Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

Becca certainly moved like a cat as she exited the elevator for the fourth-floor office. A wise cat, that is, who entered an unknown territory with some trepidation.

Head up and back a little stiff, she stepped carefully, craning around to get her bearings as she walked through the open archway marked Reynolds and Associates and looked around.

Maddy had told her about the office’s open plan. Beyond the receptionist’s desk, cubicles with low dividers filled the floor, while the boss’s office sat far in the back. His door was closed, although she could see the balding man pacing through the interior window. And though all around her heads bent over keyboards or focused intently on glowing screens, she—and presumably all the workers who appeared so focused on their terminals—could hear him yell, “Not one more penny!”

Becca swallowed. At least Maddy had warned her. But before she could even contemplate facing the monster beyond, she had to pass the gorgon at the gate.

“May I help you?” The tone got Becca’s attention, and she turned to find herself facing a pair of cat-eye glasses. Maddy had warned her about Ms. White. “Reynolds’s faithful attack dog,” had been her exact words. “If a dog wore sparkly glasses and too much lipstick.”

“Yes, please.” Becca summoned what she hoped was a placatory smile, her own lips feeling suddenly dry. “I have an appointment with Mr. Reynolds.”

“Risa, you’re not listening!” bellowed the voice from beyond the front desk.

“I’ll see if he’s in.” The gatekeeper turned, rhinestones sparkling, and made a show of fussing with her phone.

“That’s it! No more!”

In the silence that followed, Becca held her breath, her smile frozen in place. Finally, whether through habit or some change in lighting on the phone that only the gatekeeper could decipher, the bespectacled woman before her looked up again.

“Mr. Reynolds will see you now.” The corners of her crimson mouth wrinkled up slightly. Clara hoped it was in sympathy. “Good luck.”

Muttering what she remembered of the charm against ill fortune under her breath, Becca made her way across the office, skirting the low cubicles and avoiding the inquisitive gaze of the inhabitants who glanced up quickly as she passed, like so many timid mice.

Becca wasn’t feeling any braver by the time she’d crossed the floor and paused to take a deep breath before she knocked on the door. The bark that greeted her—“Who is it?” —didn’t help.

“Mr. Reynolds?” She stepped into what was actually a rather nice office. Although the balding, red-faced man behind the desk was as disheveled as she’d expected, matching the pile of papers scattered before him, the room itself was spacious and lit by the huge window opposite, which looked out on the river and the city beyond. “I’m Becca Colwin.”

Reynolds’ eyebrows bristled like caterpillars as he gestured toward a chair.

“Larissa Fox referred me?” She perched gingerly, back straight and ankles crossed.

“Oh, yeah, Larissa.” He looked down at his desk and began to shuffle through the papers there. “One of Larissa’s pets, huh?”

He didn’t say it like he was expecting an answer, and so Becca held back, waiting until he found what appeared to be a printout of her resumé before proceeding. “As you can see, I’m experienced in research—”

“No master’s, though.” Reynolds frowned and flipped the page over, though if he hoped to find the answer on the back, Becca knew he’d be disappointed. “I’m looking for someone with an advanced degree.”

“I understand.” Becca had rehearsed this bit with her cats. “But I’m sure you’ll agree that three years of experience conducting multi-platform research has taught me the requisite practical skills that a graduate degree might not.

“Besides…” She paused, and Clara’s ears perked up. Usually, she had stopped by this point. “Someone with a graduate degree might not want to get her hands dirty. But I’m not afraid of doing off-site research, digging through any kind of files. City archives, paper, microfiche, you name it. I’m very motivated.” She paused again. “I really need this job.”

The caterpillars separated as the man before her flashed a grin that was like sunshine through the storm clouds. Even his color began to improve. “And I can pay you less than someone with more letters after their name too, I bet.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve got more grit than my ex, I’ll give you that. She expects everything to be given to her, or to her pets.”

Clara could tell that Becca was holding her breath. Maybe Reynolds could too, but he appeared lost in thought.

“Ah, at least you’re—wait, you must know that other girl. The one who…” He waved one stubby hand around as if to summon the name from the air around him.

“Maddy Topsic?” Even as she said it, Becca caught herself. Suzanne had worked here too, of course. Clara could almost see the shadow cross his mind. What was it Kathy had said? “You don’t want to just step into Suzanne’s shoes.”

But Reynolds accepted her answer. “Maddy, yeah. She’s a good kid. Takes too many smoke breaks, but she gets her work done.”

Becca’s sigh of relief was audible, and the man before her smiled in earnest—and then sniffed audibly. “You smoke too? Never mind.” He waved off his own question. “Look, I’m not promising anything. But let me take a look at what’s going on, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

His eyebrows went up again at that, but he kept silent. Only as Becca rose to take her leave did he call after her. “Oh, Becca?” She turned and waited. “You might not want to use the name Larissa that much. Her credit around here is kind of used up.”

***

Although she must have seen Maddy’s eyes peeping over the carpeted cubicle on her way out, Becca kept on walking. Not until she was out on the sidewalk again did she stop, leaning back against the column where she’d found her friend, to take a deep, calming breath. She’d been trembling, Clara realized, and it required all the little cat’s discipline to keep from rubbing against her in soft comfort.

She wasn’t the only one. As soon as Becca had her breath, her phone rang.

“How was it?” Maddy was on the line, the sound muffled as if she had her hand over the receiver.

“I think he liked me.” Becca sounded surprised.

“Of course he did!” A little louder, before sinking back down again. “But what about the job?”

“He said he’d let me know. I think, maybe, I got it.” Becca paused as she reviewed the conversation. “I think he was starting to ask me about Suzanne. Only I kind of spaced when he asked if I knew anyone there. I mean, I only found out she worked with you after she, well, anyway, I just said you.”

“Great.” Maddy didn’t sound like she meant it. “I hope I didn’t sink you.”

“No, not at all. In fact, he said you were a good worker or something.” A snort on the other end of the line. “I don’t think Larissa’s reference was good for much, though. He made some comment about her.”

“It got you in the door, though.” Maddy’s voice was philosophical. “Maybe she put a spell on him?”

“That’s not what we’re supposed to use our magic for, Maddy.”

Another snort, and her friend asked. “So, what’s this about a possible romance? Please tell me you’re not giving Jeff another chance.”

“No, no way.” Becca began walking, her face up to the sun. “This is, well, it’s not exactly a date. But I am getting together Sunday with someone I met recently, just to talk.”

“You didn’t tell me about anyone.”

Becca bit her lip. Clara knew she didn’t like lying, but what she was doing was close. “He’s, well, it’s the guy I met the day that Suzanne—the painter. The one I went out for coffee with.”