Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

“You’d almost think your cat was looking out for you.” Maddy was still smiling, but her face grew serious as she looked at the amulet again. “This feels like real gold. And he just left it?”

“I was sure he’d taken it. I thought I saw him put it in his pocket.” She shook her head. “I mean, he didn’t ask me to look for it or anything.”

“Is he rich?” Maddy was rolling the amulet between her thumb and forefinger. Harriet, Clara suspected, had made the piece heavier than the original. Maybe slightly larger too—those plush paws weren’t as dexterous as human fingers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk about a job,” Becca admitted.

With a sigh, Maddy handed over the piece. “I don’t know, Becca. Between a rich playboy and a stalker-y creep, I think you’ve got to meet some new guys. But, hey, if you’re really okay, I think I’m going to crash.”

Becca didn’t argue as she escorted her friend to the door, examining the piece as she walked. “What is it?” her friend asked.

“I’m not sure.” Becca was examining the back of the amulet. “Only, I thought there was something engraved on the back. I remember reaching for it, and Trent kind of pulled it away. That’s what caught Harriet’s eye, I think. And this piece? It’s blank.”

“I’d say your mind was on something else that night,” said her friend. “I mean, there it is, solid in your hand.”

***

“How could you?” Clara turned on her oldest sister in fury. Never mind protocol, Harriet was endangering them all.

The big marmalade knew it. “It’s just a small thing,” she pouted. “And so shiny. And now I have to make another.”

“Don’t you dare!” Clara was positively spitting, she was so mad. “Don’t you see what you’ve done? Now there are two of them. And Becca is going to return it to that Trent — and then they’ll know!”

“Return it?” Harriet’s fluffy face screwed up in confusion, her nose pulling in like a pedigreed Persian. “But it’s mine.”

“Don’t be dense.” Laurel landed with a thud between them. “Both of you. This is going to make things interesting. Becca’s going to bring that Trent around again now. She’ll have to.”

Clara sat, her tail curled around her fore paws, and brooded. Although she was unable to explain why to her sisters, she knew from her whiskers to her tail tip that none of this boded well.

Chapter 34

The text messages continued, as did the calls. Clara could tell from the beeps and buzzes Becca’s phone made, even as she left it on the table. In part, Clara thought, her person was ignoring the tiny machine, despite the tantalizing way it vibrated. In part, she feared, Becca was trying to make sense of the amulet—doing her best to reconcile her memory with the palpable reality she now held in her palm.

Deprived of her toy, Harriet turned her attention to the device. Perched on a chair, she reached one paw up, intending to hook it and send it flying. Laurel looked on, mildly amused, until another vibration sent her back to the apartment door. Clara, catching the same emanation a moment later, froze—torn between her person and that infernal device, and the interruption about to occur.

“What?” Becca looked up seconds later, as a loud rapping sounded on her door. The faint scent of pine, as well as Laurel’s satisfied smirk, alerted Clara to the visitor’s identity, but Becca, oblivious to such subtle clues, opened it, only to jump back with a start.

“Nathan!” She moved to shut the door. His work boot, splashed with paint, blocked it.

“Becca, please. I can explain.”

She looked up at him, mouth agape, and relaxed her hold on the door—just as he pulled his foot out.

“I’m sorry,” he said. She was leaning on the door—ready to slam it shut. Only, she didn’t, which Clara thought curious. “I’ll stay here,” he said, seemingly chastened.

Becca looked at him, and for a moment Clara wondered if she did indeed have magical skills. The way she studied his face seemed to be seeking something in his eyes. Something deep. Finally, tilting her head, she spoke again. “Tell me,” she said, “how did you find out where I live?”

“Larissa,” he responded, spitting the name out as if it tasted bad. “I mean, she’d already given me your number.”

“And about the coven?” She was relaxing—Clara could hear it—but she waited while he nodded.

“Larissa again.” He gave up the name with a sigh. “And I’m sorry, I should’ve told you—I’m sorry I scared you. For what it’s worth, I’ve had enough. I’m not going to cover for her anymore.”

“Cover?” Becca, intrigued, didn’t shut the door. She didn’t move to open it up any further either. Instead, she stood, one arm on the frame.

He nodded. “She thinks she can control everything. But I’m through with that.”

Becca waited, but it didn’t take any particular skill to see that she was factoring in what she’d heard about the older woman—and about younger men. Her “pets.”

“The job.” Her voice was flat. “My friend Maddy saw you today. I know Larissa is setting you up. Getting you that job.”

“What? No, I have a job. I paint houses.”

“Right.” Clara had never heard Becca sound so angry. She glanced over at her sister. Laurel’s eyes were wide. “Look, I get it. This is an expensive city, and Larissa is generous. Larissa likes to help people. Larissa likes her ‘pets,’ especially young, good-looking men.”

“Larissa,” Nathan cut her off before she could go any further, “is my mother.”

***

Ten minutes later, the two were sitting on the sofa, Laurel curled and purring between them. Clara, for her part, was trying to make sense of all she’d heard. So, for that matter, was Becca.

“I’m sorry I let it go on so long,” the handsome painter was saying. “She gave me your number and then she told me where you live. She seemed to really like the idea of us getting to know each other, and, no, she didn’t tell me you were in the coven together. She didn’t have to—as soon as I heard you say ‘Larissa,’ I knew. She only uses that name for her so-called ‘mystical’ endeavors. To everyone else, she’s plain old Risa.”

“Risa?” Becca tried to reconcile the old-fashioned name with the woman she knew. The jet-black hair. The scarves and the perfume. “Larissa is Risa. Your mother. That’s why you were bringing flowers over. But why Fox?”

“Just a translation.” He smiled, as if at a private joke. “Raposa means fox in Portuguese. So, yeah, Risa Raposa. I guess it’s better than what my father did.”

Becca’s confusion showed in her face.

“He anglicized it. Well, sort of. Reynolds was his version. I think someone told him that fox in French was renard, and he either misheard or thought that still sounded too foreign.”

“Reynolds—like Reynolds and Associates?”

“Yeah, you know them?”

“That’s the job—the one I thought Larissa—your mother—was setting you up for.” She couldn’t hide the humor in her voice. “Suzanne worked there, and my friend Maddy does too. She saw you at the office and thought you were there for an interview.”

“No.” He dismissed the idea, shaking his head. “I pity anybody who has to work for my father. I mean, no—you can’t think…”

“I don’t.” Becca finished his thought. “In fact, I’m trying to leave all that to the police, but I haven’t heard anything that would imply he’s involved.”

“Good.” A sigh of relief. “He’s not a bad guy, but, wait, you want to work for him?”

“Yeah.” Becca nodded. “Well, I’ve applied for a position there. Thought I had it too. Reynolds—your father—seemed to like me. But then Maddy heard that someone else was being interviewed—one of Larissa— Risa’s —pets. So…”