Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

Becca had begun crying again, retelling the story having brought back all the fear and the horror from earlier in the day, and Clara had wanted to check on her. Maddy, in her motherly way, was doing her bit even beyond the cookies, leaning over and patting her friend in a rather hearty manner that none of the resident felines would have appreciated.

“There, there,” she kept repeating, though it didn’t seem to be doing any good. “Let it out.”

“ What’s up there? I can’t see!” Harriet’s plaintive meow—as close to a whimper as she got—reached Clara on the tabletop. She had thought both her siblings were napping post snack, but Harriet’s gluttony knew no bounds. “Is it cookies?”

“ Shh ,” Clara hissed back, and immediately regretted it. Harriet was not only her oldest sister, she could cause trouble when she wanted to—and even when she didn’t, as the whole fiasco with the pillow had proved. Clara needed to stay on her good side, and so the calico leaned over the table’s side to call to her, in a gentler tone. “ Come on up, if you want.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Harriet turned away with a disdainful sniff. “I don’t jump on tables.”

Clara winced at her own mistake. Of course, the big creamsicle of a cat had never been what anyone would call athletic, and what was an easy leap for the compact calico would have been unduly strenuous for her sister. To make amends, Clara knocked one of the cookies off its plate with a swift paw strike. It flew off the table and landed with a soft thud, although that could have been Harriet pouncing on her “prey.” Becca was crying too hard to notice, and if her friend saw anything, she knew better than to comment. Nobody likes to be told their pets have poor manners, especially when they’ve just encountered a dead body.

“So you didn’t get to talk to her?” Becca was blowing her nose and looked up at Maddy’s question. “Suzanne, I mean?”

“No, she was—” Becca sat up, curiosity overcoming her grief. “Why?”

“Nothing.” Suddenly, Maddy was interested in the cookies too.

“No, there’s something on your mind.” Becca blinked, clearing her eyes, as she focused on her friend—and missed Clara taking a furtive lick at the nearest cookie.

“I was curious.” Maddy reached out, picking the very cookie the cat had just tasted. “I wanted to get a sense of the chronology.”

“I told you.” Becca also took a cookie, but left it on her napkin. “I had trouble with the door, and the painter let me in. Then I—oh, I did forget something. Jeff called as I was climbing the stairs. I was supposed to call him back.” She started to stand, but her friend put out a hand to restrain her.

“Jeff can wait.” Maddy put her cookie down after one bite. A first for her, and Clara craned to see if the chubby visitor had eaten the side the calico had licked. She hadn’t. “In fact…what did he say?”

“Jeff? Oh, nothing.” Becca picked up her cookie again, but it was obvious she wasn’t really interested in its sugary goodness. “He said he wanted to get together.”

“To get together or to talk?” Her friend’s voice had gone strangely low and even.

“To get together.” Becca paused. “I think the whole thing was so fast—and so strange. And did I tell you Trent came in?”

“Yes.” Maddy sounded strained. “Yes, you did.”

“He said he was picking up something. That he had a key because he’d house sat for Suzanne before, though since she has no cats…”

“Never mind Trent.” Maddy was definitely impatient. “I mean, the police spoke with him, right?” Becca nodded. “Good, let them sort him out. It’s you I’m worried about, Becca.”

“Me?” That cookie wasn’t going to eat itself, but Clara restrained herself. Something was going on here, something that even with all her magic she couldn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you and Jeff didn’t really get to talk, right?”

Becca nodded. “In fact, I should call him. I said I would—”

Maddy cut her off. “And you haven’t spoken to your ex in, what, weeks? A month?”

“Close to a month.” Becca’s eyes were free of tears now, but her dark eyebrows were knit in confusion. “Maddy, what are you getting at?”

Maddy looked from her friend down at her plate, and Clara shifted to the table’s edge. If the visitor said anything about that cookie, the compact calico would make a break for it.

“Did he know where you were?”

Becca nodded.

“Who you were visiting?” Another nod as Becca waited for her friend to explain.

“I ran into Jeff in Harvard Square a while ago—and he was with a woman.” The words rushed out of Maddy in a monotone. “A tall blonde whom I’d met before, and so I was trying to place her. I didn’t think she was another programmer. He introduced her as Suzanne, and I realized that she was in your…your group.”

“Coven,” Becca corrected her in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Whatever,” said her chubby friend as she leaned forward to take Becca’s hand, pushing the plate toward the cat.

But even though the two women were definitely distracted, the feline ignored the almond treats. Instead, both her green eyes—the one in the black patch and the one in the orange—were focused on her person, on the way the color had drained from her cheeks. On the way her eyes were widening and filling with tears once again.

“You don’t mean…” Becca’s whispered. “ With with?” Now it was her friend’s turn to nod. “Jeff is—Jeff was —seeing Suzanne?” Her question was softer than a kitten’s mewl, with a little catch in it that made Clara’s whiskers droop.

“That’s not something you should be worried about now.” Maddy patted Becca’s hand once more. “What you should be concerned about is that the police don’t think you knew about it. Because, frankly, if you did, you’d be a prime suspect for her murder.”

Chapter 8

“I’m trying to sleep . ” Harriet whined, a long, drawn-out sound like air escaping from a balloon. “Go away!”

“Harriet, Laurel.” Clara looked around at her sisters. “Did you hear that? We’ve got to do something!”

The calico had jumped to the floor after Maddy had dropped her bombshell. The horrid scraping sound of Becca’s chair as she pushed it back had only precipitated her flight, and now she perched on the sofa where Harriet had settled.

“Yes, I did hear it.” Laurel licked her chops, her blue eyes lighting up. “Do you think she did it?”

“No.” Clara drew back, affronted. “Becca is a gentle soul. Besides, I was with her.”

“You could’ve been napping.” Laurel shrugged. She was no great hunter, but with her sleek lines, the seal-point sister fancied herself part panther. Harriet, meanwhile, was still sluggish from that almond cookie, which she’d devoured to the last crumb. Not even Becca’s voice raised in outrage could rouse her.

“That’s crazy!” Becca was standing. Shouting at her guest, and as much as Clara had wanted her to shake off her grief, she knew this wasn’t a healthy alternative. “Maddy, they can’t think that I…that Jeff…”

“Becca, please.” Her friend rushed around the table to comfort her.

“I’m calling Jeff. This is crazy.” Becca stepped back and pulled out her phone.

“No, you can’t.” Maddy reached for it, but Becca pulled away. “You can’t talk to him now.”

Becca paused, looking up. “Why not?” There was an edge to her voice that made Clara lash her tail.

“Because.” By comparison, Maddy sounded defeated. “The police might see that as evidence. Proof that you killed her to get him back. Or maybe that the two of you colluded.”