A Cat on the Case Read online

  “You’re half frozen.” Becca took her friend’s garments. “Hang on, I was just about to make the tea.”

  “I’ll get it.” Ande hurried toward the kitchen. “I need the warmth. It’s nice and toasty in here.”

  “We’ll see how long that lasts.” Becca turned to hang the coat, draping the scarf over it. “I think they want me out.”

  Ande leaned back out, kettle in hand, a puzzled frown creasing her brow.

  “The building’s going condo,” Marcia looked up from petting Harriet. “Becca might have to move.”

  “Don’t you have the option of buying?”

  Becca shook her head. “I don’t want to even talk about it.”

  “We should, though.” Ande looked down at the kettle as if it held the answers then returned to her task. “I can run the numbers.”

  “I told her we’d do a circle too.” Marcia called after her. “Generate some good will.”

  “Generate some cookies would be more like it,” Harriet said, waiting until the feet were safely past before following. Even Laurel had climbed down from her perch by then. Although Becca’s original group of Wiccan devotees had shrunk over the last few months, the ritual remained the same. The three would talk and then try their hand at various incantations, oblivious to the fact that even if they had some power their human mouths would be unable to form the necessary sounds for any spell. Then, to close, they’d join hands and close their eyes to make the circle Marcia had mentioned. That, as the cats knew, was often their best opportunity for stealing cookies off the plate, though in truth the soft-hearted Marcia was prone to sneaking broken pieces to Harriet, having a fondness for the big orange and white cat.

  She looked down at Harriet now, and for a moment, Clara wondered if the two were having a silent conversation. Silent, that is, until Harriet coughed.

  “Uh oh,” Marcia called. “Becca – is your cat ok?”

  “Maybe a hairball?” Ande emerged with three mugs, which she set on the table.

  “I don’t know, Becca.” Marcia, who had no felines of her own appeared unduly concerned. “You think you should call your vet?”

  “Marcia, no.” Becca was blushing. “It’s nothing.”

  “Wait, what am I missing?” Ande looked from one woman to the other.

  “The new vet at Cambridge Cat is something of a hero.” Marcia followed the tall woman back into the kitchen. “He and Becca met last fall, and I gather they have quite the rapport.”

  “He likes my cats.” Becca said with an emphasis that had her two friends exchanging a smile, even as Ande counted spoons of mint into the pot. “And I’m sure it’s nothing. Harriet does have a lot of fur.”

  “He admired my lush coat.” Harriet, eagerly awaiting the cookies, was not immune to a compliment. “A man of taste.”

  “Indeed,” Laurel purred, peering up at Ande as she rubbed against her shins. “And Becca should remember it’s always good to have options. But if she wanted to keep the conversation about the new vet going, she was out of luck. Becca’s friends were more attuned to her mood than her cats – her two older cats, anyway – and had already moved the conversation, along with the tea, to their weekly ritual.

  With no new magic to report – “But we did get some interesting new books in,” Becca reported – that meant the circle.

  “Maybe we should call it a triangle,” Marcia joked, as the three leaned over the table to join hands.

  “We’re still acknowledging the four points of the compass and the elements,” their host pointed out. “And a circle gives us equality too,” Ande added, with a meaningful glance. “No sides, no race or gender distinctions.”

  “Fair enough.” Marcia agreed, squeezing her friends’ hands. The three women closed their eyes then and began to chant.

  This was the “gathering of energy,” as Becca had called it, when she had tried to explain the weekly gatherings to Maddy, her skeptical best friend. A colleague from her days as a researcher, Maddy’s open, round face had twisted into a dubious frown at that, and Becca had tried another tack, talking about ecology rather than mysticism, describing the Wiccan focus on balance and nature. That was embodied by Mother Earth, she had explained, although as the chanting continued, invoking the ultimate goddess, Harriet, listening from her pillow, began to purr, her body vibrating in response to what she considered due praise.

  “Has anybody heard from Larissa?” After a moment of silence, Ande looked around at the half-empty table. Larissa, one of the coven’s original witches, hadn’t shown up at the weekly meetings for months now, but Becca always made a point of inviting her.

  “I think she’s in Boca for the winter – with Trent,” Becca added. The romance between the older witch and her protégé had outlasted anyone’s expectations. “She says they might attend again when the weather warms up, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  “Good riddance.” Marcia held a grudge. “Sorry,” she added, without conviction, as Becca suppressed a smile. It was hard at times to follow the Wiccan rule of only sending out positive energy.

  “Maybe we should make sure she – they – know they’re still welcome.” Ande tilted her head, her voice growing thoughtful. “Larissa has money, Becca. And she owes you.”

  “No.” Becca shook the idea off. “I’m sorry. She’s welcome. Of course she is, But I don’t want charity, and I certainly don’t want to be in her debt. Look how she treats Trent.”

  Neither of the other witches had an answer to that. Although Trent had been an original member of the coven, his older girlfriend acted as if he was more a pet than a peer.

  “Besides,” Becca continued, determined to find a positive spin. “I like that it’s the three of us. We actually get along.”

  “If we were a bigger coven, we might have more power.” Ande tried again. “We were all about to gather when you managed your successful summoning.”

  Becca only laughed. “Honestly, Ande? I don’t know what was up with that. It was just one spell, that one time. These days, I’m not even sure I have any power. It all just seems kind of hopeless.”

  “Enough.” Marcia spoke up. “Becca’s right, Ande, but not just because we get along. Three is a powerful number. Think about ‘Macbeth,’ and look at – well, look at your cats.”

  The young women turned to stare, startling the felines. Harriet, perched on the back of Becca’s big armchair froze, caught just as she had been about to attempt a leap to the tabletop. Laurel, bathing, looked up wide-eyed, one brown paw raised in midair, while Clara, who had been listening in with growing alarm, simply sat there, willing her anxious tail not to lash.

  “Do they know? I think they know.” Harriet’s urgency carried to her sisters, though whether she was anxious or proud, Clara couldn’t tell. “If they didn’t gather to pay homage to us, then why the cookies?”

  “Hush!” Laurel lowered her leg, ever so slowly. “They can’t know. At least, I don’t think they can.”

  “I don’t think so either.” Clara blinked at her person, willing Becca to understand the love and loyalty this implied. “But I’m not sure.” The calico had had some odd experiences recently, the kind that almost made her doubt her feline superiority in matters of magic. She was on the verge of explaining these, when Marcia burst out laughing.

  “Dear Goddess,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Look at those three! It’s almost like they know what we’re saying. But I’m telling you, Becca, something is going to come through for you. I feel it.”

  Ande jumped in before their host could comment. “What’s going to happen is some good financial planning,” she said. “But for now, is there any more of that tea?”

  By the time her friends left, Becca sounded relaxed and happy. Almost, Clara thought, as if her fur had been stroked smooth by a loving hand.

  It couldn’t last, and as Clara watched her person bid her friends farewell, she felt her heart sink. While Harriet – and, truth be told, Laurel
– busied themselves hoovering up crumbs, Clara had seen the signs.

  “Bye!” Marcia had called, as she followed Ande down the stairs. And although the short brunette’s sneakers, her year-round footwear, didn’t make much sound on the steps, for a human, anyway, Clara could feel as much as see how Becca winced. The way she raced back inside, once her friends had passed out of sight, made her loyal pet hang her head. Becca deserved better.

  An hour later, no angry neighbor had come pounding on the door. But instead of cuddling on the sofa surrounded by her cats, or in bed, as she should be if the day had been as tiring as her person’s deep sighs intimated, Becca was sitting hunched over the table once again.

  Silent as a cat can be, Clara watched her from a perch on the back of the room’s big, stuffed chair. Despite the evening’s activities, her person had none of the magic books open – not even the latest that she’d brought home from the shop. Instead, she had a small ledger on which she had scrawled symbols that may as well have been ancient Egyptian, for all her youngest pet could read them. Except that, of course, the little calico would have had a fighting chance with hieroglyphics. And Becca wouldn’t have her hands knotted in her own short, curly hair. Although she was staring with brown eyes wide open, Becca doubted she saw anything – not her devoted pet on her perch, nor the squat candle before her.

  “If I could buy this unit...” Her words made little sense to the calico, who jumped to the tabletop to better assess the situation. Her person was tense, and so proceeding silently to her side, Clara leaned against her arm, adding the low vibration of a purr in her bid to will away the tension. Physical contact always aided the connection, but Becca didn’t seem to notice. “It’s not like I can afford to move,” she said.

  Clara closed her eyes, concentrating on her person – only to feel her shift away as she reached for that candle. Set on a brass base, it was a heavy thing, smelling pleasantly of beeswax, so honey sweet that Harriet had licked it when Becca brought it home after her first day on the job. Clara remembered her sister recoiling at the waxy taste, and the cats had left it alone after that. That coven had lit it earlier that night, cooing over its aroma, and what Ande had called its essence.

  “Maybe I should have brought her a welcome gift?” Becca stared at the candle. “Maybe I shouldn’t have kept this for myself?”

  The candle, Clara knew, had never been meant for the foul-tempered woman downstairs. It had originally been intended for the man next door, though, and Clara knew Becca well enough to sense that this was the at the root of her person’s unease. Intended as a gift, the slight splurge had seemed justified.

  Despite Laurel’s silent urging, Becca hadn’t been spying out the new neighbor as a potential boyfriend. She was still cautious after a bad breakup the year before – and a series of near disastrous flirtations. Although she did pink up at any mention of the cat hospital’s new feline specialist, Clara believed her person was being wise. Now that the neighbor had a face, the sleek Siamese was sure to start urging Becca to drop by, using her powers of suggestion to urge a flirtation with the newcomer, but the initial impulse had simply been friendly. Neighborly, in the best sense. For Becca, whose Wiccan understanding of balance meshed well with a basic sense of fair play, a candle like this one would have been a way of sweetening a stranger’s new home.

  If only he had appeared a little sooner. Over the course of a week, Becca and her cats had watched with interest as movers had brought in furniture and boxes labeled “kitchen” and “bath.” Not long after that, Becca had knocked on the door. And knocked again, trying at different times of the day three days running, before giving up. That brief sighting today was the most she had seen of the man next door since he’s taken over the unit from Tony Rogers, six weeks before. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given up.”

  “What’s she doing?” Laurel landed beside her soundlessly. “Is she going to light that stinky thing again?”

  When Laurel sniffed, revealing her fangs, she looked a little like a bat, Clara thought. Now did not seem the time to mention this.

  “I think she’s regretting keeping it.” Clara was parroting words she’d heard Becca use, but she managed to signal the feelings of sadness tinged with guilt.

  “I don’t blame her.” Laurel drew her apple-shaped head into her ruff, which gave her a bit of a double chin. “It stinks.”

  Clara knew better than to comment, but her sister must have picked up the vibrations of her emotion. Or simply noticed her whiskers twitching. “What?”

  “She’s thinking of visiting the stranger next door.” Clara felt that was likely. At any rate, it served to distract Laurel.

  “Good!” The Siamese closed her eyes in satisfaction. “A man, so close by, and with whiskers, too.”

  Clara didn’t argue. Instead, she did the little shimmy cats do when they’re about to jump and, shading herself into invisibility, followed Becca out the door.

  “Hello?” Becca had already knocked on the neighbor’s door. “Becca from unit six here. Do you have a moment?”

  Sitting at her feet, Clara could hear the tightness in Becca’s voice. Between that and the way she bit down on her lower lip as she waited in silence for a response, she could tell her person was nervous. Partly, she knew, that was because she had shown up empty-handed. Partly, Clara suspected, that was because the new neighbor hadn’t bothered to say hi.

  “We just saw each other on the landing.” Clara could hear the movement within, but Becca looked like she was about to give up when the latch clicked and the door opened, revealing the same sandy hair that had poked out before. Seeing Becca, he opened the door wider and blinked down at her, eyes wide behind those big lenses. Easily a head taller than Becca, the slim man was still casually dressed. He was wearing an MIT sweatshirt with jeans, and between his glasses and slightly too-long hair it him look like a slightly-older student. Although the wispy goatee had initially made him look younger, Becca figured him for his thirties. Junior faculty, perhaps, distracted by too many hours reading.

  “Hi.” Becca smiled up at him. “I wanted to introduce myself properly. I’m Becca Colwin. I live next door.” She laughed, a bit awkwardly. “I guess that’s obvious. You must be the new owner?”

  “Yes. Yes, that’s me,” he said, his voice distracted. His gray eyes owl-round behind the glasses, he looked past Becca and then peered down the hall. “That other woman…”

  “She’s gone.” Becca’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think she just wanted to vent. At least, I hope so.”

  The neighbor didn’t respond. From the way he kept staring past her, Becca wondered if he’d had his own run in with the flashy brunette.

  “She was complaining about my cats.” She looked up at the tall man, noting his pursed mouth, the anxious blinking, and fear crept into her own voice. “You don’t mind them. Do you?”

  “Your cats?” He seemed to see her for the first time, and a broad grin lit up his face, taking years off it. “Why would I? This is a pet-friendly building, isn’t it?”

  “It always has been.” Becca’s grin wobbled a bit. “The previous tenant in your place, Tony, had a retriever.”

  “Never met him.” He shrugged, looking even more boyish. “I’m sorry. I’m not around much, and I’ve been letting some friends stay here.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. I’m just glad we met.” Becca’s relief was palpable. “And that my pets haven’t bothered you – or your friends.”

  “Not at all.” His hand still on the doorframe, he stepped back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course. Bye.” But the door had already closed.

  Laurel and Harriet were waiting at the door as Becca let herself – and Clara – back in. But despite their twining around her ankles, she barely seemed to notice them.

  “I knew it!” Laurel was practically purring as she sniffed Becca’s jeans for clues. “He’s tall and right next door.”

  “That could wo
rk.” Harriet, done moving, sat and began to wash. “Becca would still be able to spend most of her time with us.”

  “That’s not what she was thinking about.” Clara cast about for a way to explain their predicament to her sisters. Neither was likely to understand how their presence could be a negative. Finally, she settled on what seemed like a simple answer. “He’s not interested.”

  “You shouldn’t have let her go over there looking like that.” Laurel sniffed. She might be the sister who had the most power inserting suggestions into Becca’s mind, but Clara was the one who accompanied her everywhere, which made the little calico easy to blame. “Did she notice how that other girl was dressed? Becca would look great in a sweater like that, all that soft wool. In fact, I think I’ll–”

  “No, please, Laurel.” Clara turned toward her older sister with a plaintive mew. Laurel could easily implant thoughts of fashion and makeup, and maybe that would distract Becca. But Clara had the feeling that her person needed to think. She had been drawn to the new neighbor. That much was obvious. But her feelings were more complicated, and more than romance was on her mind.

  “Maybe I should have stayed in school.” Becca was saying, as she pecked away at her computer. “He can’t be that much older than I am, and he’s bought that place.”

  “See?” Laurel purred. “He’s got money, too!”

  Clara wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Maybe you could suggest to that other woman that she should stay away?”

  “Nonsense.” Laurel extended one hind leg balletically and began to give her toes a thorough bath. “Becca needs to spend more time with women like that. You don’t have to trust someone to learn from them.”

  “But if she can’t trust a person, why should she get close to her?” As soon as the question was formed, Clara regretted it. There was no reasoning with Laurel when she was in certain moods, but at least she was loyal. And so Clara hunkered down by Becca’s elbow and watched as images of buildings with strange symbols attached began to appear. As a cat, Clara might not have a fine grasp on real estate, but she knew one thing. Her person needed to find a place to live, even more than she needed male companionship, and although Clara was a cat of many powers, both of these were beyond her capabilities. If she couldn’t offer any actual help, though, at least she could provide company, a soft, warm presence in an increasingly difficult world.