Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

“Laurel, check this out.” Clara nudged her sleepy sister. “It’s Grandma.”

“It’s a box.” Laurel stretched and rolled over. “A box you can’t even sit in. Though it is warm…”

“No, look — ” But before Clara could convince her sister to try to make sense of the flat, odorless image, the phone had rung again, and Becca, reaching for it, had closed the electronic device.

“Maddy? Oh.” From the way she straightened in her seat, Clara could tell that her person was surprised. Not unhappy, though. “Hi, Nathan. I was expecting…someone else.”

Clara angled her ear and was able to pick up the voice of the painter, if not his pleasant pine scent.

“I realized I should take the initiative.” A nervous edge—or maybe it was the connection—pitched his voice high and brittle. “I know you’ve been through so much, but I was hoping we could get together, if you’ve got time.”

Poor connection or not, Becca’s face lit up as he spoke, in a smile that warmed Clara like a purr—at least for the few moments before her brows drew together in consternation. “Wait, how’d you get my number?” There was a sharpness to her voice that made Clara take note.

“I have my ways.” Clara heard Becca’s quick intake of breath. “I’m sorry, not funny.” Apparently, Nathan had too. “I got it from Larissa.” The answer came quickly and easily, his tone calming down to what the little cat remembered. But something about the way Becca had tilted her head—her lips tightly closed—made her pet think it wasn’t sufficient. “I mentioned meeting you to her the other day, when we ran into each other.”

“Uh-huh.” Becca wanted more.

“She seems to think we should get to know each other.” He laughed. “I know, pushy, huh? But you can ask her. I gather you’re getting together for a memorial tonight?”

“Tonight?” Becca started and then caught herself, as if the man on the other end of the line could see her. Then she paused, and to her cat she appeared to be wrestling with a question other than the one she had just answered. “Look, Nathan, can I get back to you? This is an odd time.”

Clara couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed when she rang off and, instead, began fiddling with her phone, tapping away at the device with her thumbs. While it was true that none of them knew this young man, the plump feline had liked his scent. Even more, she had liked the way he had treated Becca, taking her out for treats after that disconcerting meeting with the police. But Becca wasn’t Harriet, and if she had doubts, they were probably sensible, the pet reminded herself.

Still, the little cat looked up hopefully when the phone rang again. Becca was no house pet to spend all her time on the sofa.

“Maddy?” She’d grabbed up the phone without glancing at it.

“Sorry.” Even before she saw Becca’s shoulders’ drop, Clara knew. It was her person’s ex.

“Jeff.” No greeting, nothing cordial, and a new note—defiant—had crept into Becca’s voice. “What do you want?”

“Look.” His voice had an edge of panic. Or maybe it was desperation. “I’m sorry, all right? I was a lousy boyfriend and I’m sorry. I really—I guess I was afraid of the commitment, or of how I felt about you.” Laurel couldn’t have rolled her eyes any harder. Jeff must have heard something because he suddenly broke off. “Look, Becca, don’t hang up. I’m sorry, okay? I mean it. And when I told you that I’d broken up with Suzanne, I meant I was going to. That going out with her was a mistake, and even before she found out I was your boyfriend, I was going to end it.”

“So she was the one who ended it.” The words leaked out as sharp as Laurel’s claws. “Of course.”

“I was going to stop seeing her. Really.” She didn’t respond, but before he could hang up, he tried one more time, his voice pitched high and desperate. “You’ve got to tell the cops that, Becca. I mean, I had no reason to want her dead.”

Chapter 25

“Excuse me?” Becca’s default mode was polite. “I, wait, what?”

“Just, don’t take our relationship stuff to the police, okay? This is serious.”

Polite, but still furious. “Jeff Blakey, if you think that I’ve been airing my personal laundry to the police…” She stopped with a sputter. Her outrage was convincing, but Clara could tell that, for the moment at least, the angry young woman standing before her was concerned that she’d done just that.

Luckily, her ex didn’t know her as well as her cat did. “I’m sorry, Becca, but I think someone’s been telling them things, and, well, you’re the only one who makes sense.”

“Oh?” She leaned back against the sofa, waiting.

The answering sigh would have been audible, even to non-feline ears. “I thought I was in the clear, but then I was called in to answer some more questions about Suzanne, and it was kind of obvious they came from someone in your, you know, your group.”

“The coven?” Becca straightened.

“Uh-huh. There was a lot about if I knew how often you guys got together, and what was my involvement. I told them I didn’t know anything. That you and I had broken up before you got really into all that Wicca stuff. But this one cop, he kept pushing. Asking me why I was, you know, seeing two of you, and what that meant.”

“What that meant?” Becca pronounced the last word as if it tasted bad, and Clara licked her whiskers in sympathy.

“You know.” The man on the phone was at a loss to explain. “What was it about your witchy stuff that attracted men. Whether you girls had some kind of competition going.”

“Uh-huh.” Becca bit her lip. “And you think that this means that they suspect you?”

“What else?” His voice was cracking. The fatigue had broken through into desperation. “They questioned me for more than an hour.”

“Uh-huh.” The way Becca was nodding, Clara knew she was digesting his words slowly, as if they were a bit of gristle. “Maybe you’re right, Jeff. Maybe they were trying to get you to confess to being something more than just a nasty cheat.” A sputter came through the line, but Becca kept talking. “But if you ask me, what they’re doing is something else entirely. I think they’re asking you about me and my friends for a different reason. I think they suspect one of us in the coven.”

Jeff had the grace not to sound too happy about that idea. Or maybe, Clara thought, the callow young man simply lacked the sense to follow Becca’s reasoning. All she could tell for sure was that despite some vague protests, Becca was able to get him off the phone fairly quickly. And if Clara had worried about her person’s lack of drive before, now she faced the opposite fear. Instead of settling back on the sofa, where Laurel was snoring gently, Becca became a whirlwind of activity. Picking up the few dishes she’d used, she muttered to herself like a discontented cat, until, finally, she disappeared into her bedroom and began throwing clothes around, emerging at last in an all-black outfit that seemed at odds with the beauty of the day.

“Okay, kitties.” Laurel had woken and joined Clara in staring at their human. Even Harriet roused herself to look up. “I’m going to be out for a while, but don’t worry. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Really?” Laurel yawned and began to groom, her spirits if not her fur unruffled by the turn of events. “Do you think she expects us to respond?”

“I don’t know, ” said Clara as she checked her own tail and whiskers. “But I fear she’s going hunting, and not for the kind of prey that would feed any of us.”

***