Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

What, she kept asking, was the relationship between her ancestor and her cat?

Neither Clara, Harriet, nor Laurel chose to enlighten her. On that, the three sisters were agreed. Their brief moment of solidarity had passed, otherwise, and by the time the high summer had come around, Harriet was once more ignoring her youngest sister, while Laurel had taken to teasing her.

“I’m the head of this family,” Harriet announced as she shoved her siblings. “Without me, we would have no more Becca to serve us.”

“You wish, chubby,” Laurel snarled, just a bit. Clara, who knew her middle sister was still self-conscious about being seen cross-eyed, kept quiet. She didn’t even interrupt when Laurel suggested a dress for the upcoming wedding. The slinky number might have been a daring choice for the young researcher, but Clara had to admit, Becca looked good in it.

***

As it was, Becca was running late the day of the ceremony, a midsummer hand-fasting down by the river. She’d spent the morning at the records hall, again, trying to track down another possible branch of her family when one of the clerks had interrupted her.

“Excuse me, are you Becca Colwin?”

She’d looked up to see a round face with round glasses that should have looked jolly but was instead tense with worry.

“I am.” She glanced at the papers before her. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh, not with your research. Not at all.” The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s only—I hear you’re the witch who solved that murder last month?”

“Well, I’m not sure.” Becca couldn’t hide her smile, though it had more to do with being recognized for her magic than for her role in exposing Suzanne’s killer.

“I have a friend who could use some help.” The other woman didn’t wait for Becca to explain. “She’s in trouble, you see. And, well, she needs someone who can draw on other powers…”

***

“I don’t know if anything will come of it.” She told Clara about it as soon as she got home. “I mean, I really haven’t done anything since the pillow.”

She shimmied into the dress as she spoke and looked at herself in the mirror.

“But even if the police were already building a case against poor Kathy, I did help.” She reached for a necklace and paused, looking at the beaded choker she’d chosen as if it reminded her of something else. “Besides, it would be nice to earn a living doing something I really care about.” She turned her head this way and that, letting the beads sparkle in the light. “Helping people with my magic—and my research skills too.”

Just then, Laurel came in, and suddenly, Becca was lifting her hair off her neck and reaching for a clip.

“Nice,” the seal point purred. Clara glanced over, but held her tongue. Becca did look good with her hair up. More sophisticated.

“What?” Harriet ambled in, in time to see Becca putting on her earrings. “No treats?”

“ I don’t think you’d want to eat those,” Clara ribbed her sister as Becca rose and addressed the three of them.

“So, yeah, kitties, I think I’m going to turn down Reynolds’s offer after all, not that it wasn’t nice of him, and set out on my own. Becca Colwin, Witch Detective. Do you like the sound of that?”

“Oh no!” Clara protested, while Laurel’s ears went out sideways in consternation.

“Or, Colwin and Cats? Maybe that.” She turned one last time before the mirror and then smiled down at her flabbergasted pets.

“Now don’t you think for a minute I don’t know what’s on your minds,” she said as she reached for a pretty lace shawl. “Of course I’m giving you dinner before I go out. And, yes, Harriet, treats too.”

Acknowledgements

So many friends and readers helped bring this new series to life. Karen Schlosberg, Brett Milano, and Lisa Susser were early readers, and Sophie Garelick, Frank Garelick, and Lisa Jones have always been incredibly supportive. My agent Colleen Mohyde got the book to my brand new editor Jason Pinter, making magic for me along the way. And Jon S. Garelick not only read multiple versions but put up with some very late dinners, too. Purrs out to you, my dears. Purrs out.

About the Author

A former journalist and music critic, Clea Simon wrote three nonfiction books, including the Boston Globe bestseller The Feline Mystique (St. Martin’s Press), before turning to a life of crime (fiction). Her more than two dozen mysterious usually involve cats or rock and roll, or some combination thereof. A native of New York, she moved to Massachussetts to attend Harvard and now lives nearby in Somerville.

Visit her at www.CleaSimon.com or at @CleaSimon.