiveled back and forth, it was clear the larger woman wasn’t comfortable.
“Becca, I don’t know if we should be here.” She eyed the trees they’d left behind, like she would scurry up one if she could.
“We’re not doing anything.” Becca turned to circle the building. “This is a commercial property, so we’re not trespassing. And we’re not breaking in.”
Maddy opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Instead, she took off after Becca, who had darted over to the river side of the building. Before long, the heavier girl was panting like Harriet after a serious game of toss-the-mouse.
“How far do you think we are from the bike path?” Becca squinted up into the morning sun.
“A hundred yards? I don’t know.” Maddy shielded her eyes as she looked up and then out to the Charles. “Does the path even run here? I think maybe it’s down below the level of the road, over by the river.”
Becca considered. “So not from this angle.”
“Becca.” Maddy turned toward her friend, her round face serious. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m trying to figure out who might have seen me, and working out where I was seen from might help.”
Maddy shook her head in confusion.
“The lot was nearly empty that day. Three cars, I think. I remember because I wondered if Frank was going out of business. His wife—widow—had implied that it was more of a vanity project than anything, but at the time I thought maybe she was just lashing out.” Becca was scanning the roadway and the river opposite as she spoke. “It was late in the day, around dusk, but it was really dead, and I didn’t hear any cars going by. But someone saw me. Someone must have, and then they called the police.”
“Maybe it was someone who lives around here.” Maddy made a sweeping gesture that took in the rundown triple-deckers behind the concrete monolith at the block’s end.
“I doubt it.” Becca crossed her arms. “What are the odds someone in one of those apartments would remember seeing someone who had simply dropped by, and even then, only for a few minutes? And I know someone who says he comes down here often for business. By bicycle.”
“That guy Tiger.” Maddy crossed her arms, too. “Becca, I knew he sounded like trouble. He’s—”
“No, that’s just it.” Becca was still shaking her head, trying to puzzle it out. “I mean, yeah, I think it might have been Tiger. But why? He can’t really think that I’d be involved in Frank’s murder. Can he?”
“I don’t know, Becs.” Maddy began looking around again, as if she expected a score of strange men to suddenly appear. “But can we go now? Did you find out what you wanted?”
“Not exactly.” She reached out to steady her friend. “Wait here.”
“Wait, what?” By the time the question was out of Maddy’s mouth, Becca had taken off, jogging across the lot and down the street to where a shaggy brown-leafed copse of trees hid her from view. Maddy looked like she was about to take off after her, but stopped, relief flooding her face as Becca raised her hand, palm out. Thirty seconds later, Becca was back, her cheeks flushed red from the run.
“I was right.” She sounded triumphant. “If someone was coming down Putnam, they’d have a perfect view of whoever was standing out here, wondering if she should go in.”
“But that could have been anyone.” Maddy pointed out the obvious.
“It was someone who identified me to the police,” said Becca. “So it was someone who knew me.”
“So now what?” Maddy, at least, seemed amused. “Please don’t tell me that you’re just going to go talk to this guy Tiger again. Even if he didn’t do anything wrong, it still sounds creepy.”
“No, I’m not.” Becca sounded thoughtful as she turned to take in the small concrete building before them. “I’ve done too much talking already, Maddy. In fact, I’ve spent all my time on this case talking to the participants in the hope of reaching some kind of agreement.”
Before Maddy could respond, she continued. “In all fairness, that’s kind of worked. I mean, Gaia hasn’t admitted to stealing from the shop, but she did admit to having an affair with Margaret’s husband. And she also admitted to trying to frame Margaret by putting the root in her own tea. So I wouldn’t have thought there was anything else. Except that—”