“You!” With one last exhalation, more sigh than hiss, Clara began to calm down. At least she had stopped her sister, slapping her on her chocolate nose just as Laurel had begun to work on Becca. Clara didn’t know if it was because Laurel’s powers were limited or her sister was simply lazy, but she did know that the other cat’s ability to implant suggestions in others’ minds was vague at best. If Becca hadn’t already been considering her upcoming dinner a sort of date, Laurel might not have been able to steer her toward that short velvet number. Still, it was a close call, and Clara wasn’t able to relax until her person left the house in a flowered frock that fit her—and the occasion—more comfortably. If it were not for that well-placed bonk, Becca might have wiggled into that stretchy dress—and into more trouble.
“Spoil sport.” Laurel muttered as she bathed. “Now we’re both going to miss the fun.”
Clara deflated, her fur settling in despair. It was true, her squabble with her sister had kept her in the bedroom too long. Without any idea where Becca had gone, she was at a loss—unable to follow. And so with one bound, she leaped to the windowsill. Nudging aside Harriet, who was napping again, she settled in to watch and wait for Becca to return.
***
“Merry meet, Becca. How are you doing?” Even giving the coven’s ritual greeting, Trent’s voice rumbled deep and confidential, and as his questions turned personal, Becca felt her color rising in response. “I’ve been so worried about you. I didn’t want to wait until Wednesday.”
Despite the melancholy motive for this get together, the setting felt distinctly intimate. Maybe it was because the waitress had led her to a booth in the back, rather than the open seats at the counter. Maybe it was the nice shirt the warlock was wearing, open just enough for her to see the glint of gold nestled in the dark hair of his chest. As he leaned forward, it bobbed, and she found herself staring—and wondering once more if she should have gone with the sexier outfit. She blamed her slight buzz. She should probably have objected when he’d ordered the pitcher of margaritas. She definitely shouldn’t have taken such a big swallow, even if it was the house special, strawberry, her personal favorite.
“Thanks.” She bent once more over the menu, hoping to hide her face, which felt as rosy as that drink. She was having trouble concentrating, and she didn’t think it was just the alcohol. “I’m okay. It’s just been exhausting.”
“Of course,” he said, his voice warm with understanding, and Becca relaxed. It would have been too odd to try to explain that she kept thinking about her cats. They were home, safe, and she was the one out. But even though she was sitting here—at the River Café with Trent—she kind of wished she was with them. At home. Snuggled up on the sofa. Trent, however, was doing his best to be solicitous. “You’ve probably spent way too much time with the police these last few days.”
She nodded. “I know they’re doing their job—and I want them to. Only they had me come in this morning, and it was, well, weird.”
“I can imagine.” His voice as soft as a purr. “They must have had a lot of questions.”
She nodded. “They did.” The margarita had been a bad idea. But he was waiting, his dark eyes full of concern. “They were asking about the coven and, well, about the man she was dating.”
“Suzanne was seeing someone?” A note of excitement—or could it have been regret?—tightened his voice.
The effect must have been contagious, because all of a sudden Becca found it hard to swallow. “My ex.” She choked out the words. “But I think that was over.”
Thoughts of Jeff and of that last phone call on the stairs of Suzanne’s apartment, and suddenly it all came back. Her voice caught in a sob, and Trent leaned forward, reaching across the table as if to embrace her. It was too much. Becca felt like a fool and drew back, embarrassed, even as she found herself staring once more at his chest—and at the gold medallion that had swung forward from inside his shirt.
“Is that…?” Becca stopped herself from stretching out her hand for it, silently blaming the margarita once more.
“A witches’ knot.” To her relief, he glanced down and grasped the gold medallion himself, holding it still to allow Becca to see the intricate looped design on its front. “You have a good eye.”
His own eyes twinkled as he smiled, but Becca only shook her head, confused.
“It has charms on it, and not everyone would see it right away.” His voice was low and conspiratorial. “But we already knew you have power.”
“I guess.” Becca turned away. Bad enough that she was out alone with Trent—a member of the coven who had romanced several of their colleagues already—she’d been caught staring at his chest. They were supposedly going to talk about the death of one of their own too.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. Though if he meant in general or for reaching for her, Becca didn’t know.
“Me too.” She looked up into eyes that were shadowed and deep set. Could those be tears as well? Now it was her turn to reach out for his hand. “Were you and Suzanne close?”
A slow, sad shake of the head. “Not anymore,” he said. “She’d been going through something, I think.”
Becca nodded, her last conversation with the dead woman coming back to her mind. “I know she had questions.” She bit her lip, unsure of how much she wanted to reveal. Trent was a friend, but still… “I think she was worried about money.”
“Money?” Trent pursed his lips in thought. “Do you know why?”
Becca considered. “I’m not sure. You don’t think that’s why she was…” She swallowed. Hard.
“No, no.” Trent rushed to correct himself. “I mean, I don’t know. But, well, Suzanne had been acting odd for a while now. And you saw how skinny she was.”
“Skinny?” She was sounding like a parrot. That margarita.
“Not an ounce of flesh on her.” He had her hand now. His thumb brushed over hers. It was all too confusing. “Speaking of—should we order?”
Only then did Becca notice the waitress standing beside them, pad in hand. From the smile she suddenly dropped to the way she straightened, she must have been there for a while.
“Oh, sorry.” Becca was too flustered to consult the menu. “I’ll have a salad?”
“How about nachos for the table?” Trent leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. After that comment about Suzanne being skinny, his suggestion sounded flirtatious.
“Sure.” Becca pushed her menu at the waiting server and eyed the margarita glass. “And, uh, a Diet Coke?”
She pretended not to hear the waitress’s snicker as she walked off, instead steeling herself for the task at hand. “So, what have you heard?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She wasn’t after gossip.
“Nothing concrete.” Trent leaned forward again. “Just enough so that I was worried about her.”
“Oh?” The server plunked down her new drink with a thud as Becca took a few moments to reorganize her thoughts. Jeff had hinted that Suzanne and the warlock had had a brief romance, and Kathy had confirmed it. Trent seemed to be denying this. Or was he? Pushing the sticky strawberry glass aside, she took a swallow of the soft drink. More caffeine—that’s what she needed.
“Poor Suzanne.” When she put the glass down, she saw that Trent was shaking his head slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t pursue it.”
Now she was getting somewhere. “Pursue it?” She waited.
“She was troubled.” Another slow sad dismissal as the waitress slid a plate of nachos onto the table. “I should have—well, I knew something was bothering her. It was selfish of me not to get involved.”
“Selfish?” That parrot again.
Trent didn’t seem to notice as he pulled a chip free of the sticky cheese. “Her being so skinny and all. I don’t know anything for sure.” He looked up, his dark eyes as melting as that cheese. “But I was wondering if she was on drugs.”