She stopped mid-sentence, and then shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” she said. And before Maddy could respond, she was walking around the small building once more.
“Becca, what are you doing?” Maddy tagged along, following her to the compact structure’s rear, but there she stopped, standing back, eyes wide as she scanned the empty lot. “That’s…I don’t think you should do that.”
Clara couldn’t have agreed more. Becca didn’t seem to take any notice of her friend’s hushed protest. Maybe she hadn’t heard her, as all her attention seemed to be focused on an awning window, set high on a wall. Small as it was, it seemed to have been overlooked. At any rate, no yellow tape ran across its surface, and even from where Clara stood, it was clear that the bottom wasn’t quite flush with the wall.
“I’m looking for clues. You know, like a proper detective.” Becca, on tiptoe, picked at the opening with her fingertips, trying to get a grip on the metal frame. “Want to lend me a hand?”
“No, Becca. I don’t think so.” Maddy frowned. “And I really don’t think—”
Her friend didn’t even wait for her to finish. Instead, she’d pulled over one of the metal trash cans. Gingerly balancing on top, a sneaker on either side of the rim, Becca was able to grab the bottom of the window frame and pull it toward her, opening it outward.
“You sure?” Rather to Clara’s surprise, Becca was smiling. “You’re going to miss all the fun.”
“Please, Becca.” Maddy took a step forward, and Clara wondered if she were about to grab her friend, much like Becca would grab Clara or one of her sisters when they were about to investigate those intriguing bubbles that sometimes appeared in Becca’s bath.
She wasn’t fast enough. With a scraping sound, Becca slid the screen out of her way, then pulled herself up and, sneakers gaining just enough purchase against the textured concrete wall, climbed in.
“Becca!” Maddy’s whisper sounded frantic as Becca’s feet disappeared through the opening. Clara didn’t know if Maddy’s ears were sensitive enough to pick up the thud that followed, but for a moment the calico forgot to shade herself, standing on her hind legs as she attempted to peer through the wall.
“I’m okay!” The top of Becca’s face appeared. “I had to kind of dive to not fall into the toilet. But, Maddy, if you’re not going to join me, I need you to stand lookout.”
Maddy sighed, closing her eyes in resignation, but then she nodded and even forced a smile. That’s when it hit Clara how well the heavy-set woman knew her friend, and how much she loved her. Maddy had been arguing with Becca all day about her quest, as well as about her new profession, but when push came to shove, she did what she could to support her.
“I’ll be over by the corner,” she called back. “That way I can keep my eye on the street.”
Maddy was a loyal friend. But she was still human. And as Clara watched her nervously looking around, her head moving so fast that a few strands of her neat dark hair shook loose, she pondered her own next move. She wanted to be with Becca, of course. But she knew well that cats are so much more attuned to the environment, so much more sensitive than even the most attentive human. No, she decided, weighing her desire against these factors, better to stay out here with Maddy. That way, if she heard or smelled someone approaching, she could alert her. How exactly she’d do that, she’d figure out later.
“How odd.” Becca was speaking softly to herself. To Clara’s sensitive ears, her voice from the other side of the building’s concrete wall was as clear as a bell. Pitching her ears back to catch any other utterances, she began to patrol, leaving Maddy to make her own way around the small building.
“Though that doesn’t mean…” Becca’s voice was suddenly interrupted by a clattering. “Oh, that is strange.”
Her person’s exclamation, quiet as it was, along with that clanging metallic sound, proved too much for the cat. Smoothing the fur over her brows and pulling her head back into her ruff, Clara shimmied through the concrete and between pieces of rebar to find Becca hunched over an open desk drawer, a puzzled expression on her face.
As quietly as she could, Clara leaped to the desk, where only her natural grace kept her from colliding with the odd, flat objects piled there. Three of the strange sheets were stacked beside Becca, all smelling slightly of motor oil and the dust in the room, while a fourth appeared to have fallen by their side. Clara stepped delicately around them, noting their uneven painted surfaces. There was something cold about them. Something that made Clara want to retreat to the warmth of her person, who stood there, staring down.
Clara eyed the sheets with distrust. These could have made that horrible clatter, Clara thought as she reached out a sheathed paw to touch one cool surface. Metal, she realized, drawing back. Cold and dead. And yet, these weren’t what Becca was looking at, not anymore at least, and so the calico stepped carefully to the edge of the desktop so she could gaze down at the drawer below. Even though she had a cat’s eye view, improved by her superior vision in the shadowy room, it was hard to see what had captured Becca’s attention. The drawer that she had apparently opened was completely empty.
As Clara watched, Becca pushed it back in an inch or two, and then released it. With a rattle, it rolled back out, almost like it was waiting to be filled.
“Now, now, don’t get greedy.” Becca must have had the same thought, Clara realized, as her person gently closed the drawer once more and turned to examine a miniature kitchenette.
Set next to the bathroom that had permitted Becca to enter, the kitchenette appeared to have been built into a repurposed closet. On the bottom sat a tiny refrigerator, with shelves above climbing up to the ceiling. Becca’s search was methodical, starting with that fridge. But if she expected a bottle of poison, or even an interesting herb, she was bound for disappointment. The dorm-sized appliance held only an ice cube tray, empty, and a sad lime, brown at its edges. Becca ran her hand over the top of the fridge, but it came away so dirty she went into the bathroom to rinse it off.
Her examination of the shelves wasn’t any more fruitful. The first held a microwave, but that, like the fridge, proved to be empty, if one didn’t count a sticky film that even a human might notice. The second was also empty, and even from the desktop, Clara could see the fine layer of dust that had settled there. That left one shelf, above Clara’s sight line. While she could have leaped up with a minimum of fuss, she didn’t need to. Becca, on tiptoes and holding onto the shelf’s lip for balance, had struck gold. With an exclamation of glee—“A-ha!”—she reached back to grab a mug that had been pushed back, apparently the only dishware of any kind left in the sad kitchenette.
“So you did sometimes take a break with—” Becca’s head snapped back just as the acrid stench reached Clara. “Whoa!” Becca blinked as she stepped back reflexively, bumping into the desk with a thud and causing the empty drawer to rattle open. Clara didn’t have to get that close to catch the reek of burned coffee and something sharper—whiskey?—mixed in. What she didn’t smell was any of that bitter root or the sad, sick odor that had clung to Gaia. She looked at her person, wondering if Becca could tell that, too, or if there was some way she could share her insight. But Becca had shaken off the burned and bitter stench and had turned to push the desk drawer back into place. It rolled easily enough with a gentle rumble. But as soon as she released it, it once again slipped open, nudging against her like a hungry kitten.