Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said again as they prowled around. “Harriet’s got quite the swing.”

Clara waited for Trent’s objection, but heard none. Perhaps he hadn’t time, because within a minute, Becca called out, “I think I’ve found it!”

Harriet’s swipe, it seemed, had sent the amulet across the room, where it must have slid beneath the overstuffed armchair. Unless… Clara turned to her older sister, but the plump marmalade only glared, her yellow eyes as poisonous as the stink from that bottle.

“Where? Oh, I see it.” Trent crawled over toward the chair, nearly knocking Becca over in his rush. “I think I can reach it.” Beside her, Clara felt Harriet shift and wondered if her sister was going to jump down in order to reclaim her prize. But either the effort wasn’t worth it, or the man on the floor was too quick. Even as Becca was reaching out—one arm extended beneath the chair—he managed to snag it.

“Is your amulet okay?” Becca sat back on her heels. Clara thought she would want to inspect it, but Trent had already shoved it in his pocket after the most cursory of inspections.

“Yup. Dandy.” He spoke as if he’d reassure her with such jolly words. But if Becca thought that all had been set right—and that her visitor would pick up again from where he had left off—she was in for a rude surprise. Leaning on the chair, Trent pulled himself to his feet, and although he did offer Becca his hand, he made no effort to draw her close again. In fact, he seemed to recoil a little when she stepped forward.

“I think I need to call it a night.” He smiled as if offering an apology, and some of the warmth came back to her face.

“Of course.” Becca nodded a bit too enthusiastically, Clara thought. “I’ll—well, I’ll see you at the next coven meeting, I guess.”

“See you then.” He slipped out almost as quietly as Clara would, leaving his hostess dumbfounded. And the three cats muttering on the windowsill.

“ Well, that was interesting.” Laurel began to wash.

“That was my toy. Mine.” Harriet stared after the departed visitor, her orange-tipped tail lashing in delayed fury. “I never liked that one,” she said.

Beside her, looking on as their person stared vacantly at the door, Clara could only agree.

Chapter 24

Despite another night of tossing and turning that discomfited all three of her cats, Becca faced the day with a new determination.

“It’s not my place to figure out what happened to Suzanne,” she told her pets as they gathered around her in the kitchen. Neither Harriet nor Laurel were listening, their gaze fixed instead on the can opener she was wielding. But Clara’s ears perked up as their person kept talking. “And I’m not going to waste any more energy on Jeff, either. I don’t care about his excuses anymore. He and I are through.”

That resolution, as much as the assurance in Becca’s tone, set the calico purring as the three bent to their breakfasts. Even Harriet seemed to have a good appetite, despite her dislike of the infamous tuna treat. Still, Clara couldn’t but be a bit distracted as Becca left the kitchen without preparing anything for herself. When she heard her open her laptop, she looked up in concern.

“You going to finish that?” Clara felt the nudge of a wet nose and looked over to see her biggest sister staring down at her can. “’Cause, if you’re not…”

“All yours.” Clara lowered her head, blinking slowly as a sign of affection and submission. She’d eaten enough, and she owed her oldest sister. Besides, right then, Becca was her priority.

Even before Harriet could finish what remained of her food, Clara was beside Becca, perched on the arm of the sofa as her person typed on the keyboard.

“Dear Mr. Reynolds,” Becca read aloud to herself as she pecked away, which made things easier for Clara. “I’m writing on the recommendation of Larissa Fox…”

“What’s going on?” Laurel landed beside her and immediately began to groom.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Clara. “I think she’s looking for another job.”

“Too bad.” The Siamese extended one dark chocolate paw. “She needs to focus more on us.”

Before Clara could respond, their person had stood. Reaching for her phone, she punched in numbers and began to pace.

“Mr. Reynolds? Thank you so much for getting back to me.” A pause. Despite her sister’s assumed nonchalance, Clara could tell that Laurel was listening too. “Why, yes, thank you. I would love to come in tomorrow for an interview.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Laurel snarled as she and Clara watched Becca head off to shower and start her day.

“What ?” Clara didn’t understand her sister’s pique.

“Pushing her to be all proactive. To go outside, and all.” As she spoke, Laurel stepped down onto the sofa cushion their person had just vacated, carefully arranging herself in a perfect circle. “If she’d kept that handsome Trent here, she wouldn’t be running off.”

“That wasn’t me.” Clara bristled at the injustice. “It was Harriet who went for that pendant he was wearing.”

“But you’ve been following her, and I know she senses your presence. Pushing her to ask questions and uncover every little thing.” Laurel was beginning to doze off, which was never her most logical mode.

“Besides, if Becca were still in bed, then we wouldn’t have had breakfast.” Harriet had finally joined them, licking her chops.

“I don’t think it’s bad for her to go outside.” Clara knew she was in the minority, and the sidelong glances of her sisters confirmed this opinion. “Besides,” she added as a way of making peace, “I doubt she’s leaving right away.”

“You heard her.” Harriet was in a mood, and Clara kept silent. Most cats live in the present, which makes the idea of “tomorrow”—or of any appointment, really—hard to grasp. Luckily, it also keeps them from worrying too much about the future or even holding on to a grudge for too long. Indeed, by the time Becca returned, showered and dressed, and sat back down on the sofa, Laurel and Harriet had seemed to forget their earlier pique. As Becca typed, it was Clara who grew concerned. Surely, it wasn’t good for a healthy young woman to spend an entire sunny spring day indoors. Not even a sweet one who had been through the mill recently, both personally and professionally.

“What are you complaining about?” Laurel’s fangs showed as she yawned, and her claws unsheathed as she stretched. “This is perfect!”

“I don’t know.” Clara didn’t want to leave Becca’s side. Still, she found herself pacing as the morning passed. She was even grateful when Becca picked up the phone again, as poor a substitute for fresh air and real contact as it might be.

“Hey, Maddy.” Becca sounded happy, at least, and willing to forgive her old friend her well-intentioned lapse. “You wouldn’t believe what I just found in the genealogy archives. A woodcut of my great-great-whatever. Oh, and I’ve got an interview! Call me?”

Harriet was asleep on her pillow by then, and Laurel halfway there, her dark-tipped tail lashing languorously across the sofa. Clara, however, found herself intrigued by Becca’s message, and when she jumped to the back of the sofa, she realized why. There—on the screen—was a picture. All lines and in black and white, it took a moment for the cat to make sense of it. An image without a scent is only half what it should be to most cats. But as she stared, she had the most profound realization. There, on the computer screen, was a print of her great-great-great-great-great-grand dam. The witch cat of Salem! Standing next to a nice-enough looking lady. A woman who—Clara leaned in to get a better view—kind of looked like Becca, if Becca had grown her hair long and then tied it all back in a knot.