Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

“Don’t look at me.” Laurel sat beside her younger sister in the bedroom doorway, watching their person get dressed. She flicked her tail in the feline equivalent of a shrug and began to bathe.

“Don’t tell me she’s going out again.” Harriet had joined them on the bedroom rug, having woken from her nap hungry.

“I’m sure she’ll remember to feed us,” said Clara, who had her own mixed feelings about the evening. “Besides, she won’t be out late.” She’d gathered that much from the phone conversation.

“No matter.” Harriet turned. “I’ve got things to keep me busy too, you know.”

As Clara watched her stump off, fluffy tail sweeping the air as she walked, she couldn’t avoid a niggling tickle of fear. Harriet never had anything more important on her mind than food. Nothing that didn’t immediately gratify, at any rate.

But when her sister’s exit was followed by the soft thud that indicated she’d landed on the sofa, Clara did her best to turn her focus elsewhere. Harriet wasn’t likely to get them into any trouble in one of her favorite napping spots, no more than she already had anyway. It was Becca who was going off to meet a strange man. Never mind that he smelled pleasant—Clara thought of the trees by the river—the painter had been there, at Suzanne’s apartment, the day she had met her violent end. And nothing about that scene had ended well for anyone.

Still, Becca had a bounce in her step as she bid the kitties farewell and headed down to the street. Harriet was still nestled into the sofa as she left, but even Laurel didn’t try to stop Clara from following her.

“If it were a little darker, I’d join you,” said the older cat, licking her cream-colored belly. “You know I would.”

“Of course,” lied Clara, touched by her sister’s concern, and then leaped into the growing dusk.

Becca was, as she’d promised, careful. She circled the block twice before entering the little café. Still, Nathan had gotten there before her. Clara heard her sharp intake of breath as he stood and waved with a smile.

“I got here a few minutes early.” He reached to pull out Becca’s chair, only bumping it into her. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” Becca arranged herself and looked around. “Did you order?”

“I thought I’d wait. Shall I get?” He stood again, but she held out her hand to stop him.

“No, I will.” Good girl! Clara thought, silently thanking Maddy for her warning. As nice as this man smelled and as harmless as he’d proved to be at that first coffee date, it never paid to take chances. Besides, in five minutes, the pair were seated again, heads together over mugs of mocha.

“I know it’s supposed to be a winter drink, but…” Nathan sipped, then licked the foam moustache.

“I know, right?” Becca agreed, appearing to relax. But when he reached forward, as if to place his hand over hers, Becca drew back. “Hey, Nathan, may I ask you about that day?”

“The day your friend was killed?” His voice had gotten serious.

Becca nodded. “I was talking to my ex.” Her words sounded rehearsed, and Clara realized that in fact the young woman had been practicing her approach that afternoon. “And he told me that the police seem to suspect my—well, the group of friends that I know Suzanne from.”

It wasn’t the best explanation, but Nathan appeared to accept it. Clearly, there was more coming.

“I was wondering if you could tell me again in detail what you heard that day. What you saw.”

There was no chance of hand holding now. The young man seated opposite her didn’t leave or protest. But after taking a deep breath, he stared down into his mug, as if the answer was written there. Then he began to talk.

“You know that I didn’t see what happened. Or who,” he added quickly. “I mean, yeah, I saw you go in, because I’d noticed you. But otherwise…” Even in the noisy coffeehouse, a silence hung between them.

“But you heard something?” Becca didn’t have magical powers. She was, however, a perceptive young woman.

Nathan nodded. “There was that phone call that I told you about. An argument—but that was hours before. And there might have been something else. Right before you came by, I had my music on, but there was a moment between songs. I heard—I thought I heard—that poor woman arguing with someone.”

“With who?”

He shook his head, as if disappointed with himself. “I put it wrong. In truth, I only heard her—your friend. I’m pretty sure I recognized her voice. She used to say hi to me.” He paused for a shy smile. “So I thought it was her, and that she was yelling at someone—but it was so brief. Just a few words.”

Becca stared at him, willing him to go on.

“I told the cops all this. I can’t be sure. Something about ‘him’ and ‘tech,’ maybe. Or ‘protect.’ It could have been either. All I know is that she was angry and she was yelling at someone. It was so brief, I wasn’t even really sure I heard anything, but in retrospect, maybe I did. Maybe I heard her yelling at someone who was in the room with her.”

“Tech?” Becca barely breathed the word. “My ex is in tech.” She bit her lip. “If he didn’t break up with her, then maybe there was another man. Maybe he knew…” She looked up at the painter, a horrible suspicion dawning on her face.

“But he called you, right?” Nathan interrupted the runaway train of thought. “You said he called and you answered, as you went in?”

“Uh-huh.” Becca drew out both syllables. Clara could almost see the thoughts going through her mind: Maybe it was the other man. Someone else who knew Suzanne. Who knew them all…

“Well, then he wouldn’t—it would’ve been too obvious.” Nathan’s answer was overly hearty, as if he were trying to convince himself. “I mean, to call you right after…” The words died out, but his meaning was obvious.

“Unless he saw me and wanted to stop me from going up. From finding her. He said he was at his place, but he didn’t want me to come over.” A high, nervous note had entered Becca’s voice, a sound that made Clara want to draw her away to safety and peace. “Maybe he was really hiding nearby—”

“No, wait.” Nathan must have heard it too. He reached across the table and took her wrist. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Becca. You’re angry at your ex, so it makes sense you’d suspect him. But be sensible. He’s worried about you. He’s the one who told the police it might be someone from your coven, right?”

“Yeah.” Becca exhaled, the tension easing audibly. And then just as quickly, she jumped up, pulling her hand back as fast as if he had bitten it.

“Coven?” She barked out the word. “How did you know I was in a coven? Unless you knew it from Suzanne.”

“No, wait.” Nathan shook his head, as if he could dismiss his error, but it was too late. Becca’s chair had already toppled backward as she fled out the door.

Chapter 29

“Becca, what’s wrong?” Maddy’s anxiety only riled the cats up more. All three had been orbiting Becca since she’d run in, slamming the door behind her, and nothing Clara could do would calm her sisters—or the young woman who panted into the phone. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” Becca leaned back on the door. Speaking made her breathe, at least, and that helped to calm her slightly. “Just—Maddy, I think you were right. I think Nathan, the painter, might have murdered Suzanne.”

“Wait, what?” The response was so loud, Harriet stopped in her tracks, and Clara almost bumped into her as she stared up at their person. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone out with him. Him or that other witch guy. They’re both trouble.”