“What do you mean?” Becca put her hand on Tiger’s handlebars to stop him as he turned away. “Gotten rid of it now?”
“Elizabeth’s not telling you the truth—or not the whole truth,” he said, his voice disconcertingly matter-of-fact. “She took the plant, whatever she says. I saw it in the back room of the shop the last time I went to visit Gaia. I guess Gaia didn’t recognize it, or maybe it was after she was fired.” He paused, his eyes going wide. “Maybe that’s why Gaia was fired.”
“You’ve got to tell the cops that, Tiger. This is serious.”
He shook off the idea. “My ex gets fired and suddenly I’m accusing the owner of attempted murder? Besides, I was never supposed to be back there. Gaia used to sneak me in sometimes late at night—she had a way in through the window and showed me how. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. That old crow probably got rid of it. But, hey, you could ask the cops to check it out.”
To her credit, Becca took a moment, chewing on her lip as she considered the option. “No,” she said at last. “They’ve already warned me off. Besides, I don’t have any proof.”
“But you’re really resourceful.” Clara could feel Becca flush slightly at the compliment. But Tiger wasn’t done. “Maybe you could find a way to look for it. I don’t think you’d be able to miss it. It’s pretty distinctive, with those poisonous blue flowers and all.”
“Maybe.” Becca didn’t look thrilled at the idea. “But now, I’d better go beard the lion—or the lioness—in her den. And I should do this alone.”
Clara expected him to protest, but he only nodded. “Good luck. Let me know how it goes. On top of everything else, now I’m curious. If Elizabeth did dump that plant, when did she get rid of it? And if not, why do you think she’s been keeping it? And where? You should be careful, Becca.”
“I will be,” said Becca, her mouth set in a determined line. “And thanks.”
Chapter 30
Becca watched him pedal off before she headed down to Margaret’s apartment. Clara might not have Laurel’s skill, but she thought that her person looked a little wistful as well as curious. Wistful, the calico understood. This Tiger might be a tad odd, but he was trying to help, in his way, and he’d spent a good chunk of his afternoon with Becca. The curiosity was more than the cat could figure out. Her person was both sweet and warm, and to Clara it was no wonder why a man would want to get close to her. Surely, despite her searching gaze, staring back at the way Tiger had ridden, Becca must understand that much.
For now, Becca’s thoughts were her own, and so Clara trotted along, tail up, when she rang the apartment bell and, soon after, made her way up those stairs.
“Becca!” Margaret’s dark eyes widened with surprise. Clad in a velour track suit, she appeared even smaller than she had the last time Becca had seen her.
“I’m sorry to disturb you.” She truly was, Clara could tell from her posture as well as her voice. “I know these last few days must have been difficult.”
“Thank you.” The widow collapsed against the doorframe, suddenly appearing both older and smaller than usual. “It’s bad enough that Frank is gone, but all the fuss.” She bent her head, exposing the white roots of her part, and Clara could feel her person’s resolve crumble.
“I am so, so sorry.”
The widow accepted the condolences, the white line bobbing briefly.
“Are you—I’m sorry, you must be caught up in funeral plans?”
“No.” One syllable shared with the doorframe. “Not yet.” Margaret cleared her throat, her voice growing stronger. “We’ll have a service, some kind of memorial, at some point. They—the police still have him. They’re doing tests…” Her voice trailed off again as one hand waved her sentence to completion.
“That’s part of what I was hoping to talk to you about,” Becca ventured, the effort audible in her voice. “Or Elizabeth, really.”
“Elizabeth?” Margaret’s head popped up and those big eyes blinked. “Why?”
“I gather she might have some insight into what happened.” When Margaret didn’t respond, Becca kept talking. “With Gaia.”
“You can’t still think that I… That Frank…” A second wave of fatigue seemed to wash over her, deflating her once again as she stepped back, opening the door to her visitor. “Whatever,” she said, her voice flat. “You might as well come in.”
“Thanks.” Clara slipped in alongside Becca and followed her through to the sunlit living room. The space appeared much as it had the other day, although Becca made a more careful examination of the plants on the sill. “Let me get my tea,” Margaret said, her voice flat, as she walked through to the kitchen. “You want some?”
“Ah, no, thanks,” Becca called back. “I really just had a few questions.”
“What do you want to know?” Margaret returned holding a mug that smelled strongly of peppermint. She sipped, watching Becca over the mug, her eyes dry.
“Well,” Becca took a moment to recalibrate. “I was wondering if you would tell me a bit about Frank’s business.”
“His business?” The tea seemed to have revived the widow. At any rate, Clara thought, if she was nonplussed by the question, she didn’t show it. “He had that car lot down by the river. That was the extent of it.”
Becca took this in. “Used cars? Did he buy them or bring them in from other locations?”
A frown rippled the little lipstick left on her lips. “I don’t really know. Took them on consignment, I think. It was just a little thing, more a hobby than any kind of big going concern. I know he saw himself as some wheeler and dealer, but I doubt he had more than three cars for sale at any given time.”
Becca paused, apparently storing the words away, as Margaret drank her tea. Before she could phrase another question, the widow continued, her voice taking on a tone of resignation. “That’s not where he got his money from. You probably know that already, right?”
Clara could feel Becca holding her breath as she waited.
“I spoiled him.” A sigh as she placed her mug on the table. “I know I did. The watches, the rings. The car lot itself.” She peered up at her guest. “You’ve probably never been in love, have you?”
“Well…” A half smile from Becca.
“I thought we had a good relationship. No,” she raised her hand, not that Becca had made any move to interrupt, “I know what you’re thinking. But we had our ways. It had…he had never done anything like this before. I thought, well, it’s just another phase.”
“Maybe it was.” Becca spoke softly. “Maybe he didn’t mean to end it this way.”
“You don’t think… Is that why you were asking for my sister?” Her brow bunched together as she reached once more for her tea. “Elizabeth didn’t like him, but she wouldn’t do anything to…to harm him.”
“I believe you.” Becca tried to keep her voice calm and even. “But I don’t know if the police will, and I think she has information that could help us all.”
The widow inclined her head over her mug. “You may as well talk with her, then. She’s checking in on the shop.”
“She is?” Becca leaned in.
A curt nod. “She got a call, probably a prank. That girl…”
Clara looked at her person. Becca appeared to weigh several responses, but wisely decided to hold her tongue. Or maybe she simply hadn’t settled on one quickly enough as the sound of the front door opening had her craning around in her seat.
“Elizabeth.” Margaret looked up at her older sister. While Becca had turned to face the newcomer, Clara could see the curious expression on the widow’s face—eyebrows raised and mouth pursed. “Becca here was just looking for you. She has some questions.”
“Of course she does.” The taller sister breezed in, looking quite calm and collected, Clara mused. What Becca thought wasn’t clear, but her pet could see that she had been taken aback by the older woman’s response, if not by her sudden appearance. “I need to wash up, Becca. Would you join me?”