“Look at your cat, Becca.” Clara looked up to see Ande smiling down at her, brown eyes warm with—could it be?—humor. “I swear, she’s trying to learn the ritual.”
“There is something uncanny about her.” Becca sounded unusually thoughtful as she knelt to stroke Clara’s multicolored back. “Even more than her sisters, I feel like she’s an old soul.”
In response, Clara licked Becca’s hand. Salt might not have any magic powers, but it did taste good.
Chapter 13
The ritual did not have the desired effect. Becca slept badly, tossing and turning to the point that her cats fled their regular posts by her feet long before dawn to sleep instead on the sofa.
“I knew she shouldn’t go out!” Harriet kneaded her velvet pillow before settling down. Her complaining came more from concern for Becca than from any real discomfort. At least, that was Clara’s hope, as she nestled on a footstool.“That’s what started all of this.”
“She could at least bring a new man home.” Laurel stretched to her full length along the sofa’s back, a luxury she could rarely indulge in when the three shared their person’s bed.“Then things might get interesting.”
Clara, knowing how her sister could get when she was overtired, didn’t comment. Bad enough the sealpoint had sussed out Becca’s exchange with Tiger, Laurel’s imagination was already a tad overheated. Hoping to keep her sister from reading her mind for more, the plump calico jumped up to the windowsill and watched as the rising sun warmed the red brick across the street to a rosy glow. Not long after, Becca herself rose, a tad rumpled, and promptly provided breakfast. But even as she brewed her own coffee, her gentle face seemed to firm into resolve.
“What’s up with Becca?” Once she’d cleaned her bowl, even Harriet noticed.
“She’s deciding something.” Laurel lashed her tail. More out of habit, Clara suspected, than because it served any purpose of concentration. Laurel was good at suggesting ideas to people. Whether she could always accurately fish them out, however, was a subject of debate. At times, Clara suspected her middle sister of inflating her own skills so Clara and Harriet would take her more seriously.
Even if it was simply a good guess, Laurel purred with pride when Becca muttered something about“getting it done,” and went to get dressed. Hoping for a bit more insight, Clara hopped down from her perch to follow the young woman as she prepared for whatever was to follow. Her usual attire of jeans and a sweater offered little clue, and even Laurel seemed disappointed when she joined Clara to observe their person from the bedroom doorway.
“So it’s not that new man yet.” The Siamese’s rumbling purr began to slow.
“Her new what?” Clara turned toward her sister in alarm.“Laurel, you can’t know—please don’t push Becca into something. We don’t know this Tiger.”
“Tiger.”The purr was back at full volume, Laurel’s whiskers bristling as her eyes closed in delight.
“What?” Harriet ambled up beside them. But Laurel was enjoying her private musing and Clara was inwardly kicking herself for feeding her middle sister’s fantasy as Becca reached for her coat and hat and, stepping over her pets, set out on her mystery mission.
“See if you can steer her toward this Tiger.” Laurel didn’t even look up as Clara summoned up the power to shimmy through the front door.“I do like the sound of him!”
Harriet’s round yellow eyes were the last thing Clara saw as she passed through the door.
***
After their previous outing, Clara was careful to keep Becca in sight as she made her way down the brick Cambridge sidewalk. The scents and sounds of a city could be overwhelming, but the way the young woman walked—a happy bounce, most days—made her easy for the little feline to follow. Today, however, that bounce was almost gone, replaced by a more purposeful gait. Becca was heading to the Cambridge police headquarters, a multistory brick complex in the heart of Central Square.
Despite her best intentions, though, her steps slowed as she entered the busy commercial area—and not just because of the pedestrians. While Clara looked around for stray bicycles or anything else that might trip her person up, Becca’s pace had eased to an amble.
“She is my client.” Clara could hear Becca’s justification, as well as the sense of doubt—or was it guilt?—in her voice. “I should tell her first, so she can relax. Besides, the cops are going to want to talk to her.”
At that, Clara turned from the sidewalk to take in the storefronts. They were walking down the block that held the magic shop as well as the apartment where the murdered man had lived.
“Gaia?” To Clara’s relief, Becca opted for the former, turning in at Charm and Cherish and calling out for the sales girl even as the tinkling bells announced her arrival. “Are you here?”
“As always.” The raven-haired waif appeared from the back room, her smile softening the untruth. When she saw who her visitor was, she brightened further. “Becca! You missed all the excitement.”
“Excitement?” Although her voice had dropped, Becca’s distress could still be heard.
“Oh, I didn’t mean…” Gaia waved her hands, as if to clear the air. “Not poor Frank. Oh, that was a terrible shock. I gather you…well, you know about that?”
Becca nodded.“That’s why I came to see you, actually.”
“Me?” The other girl’s voice squeaked, rather like a mouse that had briefly gotten into the apartment. Unlike that tiny invader, Gaia didn’t immediately scurry beneath a counter, never to be seen again.
“Yes.” Becca began to sound more confident. “I have some good news. But in light of all that’s happened, I was wondering if you still wanted to continue your case.” A pause, and Clara could see the shadow of doubt crossing her face. “I took a moment to examine the root you dropped off, Gaia.”
The sales girl’s gaze dropped to the counter before her, as if she could hide behind those blue-black bangs.
“I’m not an herbalist, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t wolf’s bane.” Becca spoke gently, but with purpose, as she held the baggie up. “But I was thinking I should bring it over to the Cambridge police, just to be sure. Because even if it isn’t poisonous, somebody was trying to scare you, and that could be dangerous. Especially in light of what happened with Frank.”
Gaia didn’t look up, so Becca took a deep breath and continued talking. “I like to think no actual harm was intended. But sometimes a scare could cause someone to, well, you know…especially if that someone already has a health condition. Like a heart condition.” The more jumbled she got, the lower Gaia’s head hung. Clara waited, hoping her person would just come out and explain her theory—that Margaret, or maybe even Tiger, had planted the root to scare Gaia and had, in fact, planted something similar for Frank to find, but with more serious consequences.
“I’m sorry. I’m making a hash out of this. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t think you were ever in any actual danger. I guess I should just go tell the cops.”
“No.” Gaia raised her head finally, eyeing first the front window and then the back door, looking at everything, it seemed, except Becca. “No, you don’t have to do that.”
“But if Marg—I mean, if someone accidentally provoked…”
Something in Gaia’s face stopped her short.
“You knew this wasn’t wolf’s bane?”
The slightest motion of that dark head indicated her assent, as Gaia turned back to the front of the shop, hoping perhaps that help would walk in the door.“Yeah.” Her voice as soft as a kitten’s. “It’s asafetida.”
“And you knew that because…” Breath escaped in one long, drawn-out “oh” as comprehension washed over Becca. She rested the bag on the counter and took in the young woman before her. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”