Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

Another burst of noise from the phone. Clara was leaning in, but lost the thread as her oldest sister landed hard beside her.

“Are we having treats?” Harriet pushed by Clara on her way to Becca’s lap. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

“I was here first.” A hint of a growl from Laurel, but Becca was too distracted to notice. To the cats’ dismay, she stood up and began pacing. And while Laurel and Harriet stared at each other from opposite ends of the sofa, Clara jumped down to follow their person around the apartment.

“Yes, I know what you told the police, Jeff.” The note of tension made Clara’s spine stiffen. “But that just made them suspect me, and I know I didn’t want to hurt her. She is—was—a friend, and I found her. So, yeah, I want to help.”

She stopped so quickly that Clara nearly bumped into her. It was only the round little calico’s feline grace that allowed her to swerve in time to brush by her person’s ankles instead.

“What are you talking about, Jeff?” Becca’s voice had gone cold, and Clara peered up, trying to see her face. “Why would I need a lawyer?”

***

“You’re not the one who needs a lawyer.” Maddy showed up soon after, bearing scones and sympathy. Although Clara wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, it was obvious that Becca’s furious typing on her laptop had communicated the latest. Still, it was Harriet who had first spotted Becca’s old friend—or at least the bakery box she carried—and jumped heavily from her window seat to greet the plump young woman with a purr. “Oh, what a nice cat!”

Maddy bent to stroke the fluffy marmalade’s back as Harriet reached up to nose the cardboard box.

“You can’t think that Jeff…” Becca turned back toward the kitchen. After a night tossing and turning, she trod as heavily as Harriet. “That he would…”

“I don’t know what to think.” Maddy stood, to Harriet’s dismay, and followed her friend into the apartment. “But they had been seeing each other, and Suzanne wanted to talk to you. And now he seems to be keeping tabs on you awfully closely.” She placed the box on the table and pulled up a chair.

“Maybe she found out something about him. Maybe he’s lying about breaking up with her. Maybe she dumped him, and he didn’t want it to end.”

Becca winced, and even Harriet looked up. Although that, Clara realized, could have been because her fluffy sibling was hoping the shock would result in a dropped scone.

“Maddy.” Becca slumped into her own seat.

“I’m just saying…” Maddy opened the box and suddenly, Harriet was staring daggers at her. “I never really liked him.”

“Drop one. Come on!” Harriet was muttering, a low rumbling that could almost be mistaken for a purr. “You’re feeling clumsy…”

“Hush, I’m listening,” Laurel responded, appearing under the table. Becca would say “out of nowhere,” Clara knew. But that was Clara’s special skill. Laurel simply had an appetite for gossip that matched her older sister’s taste for sweets.

“You didn’t?” Becca stopped, plate in hand. “Really?”

“He always thought he was too good for you.” Maddy took the plate and opened the box. Two scones. Harriet’s ample bottom began to twitch as she readied for a jump.

“No!” Clara’s paw came down on her sister’s tail, and Harriet turned, too affronted to protest. “Sorry.” Clara pulled her paw back. “I want to hear. I’ll owe you,” she hastened to add.

“You sure will.” Harriet flicked her tail out of reach, secretly grateful—Clara suspected—that she didn’t have to try for the tabletop.

“He didn’t.” The hurt in Becca’s voice made both cats look up.

“I wouldn’t have said anything if you’d stayed together.” Maddy broke off a piece of one scone, and Harriet licked her chops. “And, hey, maybe I was wrong.”

Becca was slumped in her seat. “No, Jeff never wanted us to be serious.” The accent she put on the last word made Clara’s fur bristle. “He said we weren’t ready.”

“Good riddance.” Maddy kept eating. “Because if ‘being serious’ is what happened to that other woman? I’d say you’re better off.”

Becca nodded, not even objecting to the circular logic of her friend’s argument. “I guess,” she said. “I mean, no, Maddy. Jeff’s not a…a killer.”

“There’s a lot about that man you don’t know.” Her friend popped the last bit of pastry into her mouth and glanced up at the clock. “Hey, I should be getting to work.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Becca reached for her friend’s arm. “What aren’t you telling me, Maddy?”

“Oh, honey.” Maddy bit her lip. “Let him go, okay?”

“Maddy.” Becca was growing more insistent.

“Look at the facts.” Her friend leaned on the table. “This is a man who would throw you to the wolves. Why else is he keeping such close tabs on you?”

“Because he wants to get back together?” Becca’s voice faded out even before she finished—and brought her friend in for a hug.

“That makes no sense. I’m sorry, Becca. I really am, and I feel awful about leaving you like this. My boss…well, you’ve heard it all.” She said it apologetically, though whether that was because she was leaving her friend in no better mood than she’d found or because she still had a job, Clara couldn’t tell. “Do you mind?”

Harriet began to whine, and Clara turned in dismay. But her sister’s golden eyes were riveted on the table above them. Maddy had stood and was reaching for the box. Becca hadn’t touched her scone and pushed the plate toward her.

“No, you take it.” Becca forced a smile. Beneath the table, Harriet lashed her tail. Clara was going to have a lot to make up for.

***

After her friend left, Becca fetched her laptop, settling on the sofa with the same resigned posture Clara was growing accustomed to. Torn between jumping up beside her—she didn’t think her person was beyond distraction—and trying to find out more, Clara turned toward her sisters and blinked, the feline version of an invitation to chat. But, whether because they were her older sisters or simply because of the nature of cats, they resisted.

“Why ? ” Harriet was still staring at the kitchen table, the lost treat a personal affront.

“So we can figure out how to help Becca,” Clara explained. “I think she’s worried about Jeff, and you know how she is. Even if he did try to set her up, she’s going to want to clear his name.”

“By looking into a murder?” Laurel was intrigued, but Harriet simply glowered. In this state, she’d likely pin it on Maddy.

“She is our charge.” Clara hoped the appeal to Harriet’s vanity would ease the way.

“I should just make a knife like that one she used on the cake, and let Becca find it,” the long-haired sister grumbled. “Only I’d want to put it in that scone stealer’s back. Who brings treats and then takes them away again?”

Clara held her tongue. Harriet had a point, but Laurel came to the rescue.

“The calico clown is right.” She rolled the R as if she were purring. “The way she’s going, Becca’s not going to be good for much soon. And besides” —the Siamese paused to lick her paw, a purely dramatic move— “if we can get her out of this slump, she’s more likely to bring home a new man. A new man who wants to win our approval.”

The way she stretched out that last word made her intentions unmissable. Laurel wouldn’t stop at using her powers of suggestion, but Clara couldn’t argue this time. Especially since Harriet had come trotting over.