Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

“Now, Kathy.” Trent was the voice of reason. “That’s not how the rule of three works. If one of us does something malicious, then that will come back three times. I don’t see how a mere pillow–”

“I’m sorry.” Becca pushed back from the table again. “I don’t think I can do this—not tonight.”

“Of course, it’s all my fault.” Kathy went to her and reached to draw her into an awkward hug. “Trent’s right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Obviously, no further planning was going to be done. And although Harriet looked up expectantly—fewer of the cookies had been eaten than usual—Clara felt for her person. She was glad when Larissa signaled the end of the meeting, shooing Ande and Marcia off with the mugs and the teapot. Becca watched as they cleared the table and excused herself to follow. She found the two huddled over the sink, rinsing dishes, as Harriet, who had followed the food, stared in rapt attention.

“This isn’t the time.” Marcia seemed incapable of speaking softly, but her tone implied a confidence, even if her volume—quite audible over the running water—didn’t. Neither was paying much attention to the fluffy feline at their feet, or to the two other cats who sauntered in to join her.

“Excuse me?” Becca, however, wasn’t so relaxed, and her voice was sharp enough that even Harriet’s concentration was briefly broken.

Marcia and Ande glanced at each other before Marcia turned the faucet off. “I’m sorry,” said Ande, dishtowel in hand. “I spoke out of turn.”

“If either of you know anything, you really do need to come forward.” Becca studied the faces of the two women. When Ande dropped her eyes to the floor, she turned to Marcia. For once, the petite Sox fan was silent, her lips tight set as she reached for a towel to wipe her own hands dry.

“Ladies?” Larissa, calling from the front of the apartment. “If you’re done with clean up…”

“Coming!” Marcia hung the towel over the faucet and leaned over to give Becca a quick hug. “Thanks, Becca.” Neatly sidestepping the three cats, she left.

“Ande?” Becca leaned in, cutting off the taller woman before she, too, could escape. “What was that about?”

The remaining guest folded her towel in her hands and peered ruefully toward the living room. “I can’t,” she said.

“If this has to do with the money that went missing…”

“No, it doesn’t.” She shook off the idea, running one hand over her face as if to wash it. “And really, Larissa just wants to forget about the finances. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

From the living room, the sound of laughter, and Larissa called again: “Hulloo!”

“Ande?” Becca wasn’t giving up.

“Look, it’s not my secret to share.” Ande forced a smile. “It’s just—well, I guess it’s true that you never really know what’s going on in someone else’s relationship.”

“Is this about Trent?” Becca’s voice squeaked. The warlock’s deep voice could be heard by the front door, warm and jocular. Clearly, the general mood had recovered. “I mean, the cops spoke with him too.”

“I can’t believe you two.” Kathy stood in the doorway, her freckled face unexpectedly stern. “Trent doesn’t need money.”

“I didn’t…” Becca closed her eyes and sank back against the sink in exhaustion. “We weren’t….”

Clara rose to go to her. It was quite apparent that some feline comforting was needed. But Laurel had one brown bootie firmly on the base of her tail.

“Hang on, ” her sister hissed. “I want to see how this plays out.”

Clara glared, but in that moment, Ande had gone to Becca in her place, draping one arm around Becca’s shoulders. “There, there, honey.” She pulled her close, murmuring like a mother cat.

“Did you know the red-haired one was listening?” Clara nudged Laurel as the two looked on. Harriet, sensing that no cookies would be forthcoming, had padded back into the living room.

“Just the last bit.” Laurel shrugged and lifted her paw. “I wanted to hear more too. That grooming behavior…”

“I know,” Clara agreed, grateful to have her tail released. “Do you think she feels guilty?”

“Becca’s been through a lot, Kath.” Before Laurel could answer, Ande had turned back to the redhead. “Let’s cut her some slack, okay?”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Becca.” Kathy reached out with both hands. “I can’t imagine. I guess we’re all on edge.”

“Thanks.” Becca choked out the word as the redhead drew her into a hug. “I just need to get some sleep.”

“Valerian,” Kathy pronounced sternly. “And, Ande? We should get going.”

“Will you be okay?” Now that she wasn’t being questioned, Ande seemed reluctant to leave.

“Yeah, thanks.” Becca pushed off the counter. “It’s just been a long week.”

“It’s Wednesday,” said Kathy, earning a poke from Ande. Becca didn’t respond, beyond holding on to that sad, tight smile as she walked her guests to the door.

Minutes later, she was stretched out on the couch. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

She moved her feet as Clara jumped up to join her. It had been a stressful visit, and the little calico was as tuckered out as her person. For once, she had Becca—and the end of the sofa—to herself. Harriet, still annoyed about the missed opportunities in the kitchen, was prowling about, muttering about cookies and treats and the stupid, ungrateful creatures with whom she was forced to cohabit. Laurel, meanwhile, was lingering by the door, though if it was because of the residual patchouli or some other trail, Clara couldn’t tell. As Becca’s breathing slowed and deepened, the tired calico felt her own lids start to close and she fought to stay awake. So much had happened that she needed to ponder, but it had indeed been a very busy couple of days.

The gentle tap on the door woke Clara first. Stretching, she peeked over the arm of the sofa to see Laurel staring expectantly at the knob. From the way she lashed her chocolate tail, Clara knew her sister was expecting that door to open.

“ Who is it?” Clara landed as soundlessly as a cat can and kept her mew soft as she approached her sister. Laurel’s blue eyes remained riveted, as the knock was repeated, a little less softly.

“ Maybe if you’d paid a little more attention…” The tail lashing quickened, as if the Siamese were readying to pounce.

“ To what?” Clara sat beside her, wrapping her own tail neatly around her front paws. “ I was focused on Becca.”

“ You weren’t the only one.” Almost a purr, this time, as the knocking grew louder and more insistent.

“Hang on.” Clara’s whiskers sagged. The sound had woken Becca, who was now shuffling toward the door. “Trent!”

Clara turned as her person straightened up, one hand going to her hair. Beside her, Laurel gave her a knowing sidelong glance. “See?”

“I’m sorry.” The warlock’s voice was as warm as his dark eyes. “I woke you. I could tell how exhausted you were, but I thought maybe…” He dipped his head shyly.

“Please, come in.” Becca stood back to let him enter. “Yeah, I fell asleep.” She rubbed her face. Clara couldn’t understand why her person should sound so apologetic. Napping was not only healthy, it was the appropriate reaction to many things, stress being one of them.

Trent passed by her and entered the apartment.

“I’m sorry.” There she was, apologizing again. Clara was beginning to get as agitated as Harriet. “Did you forget something?”

“Only my manners.” The dark-haired warlock turned to her. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. This whole evening.” He looked around, as if their coven were still assembled. “I know that it’s important to talk about what happened and to plan a memorial. But it was too soon. I should have known.”