Клеа Саймон - An Incantation Of Cats

“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—”

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.