Becca grabbed it up with a smile that was worth all the treats in the bag to the calico. “Bother.” She sounded a bit breathless from the search, but still she reached out to stroke Clara’s mottled back. “Well, at least there’s a message.”
Clara leaned in and closed her eyes. Her sisters would make her pay for her interference, but right then she didn’t care. Becca’s hand was warm and she pressed just hard enough to make Clara stretch as she worked her way from shoulders to tail and then—froze.
“Oh no.” Becca barely choked out the words. “I can’t believe I forgot to call the detective back,” she whispered in horror. “And now they’re asking me to come down to the station.”
Chapter 36
“Don’t say it!” Clara glared at her sisters as she waited by the door. There would be a reckoning, but no way was she letting Becca talk to the police by herself. Not that she was sure what, exactly, she could do.
“Maybe I can convince her to run for it.” Laurel had picked up on their person’s distress and was stalking back and forth while Becca hurriedly changed her shirt. In all the tumult, it had gotten quite dusty.
“I could bring the amulet back.” Harriet hiccupped, her shoulders bouncing in an alarming fashion.
“No, please.” Clara did her best to keep her tone polite. “You don’t have to.” She ducked her head in the feline equivalent of a curtsy to both Harriet and Laurel. “I think it’s best if she just tells them the truth—what happened without any magic. I’ll report back.” Becca had emerged from her bedroom, smoothing her hair back as if she were indeed feline, and now she was reaching for the door. “I promise!”
***
Clara stayed close to her person as she hurried through the busy streets. In a way, Becca’s distraction helped—there was no way she was looking around for one small, shaded cat, even one with an orange patch over one eye. It helped that the day had progressed as well, giving Clara her choice of afternoon shadows to choose from as she leaped and darted to keep up with her person’s progress.
It was only when Becca neared the stairs to the Cambridge precinct that Clara held back. That tall, stone building, with its heavy doors, was too much like a cage for her liking. And truth be told, what could she do if the people inside were to hold Becca against her will?
Maybe she did have some of Laurel’s power, because Becca paused, as if constrained by the same fears. As Clara watched, Becca stepped off the sidewalk, almost as if she too could disappear in the shade of the sickly maple that grew out of the pavement nearby.
“Blessed goddess, hear my plea…” Clara caught the words, barely audible, of a protective spell, one that the coven had recited only weeks before. Becca didn’t seem to remember that Suzanne had been the one who found it—and had been rather expert at reciting it. Maybe, thought the cat, as she watched her person make a complicated gesture behind her back, it was just as well humans didn’t have any real power. If only she had a way of telling Becca that at least one of her pets was watching out for her. Standing there, murmuring—these people seemed to believe that everything had to be repeated three times—she looked so anxious that Clara longed to jump up into her arms.
She couldn’t, of course. To do so would not only break the rules, it would unnerve the young woman, and the plump feline suspected that Becca would need all of her wits in the interrogation to come. Thus, the loyal feline was forced to hang back, in the shadow of that maple, and watch as Becca, looking as uncomfortable as a cat in the rain, finished the spell. At least, Clara thought she did—as she watched, her person wrung her hands in what could only be understood as an attempt to stroke herself back into good humor. Clearly, she was trying to muster the courage to enter the building that loomed before her.
Perhaps it was unfair of Clara to blame Harriet, but the calico couldn’t help it. Her big sister’s carelessness had set in motion a chain of events that at least had disconcerted their beloved person, and then her selfishness had exacerbated the situation. Of course, none of that would have mattered if Becca hadn’t gotten involved in the coven or ever flirted with the dashing warlock.
“Trent!” Clara blinked up as Becca called out. Sure enough, there was the warlock—coming down the steps of the precinct. Could it be, she wondered, that her person had in fact summoned him? “Over here!”
“Becca?” The bearded man who turned toward her was nearly unrecognizable. His usually sleek dark hair hung lank, his darkly shining eyes looked tired, set deep into shadowed sockets. Even his usual open-necked blouse had been replaced by ratty sweats, the droopy pants pulled up to reveal bunched white socks above worn sneakers. “Is that you?”
She stepped forward, into the light, and Trent rushed over to her. He would have taken her hands, Clara thought, only, at the last moment, her person stepped back. In response, he raised one hand to his oily hair, pushing it back from a forehead that Clara could now see was quite lined.
It wasn’t the hair though, or even his overall appearance that held her back.
“Are you okay?” said Becca, her voice low, her gaze shifting over to the building he had just left.
“Of course. What brings you here?” As he spoke, he stood up straighter and attempted a smile. To the observant cat, his teeth looked like fangs. “Are you—” His eyes darted nervously as he spoke, as if checking to make sure nobody had come from the police station behind him. But even as his scanned the street, he seemed to gather himself, his voice lowering into the confident baritone Becca knew well. “Are you going in to chat with the detectives again?”
“They called me,” Becca admitted, her face pinching up. “Twice. But why are you back here? Did something happen?”
“Not at all.” The smile stiffened as two uniformed officers descended the stairs, and he paused until they had walked by. “I gather there have been some developments, and I came in to offer my assistance, of course.”
“You volunteered?” Becca glanced down at his sweatshirt, the sweat pants, and sneakers. “Trent, if you don’t mind me asking, do you have a job?”
“Not you too.” For a moment, his face contorted in anguish, the sharp planes of his cheeks becoming drawn and desperate. Then, just as quickly, he recovered. “I do have a promising prospect—or I did.” He licked dry lips. “It’s nothing I’m at liberty to talk about right now. Of course, I do have other projects ongoing. A few investments.”
Becca didn’t appear convinced, to her cat’s clear-eyed gaze. Instead, it seemed like she was formulating a follow-up question, when he chuckled.
“Oh, is it my outfit?” He struck a pose, even as his grin wobbled. “I was working out, and after a run by the river, I found myself nearby the precinct.”
“You found yourself…? That’s right!” Becca’s eyes went wide as whatever query she’d been about to pose was eclipsed. “Your amulet! I found it. I mean, I thought you had already found it, but then it turned up, and I was going to call you. Only, I lost it again.”
“What are you talking about?” The fake smile was gone.
“The one you dropped when my cat broke the chain.” A rushed whisper of explanation.
“That’s crazy.” Trent shook his head, and the greasy locks fell back over his forehead.
“Ms. Colwin?” a voice called out. The rumpled detective was standing on the stairs. “Is that you?”
She ignored him in her rush to explain. “I thought maybe you didn’t care that much. I mean, it looks like an expensive piece, but maybe—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trent’s hand went to the neckline of his dirty sweatshirt and pulled out a chain. “I have it. I took it with me—you saw that. I only had to put it on a different chain.”