“Becca.” Her friend seemed tired too, and dropped her bag on the floor before slouching onto the sofa. Done with her dinner, Laurel came over to investigate, sniffing delicately at the leather bag. Harriet, Clara noted with a touch of dismay, was still in the kitchen, cleaning up the crumbs of the other cats’ meals.
Becca settled beside her friend but didn’t relax. Clara didn’t know if Maddy could tell, but to a cat, it was easy to spot the tension in her person’s posture. “So, you knew Suzanne,” she said.
It wasn’t a question, but Maddy nodded slowly. Becca drew her feet up beneath her. If she could curl up into a ball, she would, Clara thought, and jumped up beside her. “Maddy?” Her voice was tight, as if she needed to swallow. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Her friend turned to her with a look of such horror that a slight moan escaped from Becca’s opened mouth. “No, Maddy. You couldn’t have…” She shook her head slowly, as if to ward off the awful truth. “The cake server…”
“I couldn’t? Oh, no!” Maddy reached out to grab her friend’s hands. “No, Becca. No matter what I felt, I, well, it was almost like I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Becca was breathing easier, but her brows were knit in confusion.
“I’m sorry.” Maddy didn’t look any more comfortable. If anything, she seemed to sink further down on the cushions while her friend waited. “I wanted to tell you.”
“What, that you worked with a member of my coven? Jeff’s new girlfriend? The woman who was killed?” Becca tried out the options, rejecting each in turn. “But you couldn’t have known what was going to happen—so, why didn’t you say anything?”
Maddy twisted in her seat as if she could avoid Becca’s gaze. “I told you I kind of knew who she was, when I ran into them in the Square. But it was before that—before I realized who she was—I mean, in your little crew…” Taking a deep breath, she began to talk again, and as if a dam had burst, this time, the words rushed out. “It was right after she started, in February. She was standing in the lobby when I went for my lunch break and I thought I’d ask her to join me. Just to be friendly. Only there was something about the way she was standing, kind of fussing with her hair before she put her hat on, and I realized she was probably waiting for a date. Well, I hung back for a minute—just to see—and, sure enough, her date showed up.”
Maddy fell silent, as if the flood had left her exhausted. “It was Jeff, Becca,” she said at last. “She was waiting for Jeff.”
“But…February? We were still…” Becca sputtered. “Maybe they were friends. I mean, they probably knew each other.”
Maddy’s face told the story. “Knew each other? Becca, honey. He was a creep. I always felt something was off about him, but I didn’t know what to say.”
“Maddy, you don’t know.” A note of desperation had crept into Becca’s voice.
“I know you don’t kiss your casual acquaintances.” Her friend delivered the coup de grace. “Not like they did, anyway.”
***
Maddy left soon after. She would have stayed—had wanted to comfort her friend, it was clear to see—but Becca shooed her off. “I can’t,” she said as she pushed Maddy’s bag back into her arms. “I need to process this, but I can’t—not now.”
Maddy had protested. “Come on, kiddo,” she’d said. “Let’s go to a movie. Or better, to that cupcake place in the Square.”
“No, I’ve got…an appointment.” The way she stumbled over the word had Maddy looking at her funny.
“You’re not doing that witch thing tonight. Are you?”
“We…we need to meet. To talk about Suzanne—and to figure out what’s going on,” Becca confessed. “I mean, for closure and everything.”
“Becca, honey.”
“Please, Maddy. I’ve got to get ready.”
Maddy looked like she’d swallowed a bug, and not a very tasty one at that. Still, she allowed herself to be hustled out the door with a final protest. “Call me, Becca?”
Only then did Becca allow herself to collapse, throwing herself on the sofa with a sob.
“Jeff.” One word said it all, and Clara brushed her head up against the hands that covered Becca’s head, hoping to offer the comfort of soft fur. A slight thud behind her alerted her to Laurel’s arrival. For once, she was pleased to note, her sister didn’t dish up any snark and instead stretched out alongside the crying girl. Before long, Harriet joined them, landing with an audible grunt. Despite—or perhaps because of—her hogging of their dinner, she accepted the remaining position, by Becca’s feet, lending her warm bulk to the sisterly effort.
This wasn’t their usual mode of magic. But Clara could feel the purr as it rose between them, and if the three felines couldn’t right all the wrongs of the world—or of a certain faithless boyfriend—they could at least set a certain cosmic vibration in order. In their presence, Becca went from tears to silence and then, Clara suspected, a short nap. When she sat up, about an hour later, her breathing had returned to normal. And although her eyes would be swollen for some time, as she wiped her face, she glanced around with clarity and maybe even, Clara thought, a new purpose.
She also, on seeing the clock, began to panic. “Seven thirty!” She jumped up, discomfiting the cats.
“Ungrateful,” grumbled Harriet. Becca had been careful not to kick the plump cat as she rose, but she had straightened out the cushions behind her, which Harriet had arranged for peak comfort.
“Typical,” noted Laurel as she stretched. The Siamese sister knew what all the fuss meant and was readying herself to be admired.
Only Clara remained silent. She saw how their person bustled about with renewed purpose and considered herself amply rewarded. What’s the use of power, she thought to herself, if it can’t be used to comfort those we love?
Chapter 23
The doorbell interrupted all their musings—as well as Becca’s last-minute attempts at soothing her reddened eyes. Drying her face with a washcloth, she called out a greeting. A moment later, she was opening the door to Larissa and Trent, both of whom reacted to her appearance.
“You poor dear.” Larissa pushed her way past Trent in a swath of multicolored silk and kissed the air beside both of Becca’s damp cheeks. “You must be absolutely bereft. I wanted to get here early to give you a hand.”
She followed this embrace with a pointed look at Trent that seemed to demand an answer. “I’m sorry.” His handsome face appeared drawn with concern. “I guess we both had the same idea. Merry meet, Becca.”
“Merry meet.” Becca managed a wobbly smile. “It’s good to see you both. Come in.”
Larissa took charge, as usual, ushering Becca into the kitchen with a sweeping gesture that released a cloud of patchouli.
“I’m sorry.” Becca did her best to summon a smile, even as she blinked. Clara, at her feet, sneezed quietly, while Laurel winced and stalked off. “I haven’t put the water on or anything.”
“Nonsense, dear.” Larissa craned around until she saw the kettle, then gestured Becca over toward it. “Would you? My sleeves.”
Clara watched as Becca complied. Having something to do certainly seemed to settle her person, but the calico couldn’t help but wonder at the older woman’s apparent helplessness as she ordered Becca around.
“No, dear, fill the pot with hot water, then pour it out. You don’t want to brew your tea in a cold pot.” With a flick of those sleeves, she herded Becca toward the sink, then followed to stand close behind her. “I wanted to speak with you before the others arrived.”
She turned theatrically as if she could see through the wall to the foyer and the door beyond. When she began to speak again, her deep voice was abnormally soft.
“I don’t think it would be healthy to mention our chat yesterday.” Even muted, her suggestion had an air of command about it. “About Graham and all. You are one of my favorites, but it wouldn’t do to sow dissent.”