Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

Clara listened with rising panic as Becca’s voice went softer and lighter both. “The River Café? Sure. That would be nice.”

Beside her, Laurel purred and licked her chops as Harriet scarfed up the last few crumbs of food in her dish and began to eye Clara’s. But the youngest of the three cats blocked her sister out of habit, barely noticing as the orange and white fluffball flounced off. Because Becca had hung up, and turned toward the two cats who remained in the kitchen. For a moment, Clara almost thought Becca could see her concern.

“Well, kitties, I’m going out to dinner with the man who seems to be in the middle of this mess,” she said, her voice growing thoughtful. “So now maybe I’ll be able to get some answers.” Clara knew then that her person hadn’t understood her at all, and she looked at her sister in alarm. But Laurel only turned in that dismissive way that all Siamese have and began to bathe.

“I wonder what I should wear.” Becca wandered out of the kitchen, not even noticing that Clara’s dinner had barely been touched. “And if there’s a spell that might help me decide.”

Chapter 19

The hissing commenced as soon as Becca opened her closet.

“I cannot believe you want her to dress like that.” Clara’s fur had expanded in her rage. She was a small cat, but fluffed out like this, she could have covered the stretch velvet mini that lay on the bed. “He might be dangerous.”

“Silly little girl!” Laurel spat back, her dark ears flat on her head. “Don’t you see? She could control the situation, looking so slinky.” Her blue eyes took in the velvet frock, although whether she wanted to scratch it or roll on it, her sister couldn’t tell. “If she brought him back here, we could question him. Only you — you — ” Her rage devolved into wordless spatter, and she turned her back on her sibling and proceeded to wash.

“You!” With one last exhalation, more sigh than hiss, Clara began to calm down. At least she had stopped her sister, slapping her on her chocolate nose just as Laurel had begun to work on Becca. Clara didn’t know if it was because Laurel’s powers were limited or her sister was simply lazy, but she did know that the other cat’s ability to implant suggestions in others’ minds was vague at best. If Becca hadn’t already been considering her upcoming dinner a sort of date, Laurel might not have been able to steer her toward that short velvet number. Still, it was a close call, and Clara wasn’t able to relax until her person left the house in a flowered frock that fit her—and the occasion—more comfortably. If it were not for that well-placed bonk, Becca might have wiggled into that stretchy dress—and into more trouble.

“Spoil sport.” Laurel muttered as she bathed. “Now we’re both going to miss the fun.”

Clara deflated, her fur settling in despair. It was true, her squabble with her sister had kept her in the bedroom too long. Without any idea where Becca had gone, she was at a loss—unable to follow. And so with one bound, she leaped to the windowsill. Nudging aside Harriet, who was napping again, she settled in to watch and wait for Becca to return.

***

“Merry meet, Becca. How are you doing?” Even giving the coven’s ritual greeting, Trent’s voice rumbled deep and confidential, and as his questions turned personal, Becca felt her color rising in response. “I’ve been so worried about you. I didn’t want to wait until Wednesday.”

Despite the melancholy motive for this get together, the setting felt distinctly intimate. Maybe it was because the waitress had led her to a booth in the back, rather than the open seats at the counter. Maybe it was the nice shirt the warlock was wearing, open just enough for her to see the glint of gold nestled in the dark hair of his chest. As he leaned forward, it bobbed, and she found herself staring—and wondering once more if she should have gone with the sexier outfit. She blamed her slight buzz. She should probably have objected when he’d ordered the pitcher of margaritas. She definitely shouldn’t have taken such a big swallow, even if it was the house special, strawberry, her personal favorite.

“Thanks.” She bent once more over the menu, hoping to hide her face, which felt as rosy as that drink. She was having trouble concentrating, and she didn’t think it was just the alcohol. “I’m okay. It’s just been exhausting.”

“Of course,” he said, his voice warm with understanding, and Becca relaxed. It would have been too odd to try to explain that she kept thinking about her cats. They were home, safe, and she was the one out. But even though she was sitting here—at the River Café with Trent—she kind of wished she was with them. At home. Snuggled up on the sofa. Trent, however, was doing his best to be solicitous. “You’ve probably spent way too much time with the police these last few days.”

She nodded. “I know they’re doing their job—and I want them to. Only they had me come in this morning, and it was, well, weird.”

“I can imagine.” His voice as soft as a purr. “They must have had a lot of questions.”

She nodded. “They did.” The margarita had been a bad idea. But he was waiting, his dark eyes full of concern. “They were asking about the coven and, well, about the man she was dating.”

“Suzanne was seeing someone?” A note of excitement—or could it have been regret?—tightened his voice.

The effect must have been contagious, because all of a sudden Becca found it hard to swallow. “My ex.” She choked out the words. “But I think that was over.”

Thoughts of Jeff and of that last phone call on the stairs of Suzanne’s apartment, and suddenly it all came back. Her voice caught in a sob, and Trent leaned forward, reaching across the table as if to embrace her. It was too much. Becca felt like a fool and drew back, embarrassed, even as she found herself staring once more at his chest—and at the gold medallion that had swung forward from inside his shirt.

“Is that…?” Becca stopped herself from stretching out her hand for it, silently blaming the margarita once more.

“A witches’ knot.” To her relief, he glanced down and grasped the gold medallion himself, holding it still to allow Becca to see the intricate looped design on its front. “You have a good eye.”

His own eyes twinkled as he smiled, but Becca only shook her head, confused.

“It has charms on it, and not everyone would see it right away.” His voice was low and conspiratorial. “But we already knew you have power.”

“I guess.” Becca turned away. Bad enough that she was out alone with Trent—a member of the coven who had romanced several of their colleagues already—she’d been caught staring at his chest. They were supposedly going to talk about the death of one of their own too.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. Though if he meant in general or for reaching for her, Becca didn’t know.

“Me too.” She looked up into eyes that were shadowed and deep set. Could those be tears as well? Now it was her turn to reach out for his hand. “Were you and Suzanne close?”

A slow, sad shake of the head. “Not anymore,” he said. “She’d been going through something, I think.”

Becca nodded, her last conversation with the dead woman coming back to her mind. “I know she had questions.” She bit her lip, unsure of how much she wanted to reveal. Trent was a friend, but still… “I think she was worried about money.”

“Money?” Trent pursed his lips in thought. “Do you know why?”

Becca considered. “I’m not sure. You don’t think that’s why she was…” She swallowed. Hard.

“No, no.” Trent rushed to correct himself. “I mean, I don’t know. But, well, Suzanne had been acting odd for a while now. And you saw how skinny she was.”