“Maybe she found out something about him. Maybe he’s lying about breaking up with her. Maybe she dumped him, and he didn’t want it to end.”
Becca winced, and even Harriet looked up. Although that, Clara realized, could have been because her fluffy sibling was hoping the shock would result in a dropped scone.
“Maddy.” Becca slumped into her own seat.
“I’m just saying…” Maddy opened the box and suddenly, Harriet was staring daggers at her. “I never really liked him.”
“Drop one. Come on!” Harriet was muttering, a low rumbling that could almost be mistaken for a purr. “You’re feeling clumsy…”
“Hush, I’m listening,” Laurel responded, appearing under the table. Becca would say “out of nowhere,” Clara knew. But that was Clara’s special skill. Laurel simply had an appetite for gossip that matched her older sister’s taste for sweets.
“You didn’t?” Becca stopped, plate in hand. “Really?”
“He always thought he was too good for you.” Maddy took the plate and opened the box. Two scones. Harriet’s ample bottom began to twitch as she readied for a jump.
“No!” Clara’s paw came down on her sister’s tail, and Harriet turned, too affronted to protest. “Sorry.” Clara pulled her paw back. “I want to hear. I’ll owe you,” she hastened to add.
“You sure will.” Harriet flicked her tail out of reach, secretly grateful—Clara suspected—that she didn’t have to try for the tabletop.
“He didn’t.” The hurt in Becca’s voice made both cats look up.
“I wouldn’t have said anything if you’d stayed together.” Maddy broke off a piece of one scone, and Harriet licked her chops. “And, hey, maybe I was wrong.”
Becca was slumped in her seat. “No, Jeff never wanted us to be serious.” The accent she put on the last word made Clara’s fur bristle. “He said we weren’t ready.”
“Good riddance.” Maddy kept eating. “Because if ‘being serious’ is what happened to that other woman? I’d say you’re better off.”
Becca nodded, not even objecting to the circular logic of her friend’s argument. “I guess,” she said. “I mean, no, Maddy. Jeff’s not a…a killer.”
“There’s a lot about that man you don’t know.” Her friend popped the last bit of pastry into her mouth and glanced up at the clock. “Hey, I should be getting to work.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” Becca reached for her friend’s arm. “What aren’t you telling me, Maddy?”
“Oh, honey.” Maddy bit her lip. “Let him go, okay?”
“Maddy.” Becca was growing more insistent.
“Look at the facts.” Her friend leaned on the table. “This is a man who would throw you to the wolves. Why else is he keeping such close tabs on you?”
“Because he wants to get back together?” Becca’s voice faded out even before she finished—and brought her friend in for a hug.
“That makes no sense. I’m sorry, Becca. I really am, and I feel awful about leaving you like this. My boss…well, you’ve heard it all.” She said it apologetically, though whether that was because she was leaving her friend in no better mood than she’d found or because she still had a job, Clara couldn’t tell. “Do you mind?”
Harriet began to whine, and Clara turned in dismay. But her sister’s golden eyes were riveted on the table above them. Maddy had stood and was reaching for the box. Becca hadn’t touched her scone and pushed the plate toward her.
“No, you take it.” Becca forced a smile. Beneath the table, Harriet lashed her tail. Clara was going to have a lot to make up for.
***
After her friend left, Becca fetched her laptop, settling on the sofa with the same resigned posture Clara was growing accustomed to. Torn between jumping up beside her—she didn’t think her person was beyond distraction—and trying to find out more, Clara turned toward her sisters and blinked, the feline version of an invitation to chat. But, whether because they were her older sisters or simply because of the nature of cats, they resisted.
“Why?” Harriet was still staring at the kitchen table, the lost treat a personal affront.
“So we can figure out how to help Becca,” Clara explained. “I think she’s worried about Jeff, and you know how she is. Even if he did try to set her up, she’s going to want to clear his name.”
“By looking into a murder?” Laurel was intrigued, but Harriet simply glowered. In this state, she’d likely pin it on Maddy.
“She is our charge.” Clara hoped the appeal to Harriet’s vanity would ease the way.
“I should just make a knife like that one she used on the cake, and let Becca find it,” the long-haired sister grumbled. “Only I’d want to put it in that scone stealer’s back. Who brings treats and then takes them away again?”
Clara held her tongue. Harriet had a point, but Laurel came to the rescue.
“The calico clown is right.” She rolled the R as if she were purring. “The way she’s going, Becca’s not going to be good for much soon. And besides”—the Siamese paused to lick her paw, a purely dramatic move—“if we can get her out of this slump, she’s more likely to bring home a new man. A new man who wants to win our approval.”
The way she stretched out that last word made her intentions unmissable. Laurel wouldn’t stop at using her powers of suggestion, but Clara couldn’t argue this time. Especially since Harriet had come trotting over.
“Maybe I should make a knife appear—someplace convenient, like in the kitchen.” She tilted her head to better take in their person, who was still typing away. “That might make her do a thorough search. Pull things out of cupboards, and the like.”
“No, please.” Clara turned from one sister to another. “The police probably have the real one and any others will just confuse things.”
“Suit yourself.” Harriet began to bathe, working on one fluffy hind leg as if it were a drumstick. “But you said…”
“I know.” Clara sighed. “But I worry that anything so…creative will only make things worse for her. Becca is so down already.”
“If I could’ve gotten her into that outfit…”
“That wouldn’t have solved anything.” Clara cut her sister off. It was time for drastic measures. “Hang on. I want to see what she’s searching for with that machine.”
Leaping up beside the seated girl, Clara willed herself to be if not invisible then at least not easily detected. That went against the grain for a cat, and she could feel her two sisters eying her with curiosity. But unlike the usual morning, when Clara would be the first to rub her head against the young woman’s arm and try to cheer her up with a rousing purr, right now, Clara wanted to pass unnoticed. Better that Becca should keep on with whatever she was typing, so Clara could figure out what to do next. Clara knew that cats can’t read, per se, but they can get a lot from the images on a screen—even without psychic powers. But just as Clara crept close enough to focus, Becca closed the laptop and reached for her phone.
“I’m just being silly,” she said, turning toward the cat. “And I’ve got you kitties depending on me.”
Clara looked on in mute sympathy as Becca dialed. “I’m calling for Eric Marshfield.” As she spoke, she sat up, her posture as crisp as her diction. “Mr. Marshfield,” she said a moment later. “Thank you for taking my call. I’m contacting you about the open position? I couldn’t see a way to submit a resumé on your site.” The voice on the other end caught her up short. “I gather it’s data entry, but I can promise you that I—” Another pause. “I’m sorry, a friend told me about it. I gather it hasn’t been posted yet. Shall I send you my resumé anyway?” This time, Becca was holding her breath. “Well, then, thank you again for your time, and I’m—”