“Becca?” Sensing something good, Maddy put her drink down.
“Something someone said—I think Larissa might, you know, keep her boyfriends.”
“Keep, as in retain?”
“Not exactly.” Becca lowered her voice, although neither Harriet nor Laurel were listening. “Keep as in pay for. And that first time I ran into Nathan he said he was visiting a relative but …”
“Ah.” Maddy sat back, resting her wine glass on Harriet’s pillow. Clara, who had been paying attention, thought the plump woman did not appear overly surprised. “And suddenly the handsome painter gets a referral to a cush office job. Though he’s not going to keep that lovely sun-kissed look if he comes to work for us.”
“But why would Reynolds hire him?” Becca hugged her knees to her chest, like she did when she was thinking, and turned to face her friend. “I mean, to be honest, he didn’t seem particularly pleased when I said Larissa had sent me—he even told me that she’d used up her credit, or words to that effect.”
“Well, maybe you’re in luck, then, kiddo.” Maddy shifted to face her, moving her glass back to the table, much to Clara’s relief. “Maybe you’re still in the running. Maybe this wasn’t even a real interview. He wasn’t in there for long.”
“Maybe.” Becca looked doubtful, and Harriet used that moment to swat once more at Clara.
“What’s up with your cats?” Maddy looked at them as if seeing them for the first time.
“They’ve been fighting.” Another shake of the head. “I don’t know why. I think Clara stole a toy. I saw something go flying.”
“Don’t you dare!” Clara hissed, and immediately regretted it. Only after the words were out of her mouth did she realize that her sister hadn’t been paying attention.
“Meow!” Too late now. With her most plaintive mew, Harriet drew all eyes to her as she lay down and stretched her paw under the armchair. “Please!”
“Oh, poor kitty.” Becca was up in a moment. “Hang on.”
While Maddy watched, Becca tilted the chair back, revealing a well-chewed catnip mouse, a wad of aluminum foil that Laurel had become obsessed with over a month before. And, yes, the replica of Trent’s golden amulet.
“What is that?” Maddy was on the shiny piece before Harriet could right herself, carrying it to the kitchen to examine it in better light. Short though she was, once she stood up, she was out of the cat’s reach.
“That’s—no, that’s impossible.” Becca seemed as stunned as Kathy had been.
“Becca?” Maddy looked from the trinket to her friend.
“That’s Trent’s. From my coven, the, uh, warlock.” Maddy’s brows went up, but she kept silent. “He came back after the coven meeting, and we were sitting on the sofa.” The color in Becca’s cheeks only made Maddy’s brows rise higher. “He had that on a chain and it must have been swinging and, well, you know how cats are with moving objects. Anyway, Harriet took a swipe at it and broke the chain. But I thought he’d picked it up.”
“You’ve been busy.” She fixed her friend with a quizzical stare. “So it wasn’t all painter boy?”
“It wasn’t like that.” Becca looked down, her cheeks positively scarlet. “Well, it might have been. Only, I didn’t expect it. I mean, he’s been flirty, but, Maddy, I think he’s flirty with all the women. Anyway, he had just kissed me when that—when Harriet intervened. She scratched him too. Not intentionally, I don’t think. Just that her claw got caught. Anyway, that, ah, broke the mood, and he left soon after.”
“You’d almost think your cat was looking out for you.” Maddy was still smiling, but her face grew serious as she looked at the amulet again. “This feels like real gold. And he just left it?”
“I was sure he’d taken it. I thought I saw him put it in his pocket.” She shook her head. “I mean, he didn’t ask me to look for it or anything.”
“Is he rich?” Maddy was rolling the amulet between her thumb and forefinger. Harriet, Clara suspected, had made the piece heavier than the original. Maybe slightly larger too—those plush paws weren’t as dexterous as human fingers.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk about a job,” Becca admitted.
With a sigh, Maddy handed over the piece. “I don’t know, Becca. Between a rich playboy and a stalker-y creep, I think you’ve got to meet some new guys. But, hey, if you’re really okay, I think I’m going to crash.”
Becca didn’t argue as she escorted her friend to the door, examining the piece as she walked. “What is it?” her friend asked.
“I’m not sure.” Becca was examining the back of the amulet. “Only, I thought there was something engraved on the back. I remember reaching for it, and Trent kind of pulled it away. That’s what caught Harriet’s eye, I think. And this piece? It’s blank.”
“I’d say your mind was on something else that night,” said her friend. “I mean, there it is, solid in your hand.”
***
“How could you?” Clara turned on her oldest sister in fury. Never mind protocol, Harriet was endangering them all.
The big marmalade knew it. “It’s just a small thing,” she pouted. “And so shiny. And now I have to make another.”
“Don’t you dare!” Clara was positively spitting, she was so mad. “Don’t you see what you’ve done? Now there are two of them. And Becca is going to return it to that Trent—and then they’ll know!”
“Return it?” Harriet’s fluffy face screwed up in confusion, her nose pulling in like a pedigreed Persian. “But it’s mine.”
“Don’t be dense.” Laurel landed with a thud between them. “Both of you. This is going to make things interesting. Becca’s going to bring that Trent around again now. She’ll have to.”
Clara sat, her tail curled around her fore paws, and brooded. Although she was unable to explain why to her sisters, she knew from her whiskers to her tail tip that none of this boded well.
Chapter 34
The text messages continued, as did the calls. Clara could tell from the beeps and buzzes Becca’s phone made, even as she left it on the table. In part, Clara thought, her person was ignoring the tiny machine, despite the tantalizing way it vibrated. In part, she feared, Becca was trying to make sense of the amulet—doing her best to reconcile her memory with the palpable reality she now held in her palm.
Deprived of her toy, Harriet turned her attention to the device. Perched on a chair, she reached one paw up, intending to hook it and send it flying. Laurel looked on, mildly amused, until another vibration sent her back to the apartment door. Clara, catching the same emanation a moment later, froze—torn between her person and that infernal device, and the interruption about to occur.
“What?” Becca looked up seconds later, as a loud rapping sounded on her door. The faint scent of pine, as well as Laurel’s satisfied smirk, alerted Clara to the visitor’s identity, but Becca, oblivious to such subtle clues, opened it, only to jump back with a start.
“Nathan!” She moved to shut the door. His work boot, splashed with paint, blocked it.
“Becca, please. I can explain.”
She looked up at him, mouth agape, and relaxed her hold on the door—just as he pulled his foot out.
“I’m sorry,” he said. She was leaning on the door—ready to slam it shut. Only, she didn’t, which Clara thought curious. “I’ll stay here,” he said, seemingly chastened.
Becca looked at him, and for a moment Clara wondered if she did indeed have magical skills. The way she studied his face seemed to be seeking something in his eyes. Something deep. Finally, tilting her head, she spoke again. “Tell me,” she said, “how did you find out where I live?”