“Either that, or the sisters have some kind of feud going on and they’re dragging the poor shop girl into it. They’d probably drag any bystander into it, too.” Maddy scanned the nearby tables, but none of the bleary-eyed occupants—students, probably, another sign of fall—looked up. “Anyway, you don’t need to get caught up in that.”
“No, I don’t.” Becca took another piece of the giant cookie and nibbled on it. But even Maddy must have been able to see that her friend was barely tasting its buttery goodness. “The thing is, I do need clients.” She paused to wipe a crumb from her lip. “And if I can help two members of the Wiccan community, well, those are my people, Maddy.”
“Don’t.” Her friend held up one hand to stop her. “Please, Becca. I’m your people. Researchers are your people. Academics are your people, and historians. I know you’ve gotten into this whole witch thing since you lost your job with the historical society, but please don’t go overboard.”
“I’ve solved some cases, Maddy.” Her friend cared for her, Becca knew that, but her lack of faith was clearly beginning to smart. “You know I have.”
“I know.” Maddy nodded, resignation sneaking a sigh into her voice. In truth, Becca had solved the murder of a member of her own small coven. Since then, she’d used her considerable powers of observation and skill as a researcher to help others as well. The fact that her three cats had assisted was something neither of the two friends could know. “I’m sorry. Getting stuck in traffic must have gotten to me. But, really, two clients in one day—and one of them is accusing the other?”
“It is odd.” Becca’s hand went up to her necklace. “But I think they were both being honest in their fashion.” Her brows knotted together in a way that her friend knew, from long experience, meant she was about to reach a conclusion.
“Please, Becca.” Maddy made one more last-ditch attempt. “You’re going to call these two back, right? Tell them you can’t take their so-called cases?”
“I think I have to call Margaret Cross.” Becca ignored her. “I have to tell her that I can’t accept her case. I should have as soon as I heard her employee’s name, but it took me a minute to put it all together. All I have to do is tell her I have a conflict because of an existing client. After all, I took Gail’s—Gaia’s—case before her boss walked in.”
Maddy slouched in her seat. “So you’re going to keep Ms. Glitter Goth?”
Becca shot her a look. “I should never have told you about her sneakers. They were really cute, and Laurel couldn’t get enough of them. But that’s not why—no, I’m not going to drop Gaia Linquist as a client.”
“Please, don’t say it.” Becca had seen Maddy put her mug down in preparation for launching into a speech. “I know I could get a job with you at Reynolds and Associates. But I need to give this a chance—I need to give myself a chance, Maddy. I’m good at detecting, even if the witchcraft part is still kind of iffy.”
A true friend, Maddy bit her lip and waited for Becca to go on.
“And this is serious. Wolf’s bane can kill you.”
“So don’t you think this is a matter for the police?”
Becca shook her head sadly. “It’s a root in a coffee mug. And the complainant is a young girl with dyed-black hair and sparkly sneakers, whose boss may be trying to get rid of her. You didn’t believe her, Maddy. Why would they?”
Chapter 4
Clara slipped through the door only seconds ahead of Becca, after a last breathless dash. Her person couldn’t have known the little calico had followed her out. Had, in fact, been napping beneath her feet as the conversation had turned to Maddy’s job and her ongoing campaign to get Becca to join her, and had trotted alongside her most of the eight blocks home. But she didn’t want Becca to worry, in case she called her cats together for a consult upon returning home and Clara had been slow to appear.
“What did you find out?” Laurel was at the door and reached her brown nose down to touch her little sister’s bi-colored one. “Was I right about that sneak?”
“Is she bringing home any treats?” Harriet ambled over. Neither of Clara’s older sisters had quite the facility that the little calico had with passing through physical barriers, like doors. And neither could quite so easily mask themselves into near invisibility—Clara suspected that skill had to do with her multicolor markings. But Harriet in particular was made of solid stuff. Her own special skill—making physical objects appear—might have been an extension of her corporeality. It wasn’t always helpful. In the recent past, she had caused a golden amulet and, at one especially troublesome juncture, a pillow to appear, each time causing havoc in Becca’s world.
In addition, because the objects Harriet summoned from the ether were either conjured out of air itself or crafted around some small, pre-existing item, they were never quite as good as the real thing. Which was why the always hungry longhair had given up on summoning treats. Especially since their person was usually so good about indulging them.
“No…I don’t know.” Clara answered Harriet first, as she panted to catch her breath. As the oldest, the marmalade longhair would expect that. “I ran out as she got up to leave.” In truth, the two friends had left most of that cookie, which was unlike them. A sign, Clara knew, of Maddy’s distress at her friend’s decision—and Becca’s determination to get started on the case.
“And, no, she doesn’t seem to realize that that first woman was lying.” She turned to Laurel, whose blue eyes were so much more clear than that stone.
“Humans!” A delicate sniff bristled Laurel’s whiskers. “So silly.” But despite her assuming a worldly-wise pose, Clara could see that chocolate-tipped tail lashing, a sure sign that her sister was as concerned as Clara herself. That was one of the other reasons Clara had rushed to get home.
“In fact, she’s going to keep that girl Gaia’s case.” That got even Harriet’s attention, and the little calico hastily filled her sisters in, even as her sharp ears swiveled, searching for the sound of familiar footsteps on the stairs.
“I could make this all go away.” Harriet batted idly at a toy mouse as she spoke. A sure sign, Clara knew, that her oldest sister was up to something. “If you’d let me.”
Clara held her tongue. In the past, she’d done her best to enforce the number one rule of magical cats, that they never let their humans know about their powers. It had led to tension, at the very least.
“What could you do?” The hint of scorn in Laurel’s Siamese-type yowl hinted at her skepticism.
“Well, something’s missing, right?” Either Harriet didn’t hear it, or she didn’t care. “You two are so proud of what you can do. But you know that I can summon just about anything as easily as I’d twitch my tail.”
Laurel sat back on her café au lait haunches and seemed to consider the marmalade’s proposal. It fell to Clara to break it to them.
“It wouldn’t work,” she said, her mew softened with regret. “That lady didn’t lose a ‘thing,’ per se. Someone took money—altered the accounts somehow—and nothing any of us could conjure up would change her bank balance.”
“Balance?” Laurel, the most athletic of the three, drew out the word, one hind leg stretched out balletically behind her.