A Spell of Murder

“Becca?” Ande’s voice rang out from the little device. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I’ve been crazy busy.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for getting back to me.” Becca paused and turned away from the glass-fronted tower, as if those windows were eyes that could see her here, out on the walk. “I’m sorry—I’ll get right to it. Did you talk to the police?”

“Excuse me?” Ande’s confusion sounded real, but Clara crept closer to hear what she could.

“The police,” Becca repeated. “Did you tell them what you told me about the coven’s finances—or maybe they’re really Larissa’s?” Becca stared up at a tree, as if the details of that earlier conversation could be found in the new leaves. “And did you say anything about Trent?”

“Trent? No. Look, all I know is that Suzanne said she’d found something,” Ande corrected her. “That last night we were all together, before the meeting. I don’t know if she really did, poor thing. But why are you harping on this? Surely, a couple of grand one way or another isn’t motive for murder.”

Becca’s mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. Clara knew why. Most cats wouldn’t understand the ins and out of finance, and, in truth, Clara couldn’t have balanced a checkbook if her kibble depended on it. But she did understand how carefully her person was watching her pennies. Yes, she suspected, to some people a few thousand dollars might be motive—and it seemed quite apparent that Becca was thinking along the same lines.

“It’s not me who’s doing the asking,” she said at last. Ande probably couldn’t hear the dying note in Becca’s voice—part sad, part rueful—but Clara could. The woman on the other end of the line couldn’t miss the urgency with which Becca repeated her initial question, though. “What did you tell the police, Ande?”

“I didn’t tell them anything,” her friend insisted. “I haven’t spoken to them. I’m sorry, I know I said I would, but I haven’t had time.”

“You haven’t had time?”

“I’ve been—look, it’s not just work, Becca. I’ve got other obligations to other friends.” The other woman was beginning to get defensive. “I want them to catch whoever did it. But I don’t think I’ve got some great insight into what happened. It’s not like Suzanne and I were close. I mean, outside the coven. I didn’t even know she’d gone out with Trent before I did—that is, before she met her new guy.”

Jeff. Becca winced. “Yeah, well, the police are looking into it—and they want to talk to me again. I need to make sure they have all the facts.” Becca turned to take in the modern tower. Inside the glass foyer, the light flickered. An elevator opened, and a swirl of color stepped into the lobby. “I’m going to make Larissa tell me what’s going on. I know she doesn’t like to talk about money, but this is serious.”

***

Inside the lobby, another figure appeared. A man in jeans and white shirt rose and greeted the colorful arrival.

“Please don’t.” A note of anxiety—or could it be fear? “Becca, you know how private she is. I don’t want her to be angry at me for speaking out of turn, not to mention that she did kind of consult with me in my professional capacity.”

“I’m sorry, Ande. Look, I ran into Larissa when I went to the records room at city hall, and she wouldn’t tell me what she was working on. I’ll try to make it sound like I’m following up on that. I’m sick of all the secrets.” Becca turned away as the doors opened, discharging the woman and her waiting date. “They need to know if someone was embezzling—”

“Wait, what?” Ande interrupted. “Becca, I never said—”

“Look, I’ve got to go—and I’m sorry.” Becca dropped her voice, cupping her phone in her hand as the couple’s laughter got closer. “Just—you should know—I’ve also been hearing things. Like, that you were maybe trying to frame Trent.”

“Me? Trent?” Ande’s voice squeaked as Becca looked up in time to see the bearded warlock himself, showered and dressed once more in his usual open-necked shirt, escorting a laughing Larissa down the walk.

Chapter 38

“Maddy, there’s something going on here.” Becca made her next call to her friend, hitting the number even as she emerged from her hiding place behind a hedge. “Ande says she hasn’t talked to the police yet. And Trent and Larissa are definitely a couple.”

“Becca, do you hear yourself?” Her friend was leaving work. Becca could hear the traffic noise as she neared the T. “A woman was murdered, and you’re playing detective?”

“I’m not playing.” Becca stopped herself and pulled a bit of boxwood from her hair. “Maddy, the police want to talk to me again. They’ve been calling, and everybody knows I’m out of work and I need money—and that Jeff dumped me for Suzanne.” Before her friend could interject, she rushed on. “Someone’s been talking to the police, and I’m worried that they’re not getting the full story. I’ll go in and talk to them, I promise. But I want to figure out what’s going on first. I only came over here to talk to Larissa, and now…seeing her with Trent…”

Maddy snorted. “Well, at least I know why Reynolds is always in such a mood. I can’t imagine he’s thrilled with how his ex is spending his money.”

“Maddy, that’s not fair.” Becca felt a little bad that she’d texted Nathan’s revelation to her friend the night before. She’d been so overjoyed to find out that the handsome painter was neither job competition nor Larissa’s love interest that she’d probably revealed more than she meant to. Now Ande’s words came back to her. “You never know what’s going on in someone else’s relationship.”

Another snort. “Maybe not in theirs—but that Trent? Oh, come on.”

Becca bit her lip. Maddy was touching on the conclusion that she herself had reached. “There’s also—Maddy, I don’t think I told you, but I spoke with Jeff—”

“Oh, Becca!”

“No, we’re not getting back together—don’t worry about that. Only he brought up that Suzanne had thought someone was stalking her again. He thought it was me, but she’d also gone out with Trent and she had a necklace that she loved but that she never wanted to wear when she came to the group.”

“That coven of yours…” Her friend’s censure chilled the phone line. “And this is the guy you went out with too?”

“I didn’t really.” Becca caught herself. “Okay, maybe I did, but he’s been out with everyone. Ande as well as Suzanne, and I think Kathy has a crush on him too. Only seeing him with Larissa makes me wonder.”

“Becca, you’re not making sense.”

“I am!” Becca insisted. “She had this necklace—a crystal teardrop. I think Trent gave it to her, and that Larissa knew.” The image of her colleague, lying lifeless on the floor, came back—the horror of it. The streak of blood already growing dark. The knife protruding from Suzanne’s bare throat. “Maddy, I think the killer took the necklace.”

“Please, Becca,” her friend entreated. “This is a job for the police. You need to stop this—you need to tell them everything that’s going on.”

“I can’t, Maddy—not just yet. They must already think I’m involved, or else why would they be asking me to come in again? And, well, I don’t know, do I? Maybe she’d just taken it off. And the whole thing could be totally innocent.”

“Yeah? Well, who killed her, then?”

Becca didn’t have an answer for that one, and her friend knew it.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” Maddy was fading as she descended into the subway. “Look, I’ll go with you tomorrow, first thing before work, okay? And tonight—do you want to come over? We can watch a movie or something.”

“I’d love to.” Relief suffused Becca’s voice, and for the first time since she’d left the house, Clara relaxed. “Oh, but, no, I can’t.”

Clara’s ears pricked up. As, it seemed, did Maddy’s. “No? Not another date?”

“Oh, I wish.” Exhaustion—or exasperation—drained the life out of Becca’s voice. “I can’t believe I forgot, Maddy. And now it’s too late to cancel.”

Silence on the line. Then, “Becca?”

“The coven is meeting tonight, Maddy! That must be where Larissa and Trent were heading, and I’ve got to rush home and clean up.”

***

In truth, Becca had over an hour before the group was scheduled to convene. That left her plenty of time to get home and pick up what was generally a fairly neat apartment. True, Laurel and Harriet had been bored in her absence, and had made their point by knocking several small objects off the bookshelf. The point, Laurel said, was to keep Becca busy while they debriefed Clara, a task for which the seal-point feline seemed to have more enthusiasm than their oldest sister, who had made herself scarce.

“Can’t this wait?” Clara looked on in sympathy as Becca frantically rushed around, picking up pens and paperweights. “Becca is in a tizzy.”

“How do you think we felt?” Laurel’s ears flicked backward, revealing a bit of temper. “You run out to talk to the police, and we don’t hear from you for hours.”

“I know, but we never got there.”

Becca was on her hands and knees, looking under the sofa. Searching once more, Clara realized, for the amulet.

“She ran into that Trent, and he showed her that he still has his pendant,” she explained.

“Good.” Harriet had ambled in from her nap. “Then I can make another. So you owe me a treat!”

It was useless. Clara’s spirits sunk, as did her tail, and she turned from her sisters to watch her person’s frenzied quest.

“Listen up!” A sharp slap to the side of her head brought her back. Laurel, her blue eyes blazing. “You act like you’re the only one who cares, but we want to do what’s best for her too. But you’ve got to tell us what you know—and quickly too! Those cookie eaters are on their way.”

“Cookie eaters?” Harriet looked toward the door.

“Harriet, focus!” Clara looked from one sister to another. She’d never heard Laurel speak this way, not to Harriet. Even the big marmalade seemed somewhat taken aback and sat blinking under that blue glare.

“I know I’ve been a bit lax.” Laurel had the grace to dip her head. Cats see a direct stare as an offensive move, and once she had their attention, the middle sister seemed ready to shift into a conciliatory fashion. “This has been a comfortable perch. But you do know our family history, don’t you?”

Harriet blinked and turned to Clara, who tilted her head inquisitively. “I know we have a duty to our people and that we come from a long line of witch cats.”

“And what happens when we don’t pay attention?” Laurel’s tone had become a bit schoolmarmish—only with an edge that worried Clara and set her spine tingling. “What happens when we aren’t careful?”

“We don’t get treats?” Harriet offered the most serious punishment she could imagine.

“Our people—the women we are bound to serve—are taken as witches in our place.” Laurel was practically hissing. “They’re taken away away and burned.”

“They don’t do that anymore.” Harriet looked to Clara for support. “Do they?”

“I don’t think so.” Clara wracked her brain. She hadn’t heard of anything like that. “But the police haven’t been very kind to our Becca,” she added, her soft mew growing more thoughtful. “And she’s worried that they do suspect her of something. They do keep calling.”

“You see?” Laurel said, turning. “Tails and whiskers up!” And just then, the doorbell rang.

***

“Hey, Marcia. Come in.” Becca did a good job of hiding her disappointment, but Clara heard it in her voice, in the dying fall as she opened the door for the first arrival. “Oh, is that a cake?”

“Banana bread.” Marcia looked around, her large eyes widening dramatically. “What’s up with your cats?”

Clara turned. Harriet and Laurel were both staring at the diminutive woman, and even a human must have been able to feel the suspicion—and, in Harriet’s case, hunger—in their gaze.

“I was out for a lot of the day.” Becca was improvising. “I think they were lonely.”

“Okay, then.” Marcia gave the sisters a wide berth as she passed into the apartment. “I’m the first one here?”

“Yes.” Becca ran past her to replace the sofa cushions, which she’d piled on the table. “Sorry, I was…I was doing a little cleaning. Shall I take that?”

“Sure.” Marcia leaned in slightly, and Clara had the distinct impression that the shorter woman was about to confide. Only just then, the doorbell rang again. “Never mind. I’m going to get a knife.”

“Becca, I’ve been thinking.” Ande stepped in before her host could say anything. “Maybe she was down at city hall because she’s filing a suit for fraud?”

“Who was?” Marcia emerged from the kitchen with a bread knife—and the obvious question for a paralegal. “What’s the suit?”

“Oh.” Ande blinked, at a loss for an answer.

“It’s nothing,” Becca covered. “I was doing research on something, and I ran into a roadblock. I think someone was trying to keep some information private.”

“Who’s the claimant? Of course, I don’t know if anyone could keep a fraud suit private,” Marcia opined as she sliced. “We deal with those all the time, and it really depends if it’s criminal or civil—and that can get complicated. It’s not like a bankruptcy, where you can get the records sealed like that.”

As Marcia snapped her fingers, the doorbell rang again, and when Clara saw Larissa in the doorway, she looked over at Laurel. If only her sister would use her powers of suggestion to change the subject. Laurel, however, had had enough of the doorbell and retreated to the sofa. Harriet, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

“Darling, so nice to see you again.” Luckily, Larissa was as self-involved as usual. “I trust you were able to get your work done?” She took Becca’s arm as she entered, almost spinning her around. “I was working on a little project of my own, you see.” As she leaned in, Clara got a whiff of patchouli that almost made her dizzy. “I might have good news for you later, but let’s not share anything yet. Are we agreed?”

Becca tried to step back, but the older woman held her tight. “Yes, I would like to talk later,” she said, peering over her shoulder. “I have some questions too.”

“Yes, yes, later.” Larissa was already moving on, releasing her and progressing into the living room, as Kathy came to the door.

“Is Trent here?” She looked around.

“Sorry.” Marcia’s voice had an edge in it that made Becca turn. Before she could say anything, the bell rang again. Their warlock had arrived.

***

An hour later, the banana bread was gone and Becca, as well as her cats, were more than ready for the convocation to be over. Becca was too polite to rush anyone, of course, but the usual rituals simply grated this night and she had felt a headache coming on as soon as the group was seated, though that could have been because of the patchouli. The cats were less patient, particularly once the treats had been eaten. All three had been staring at the coven members with a concentration that no sensitive human should have missed.

But if Becca had hoped to move things along—and to be able to corner Larissa—she was out of luck.

“I was thinking,” said Marcia during a pause in the readings. “Maybe it would be good to go around and speak of Suzanne. I feel like maybe I wasn’t as somber as I should have been during the memorial, and I want to explain—and give her the proper respect.”

Ande, on her left, squeezed her hand, murmuring something about it all being understandable. But Larissa seemed to hear the proposal as a challenge.

“Excellent suggestion, my dear.” She tossed her hair for emphasis, and then held forth for a good fifteen minutes about the “promise” she had seen in the young woman.

Ande kept her tribute shorter, and Kathy basically passed. “I didn’t really know her,” she said. “I only ever saw her here.” When Trent began to expound—something about inner beauty and manifestations of the goddess—Becca winced.

“Trent, darling.” Larissa must have noticed her hostess’s pained expression, Clara thought. Either that, or Laurel’s powers were finally having an effect. “Do you think we could possibly move on to the final benediction?”

“But I didn’t—I mean, I’d like to make an announcement first,” said Marcia, turning from the goateed warlock to address the rest of the table. “That is, if Becca doesn’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Becca managed a smile. Her headache was getting worse.

“Thanks.” Marcia’s voice was warm, at least. “First, I’d like to thank Becca for having us. Luz and I were wondering if perhaps this was too soon. Especially for Becca.” She held up a hand to stop Larissa before she could complain. “Becca was the person who found our departed sister, after all.”

“We are all grateful, Becca,” Trent broke in. “Aren’t we? I was just saying—”

It was too much. “I’m sorry.” Becca stood. “Trent, Marcia, can this wait? I feel like my head’s about to split open.”

Ande rose and followed her into the kitchen, where she filled a glass with water.

“It’s the stress,” said Ande, pressing the glass into Becca’s hand. “I mean, the police and all.”

“Police?” Larissa came in as Becca drank, stinky teapot in hand. “You were talking to the police again?”

“I was supposed to.” Becca leaned back against the sink, felled by the combined stench of that brew and Larissa’s perfume. She had no more energy to dissemble. “They called me back. Trent too.”

“Well, I’m sure it was nothing.” Larissa raised her arms, her sleeves flapping like wings as she shooed the other coven member back into the living room. “Now, Ande, why don’t we give her some space?”

“I don’t need space.” Becca sounded so tired, Clara wished she could simply rest. “I need answers.”

Marcia peeked in, only to be dismissed with a wave of Larissa’s hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The older woman’s volume had sunk dramatically.

“Yes, you do.”

Clara watched, transfixed. She’d never seen her person so serious.

“Clara! They’re scattering!” Laurel’s yowl carried from the living room. Larissa started, her eyes going wide.

“That’s just my cat.” Becca brought her attention back. “Larissa, I get it. You were trying to have the records sealed. The bankruptcy records. It all makes sense.”

“What? No.” Another yowl, and Clara resisted the urge to respond. Couldn’t her sisters take care of anything?

“Are you okay?” Ande stuck her head back in, nearly stepping on Clara’s tail. “Otherwise, I’m going to head out.”

“Everything is fine,” Larissa hissed, and Ande withdrew, as if the older woman had indeed been a snake.

“Larissa, it’s over.” Becca looked up at the older woman, trying to see the person beneath the mascara and the scarves. Clara could hear Ande and Marcia talking softly in the living room. “I know that you’ve been keeping Trent—and that you’re overdrawn.” The older woman’s mouth dropped open. “That’s what you and your ex were arguing about, wasn’t it? Just tell me one thing, Larissa. Did you kill Suzanne because she and Trent were involved, or because she found out your little secret?”

“That’s crazy.” Chin high, Larissa dismissed the idea.

Becca, however, was not cowed. “The records room?”

A sniff.

“You couldn’t turn him down.” Becca thought back to what Jeff had said about “bad juju.” What Maddy had overheard at the office, and the laughing couple she herself had seen earlier that evening. “You were obsessed with him, and so you were trying to have your bankruptcy records sealed, so nobody would know how much you’ve been giving Trent.”

“I was not looking to have any financial records sealed. Not that it’s any of your business.” Her mouth closed so tight, the lines showed her age.

“I’m sure the police will disagree…”

“It was my divorce proceedings, if you must know.” Larissa spat out the words. “I knew you were poking about, and I didn’t want anyone finding out about Graham, and about, well, you know…”

“Your adult son, Nathan?” Becca’s brows went up. “The police still have motive. Suzanne was involved with Trent, and you know it.”

“So what?” A toss of the hair, but not a denial.

“You were jealous,” said Becca. “She was pretty—and younger. Maybe you didn’t mean to kill her when you lashed out. Obsession can be dangerous.”

To her surprise, the older woman laughed. “Obsessed? Are you kidding? Was my little fancy supposed to make me lash out?”

“Who’s lashing out?” Trent walked in. “And what are you two still doing in here? I thought we were leaving, Larissa. Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine.” Larissa brooked no argument.

“No, it’s not.” Becca lifted her heavy head to take in Trent. “Larissa found out about Suzanne. She saw the pendant you’d given her—here, when Suzanne wore it by mistake. The crystal teardrop.”

“What? No.” Trent giggled, a high, nervous sound. “That’s crazy. I would never—”

“That’s why you went to Suzanne’s, wasn’t it?”

The warlock blinked as if he’d been slapped. “No, I—no,” he stammered, the color leaving his face.

Becca’s voice was flat. But even exhausted, she was relentless. “You wanted that necklace back, before it cost you your place.”

“Suzanne liked that crystal better than she did me.” His whisper was barely perceptible. “She said it was more real.”

Becca ignored him. “You’re lucky the parking meter alibi’d you, but you must have wondered. That’s why you ran to Larissa as soon as the police had released you. Why she was the first person to call me—even before my mother. She wanted to find out what I knew. What I’d figured out.”

“I didn’t think Larissa had hurt Suzanne.” Trent was growing desperate. “I never thought …”

A beringed hand flicked the back of his head.

“Oh, stuff it, Trent,” Larissa cut him off, then turned back to Becca. “I knew about Suzanne. Just as I knew about his fling with Ande and his little flirtation with you. Those dalliances mean nothing. He always comes back to me.”

Trent’s mouth opened and closed, like a beached fish, but neither of the women were watching.

“You can’t prove that.” Becca considered, and for the first time, Clara heard doubt in her voice.

“As a matter of fact.” Larissa beckoned and Trent stepped toward her, his face unreadable. With one long claw, she hooked the chain around his neck and pulled it forward, forcing him to bend. Taking the amulet between two fingers, she briefly examined it—flipping it over to its backside before holding it out to Becca. “Read,” she commanded.

“Love renewed,” Becca read aloud, “under the Flower Moon.” The inscription ended with the date of the coven meeting—the Wednesday before Suzanne’s murder.

“What was that?” As Becca stood silent, trying to make sense of what she’d read, Clara turned to Harriet for an answer. The calico didn’t need to remind her sister that this inscription hadn’t been duplicated on her summoned facsimile.

“I didn’t see any words when I grabbed it.” Harriet blinked. “Besides, who cares about words? I wanted the pretty shininess of it.”

“Trent’s a boy.” Larissa addressed the stunned Becca, as if the man she was referring to weren’t there. As if she wasn’t holding him, literally, on a chain. “But he’s a good boy. He knows who owns him.”

“What’s going on here?” Marcia poked her head in, her Sox cap already in place. “I thought we needed to get going.”

“Just cleaning up.” Trent pulled back as Larissa released him. His voice was unnaturally high, and the shorter woman looked at him, puzzled. Turning his back on his mistress, he moved toward Marcia, the fingertips of one hand playing down her arm. “But we’re about done, if you want to get out of here, Marcia.”

Only Clara and Harriet could see the leer on his face, but surely Becca could hear the insinuation in his voice. “In fact, Marcia.” His voice sank to its sexy lower register. “I’ve been wondering if you’d ever thought of spending some time with me.” He moved to usher her out of the kitchen, his voice like warm honey. “You’ve got the darkest eyes…”

Clara glanced back at Becca, concerned. Her person had once been interested in this man not that long before.

“Gross.” Marcia’s retort broke through his murmurings. “Just…no, Trent. No. Are you clueless?”

She stepped back. Away to face him. Even Ande, who’d been fussing with her bag, was looking at her now.

“I never got to make my announcement.” Exasperation gave Marcia’s voice an edge. “Luz and I are getting married. We wanted to invite the coven to our ceremony. Maybe even have a hand-fasting or something. But forget it. You’re gross, you…you second-rate lothario.”

As she turned away, Trent burst into tears.

All hell broke loose after that. Larissa pushed by Becca to cradle the crying man in her bosom, and Harriet and Clara had to scurry to avoid being stepped on. Ande stood, transfixed, as Marcia stormed out of the apartment, without even taking her loaf pan. Becca, meanwhile, just sank into a kitchen chair and put her head down on her folded arms.

It was up to Clara to make sense of the scene: Trent, Marcia, even Ande were accounted for, and Larissa had faced Becca’s accusation unfazed. Still, something was wrong. She’d been so sure that Becca had uncovered a hidden truth. She looked around. “Where’s Kathy?” she asked her oldest sister.

“Here!” Another howl came out of Becca’s bedroom, and the cats ran to their litter mate, who was staring at a closed door. “She’s in there,” Laurel explained.

“Enough of that!” Harriet threw her bulk against the door and they all heard the gasp of the startled young woman as the big marmalade tumbled into the bathroom.

“She’s going to throw her out.” Clara turned to Laurel.

“This is my house!” Harriet grumbled, her aggrieved mew echoing on the tile. “Besides, this is what cats do!”

Clara looked back toward the kitchen. Becca still hadn’t emerged, and her pet was growing concerned.

“Hey, what the...?”

Laurel’s ears pricked up and she nosed the door. Clara joined her and soon they were all inside the tiny room with the young woman who was, Clara noted, fully dressed. Ignoring the two cats who had just barged in to join their sister, she was kneeling by the toilet paper roll, as if changing it. Only she seemed to be fussing more than Becca ever had.

“What’s she doing?” Laurel asked her older sister.

“She’s got something.” Harriet craned to look. But by then Kathy was washing her hands and had stepped back into the bedroom. “Something shiny...”

Standing on her hind legs, Harriet knocked the roll off its perch—and as the paper unfurled, something clattered to the tile floor. Clara gasped as it glittered and rolled, making a wide arc that stopped at her front paws. Clear as water, with a silver clasp at one end—it was Suzanne’s crystal teardrop. The one she’d been wearing the last time she’d been here.

“Hello?” Kathy was still in the bedroom. Clara’s ear flicked back to catch what she was saying. “Cambridge police? I can’t talk for long, but I think Rebecca Colwin is involved in the murder of Suzanne Liddle. I just found something that belonged to the victim in her apartment, and I’m now in fear for my life.”

Chapter 39

The three cats glared at each other. This was exactly what Laurel had warned them about. What Clara had feared, without understanding how it could come to be. An anonymous tip, and in the living room, Kathy was now urging Ande to leave. Larissa could be heard clunking down the stairwell, giving Trent directions as she led him out to the street.

“Let’s let poor Becca be,” Kathy was saying as she ushered Ande toward the door.

“What can we do?” Clara looked at her sisters.

“I have to make her wonder about Kathy…” Laurel began to concentrate, a furrow appearing in her café au lait brow. Ande, meanwhile, was calling out her farewell. Clearly, Becca was not seeing her friends out.

“She’s getting away.” Clara was panicking. “The police are going to find that thing. And Becca is just sitting there.”

“Not on my watch,” said Harriet, and with that she nosed the crystal teardrop and with one quick dab of her tongue, slurped it up.

“Harriet!” Clara bounced back in surprise. “What did you do?”

“No evidence, no worries, right?” The fluffy marmalade licked her chops.

“But—are you going to be all right?”

“I think so.” Harriet hiccupped, lifting one paw as if to cover her mouth. In the hall, they could hear Ande asking Kathy to wait.

“Becca, you okay?” Ande called to their hostess.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Becca roused herself and headed toward the door, where Kathy was visibly fidgeting.

“Poor guy.” Ande was chuckling a bit as Clara emerged from the bedroom. “I told you, you never know what’s going on in anyone else’s relationship.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Becca gave the taller woman a quick peck on the cheek. “I hope Marcia doesn’t give up on the rest of us. I mean, she’s the only one—sorry.” That was for Kathy, who was staring at the closed door as if she, too, were a cat.

Ande reached for the knob. “I hope you feel better,” she said. “Get some sleep.”

“Kathy, do you have a moment?” Becca stopped the redhead as she would have followed. “I just…I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

“Well, I—” Visibly torn, the other woman stepped back into the apartment. “Sure.”

“I was hoping you could clear something up.” Becca looked puzzled as she wandered back toward the kitchen, picking up the stacked plates on her way, Clara in tow. Harriet, of course, came trotting along too. Her older sister really had earned her treats tonight.

But first the dishes. As all three cats lined up to watch, Becca fussed with a sponge.

“What’s up?” Kathy was fidgeting. “’Cause I should be off too. And you really should get some rest.”

Becca squirted soap on the dish pile and stared at the translucent bubbles that formed as if they held the key to everything. “I was wondering about something,” she said. “You knew that Suzanne was working for Reynolds—for Larissa’s ex.”

“I did?” A shrug. Beneath her freckles, the redhead’s cheeks had gone pale.

“Yes.” Becca nodded as she reviewed some internal script. “I’m sure of it. You said something about me ‘stepping into Suzanne’s shoes’ when I went to interview with Reynolds.”

Another shrug as Kathy eyed the door.

“But you denied knowing her outside of the coven just now.”

Kathy’s mouth went wide. “I was—you had a headache—and—”

Without waiting for her to finish, Becca kept talking. “And what’s going on with you and Ande?”

“Me and…Ande?” Kathy swallowed hard.

“Yeah, you seem really down on her.” She raised her voice to be heard as she ran the water. “You were the one who first told me she went out with Trent, but recently you’ve been talking about her setting him up. It almost sounds like you want me to suspect her—and now you’re all friendly again. Did you two have a falling out?”

“No.” The younger woman barked the word with scorn. “It’s Marcia who’s got the problem. I mean, lashing out at Trent like that?”

Becca turned and regarded her curiously, then started on the mugs.

“I kind of think Marcia had a point.” She sounded thoughtful as she squeezed out her sponge. “And, well, I guess this means you were wrong about her wanting to go out with Trent.”

“Well, I picked up that she had something against him,” Kathy blustered. “I was right about that!”

Becca didn’t respond. Instead, she kept talking as she added more soap. “Come to think of it, Marcia was the one who told me that Suzanne wanted to do a casting out—that there was a problem in the coven. When I brought that up, you pointed out that Suzanne was going to blow the whistle about the coven finances.” She could have been talking to the dishes, but Clara’s ears pricked forward. “You said that Ande had told her someone was embezzling, but Ande didn’t say that. She knew the numbers were off by a few grand, but she assumed Larissa had been sloppy.”

Kathy forced out a laugh that sounded a lot harsher than her usual giggle and stepped closer to the counter, where the loaf pan sat.

“Ande thought a few grand would be small change to Larissa, and when Larissa didn’t say anything about malfeasance, she figured she was right. But, of course, Larissa wouldn’t have complained. She was protecting Trent.” Becca was shaking her head. “And Suzanne never got a chance to tell me what—or who—she suspected. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and it seems that the only person who you haven’t cast aspersions on is the one person who probably did make off with some of the coven money: Trent.”

As Clara looked on in horror, Kathy reached toward the pan—and past it, for the bread knife that Marcia had used to cut the sweet loaf.

“Do something!” The cry came out as high and plaintive mew.

“Hang on, kitties.” Becca was up to her elbows in suds. “You’ll get your treats. Kathy, can you grab that little canister?”

“Yeah, sure.” But the other woman was holding the knife, not the cat treats, as she took a step closer.

“Until tonight, I kind of thought Larissa might have, well, done something.” Becca turned on the tap to rinse her hands. “Only—”

Clara opened her mouth to howl again, but stopped herself. If Becca turned now, without knowing what was going on…

A sudden pounding on the door did the trick. Both women turned. “Police!” A male voice, deep and insistent. “Open up!”

“Coming!” Becca reached for a dish towel as Kathy stepped back, sliding the knife back onto the counter. But even as Becca turned away from the sink, she stopped in horror. Harriet, front paws spread, was huffing, as if short of breath. Her stout body jerked once, twice, and then with a sound reminiscent of a stopped drain opening, she urped up the crystal teardrop.

“Kitty!” Ignoring the pounding that continued on the door, Becca knelt. With one hand on the plump marmalade, who sat up and licked her chops, she looked down at the little puddle—and the pendant lying there.

“What?” She reached for it, still kneeling. “Suzanne’s necklace?” And whether it was because of the accumulated evidence or that Laurel’s furious concentration had finally gotten through to her, she looked up, then, at Kathy. “Kathy?” Her voice was sad rather than angry. Solemn, rather than scared. “Why?”

The other woman only shook her head. “She was going to ruin him,” she said, as if her conclusion were obvious, her voice barely above a whisper. “She was going to ruin Trent! He’s special. You know how precious he is. She was going to expose him. Tell everybody that he was writing checks on Larissa’s account—taking her money to buy presents for his other little chippies.”

“Oh, Kathy.” Sorrow infused Becca’s voice. “She wouldn’t have ruined him. She couldn’t have. He and Larissa have an understanding. She’d have forgiven him. She already has.”

“Police!” The pounding more insistent. “We’re coming in!”

“Hang on!” Pendant in hand, Becca rose, heading toward the door. “I’m sorry, Kathy,” she said. She didn’t see the other woman reach once again for the knife.

“Becca!” Clara mewed one last time, but her soft cry was drowned out by the pounding on the door. Laurel, by then, was concentrating so hard her ears stood out sideways and her blue eyes crossed. Even Clara could feel the vibrations emanating from the determined seal point—urging Becca to turn. To look.

For a moment, Laurel’s thought bomb seemed to be working. Becca paused, as if confused, her hand on the front door even as the cops called out one more time. But it was too late. Kathy was coming up behind her, knife raised. So Clara, shading herself as quickly as she could, dashed in front of the onrushing woman, sending Kathy flying and the knife clattering down. And Harriet, who knew in her proud marmalade heart that she had done quite enough with her normal digestive processes, did not deign to provide a pillow and simply sat and watched as Kathy fell sprawling to the floor.

Chapter 40

What happened next was hectic, and—their jobs done—the cats did their best to scurry out of the way. With a gasp, Becca turned, having unlatched the door. Two uniformed officers pushed in.

“Are you all right, miss?” The first officer bent to help Kathy to her knees. “We received your call. Are you the victim of an assault?”

“Bruce, wait.” His partner nodded toward the knife, which was still spinning on the floor, just out of reach of the prone woman’s hand, and then to Becca, who was backing away in horror.

“Ma’am?” The second officer reached to support her as she collapsed against the wall. She looked up, stunned, then held out her open palm—revealing the crystal teardrop.

“This was Suzanne’s. It’s kind of sticky.” She apologized as a look of wonder came over here. “Did you—did I summon you?”

Clara closed her eyes, even as Laurel yowled in protest. Harriet, meanwhile, waddled over to the sofa, where she settled on her pillow, as proud as could be.

***

Twenty minutes later, the events of the last few minutes had been sorted. Becca still had the wet dishcloth in hand, and Kathy wasn’t even denying what she’d done.

Instead, as she was escorted down to the waiting cruiser, she seemed to be attempting a justification for her actions—from the murder of Suzanne to her attack on Becca.

“You don’t understand!” The redhead could be heard through the open window. “I did it for Trent.”

Her voice faded as the cruiser took her away. But as Becca turned back toward her dishes, a shadow fell across the floor. The rumpled detective stood in her open doorway, scowling.

“Ms. Colwin?”

Becca gasped, and the cats looked up.

“Detective Abrams!” She spoke quickly, before she, too, could be cuffed and escorted out. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you back!” Reacting to her agitation, Clara approached and circled, determined to do whatever was necessary to protect her person from this latest threat. “I got your messages, and I meant to get back to you, honest.”

“Excuse me?” The detective asked, a puzzled expression creasing his lined face further. “What are you talking about?”

“You, or your office, kept calling me and I never picked up. I knew I had more information, but I wanted…” Becca stopped, unsure of how to proceed. “I thought I could find out more. That is, before I came in.”

The edge of the detective’s mouth twitched. “Before you came in?”

“I never meant to evade justice.” Becca swallowed hard and stared in amazement as that twitch evolved from the ghost of a smile into a full-fledged grin. “I should have called back.”

“You mean, you should have responded to my secretary.” He nodded, as if suddenly everything had become clear. “Yes, you should have. She was getting desperate to reach you. We’ve had your hat for over a week now, and this beautiful spring weather can’t last forever.”

***

The resolution of the case was sad, but not surprising, and Becca kept her pets informed by reading aloud the daily updates in the news.

At first, Kathy, on the advice of her attorney, claimed self-defense. She argued that Suzanne had attacked her when she’d gone to talk to her about her “ridiculous” suspicions and that she’d simply wanted to reason with the other woman, whom she accused of slandering the man she described as their coven leader. It was a reasonable defense, Becca mused as she read. Although no eyewitness had placed her in the Cambridgeport walkup, a plethora of evidence—including, Becca read, smudged fingerprints on the cake knife—had already made her a suspect, and the district attorney had been in the process of building the case when she had called from Becca’s apartment.

“They could have said,” Becca muttered. Clara, for once, was grateful for her own inability to respond.

Of course, the fact that the redhead had lunged for Becca under a similar circumstance made that defense a little less plausible, and soon after, she had her lawyer claiming temporary insanity—and citing the hot-bed atmosphere of the coven and its unhealthy influence on its youngest member as a contributing factor.

That accusation more than anything else had served to bring the coven back together. Marcia forgave Trent his ill-timed pass, and the handsome warlock appeared to have recovered from his humiliating exposure. It helped that Larissa had given him a new gift—an intricate chain for his amulet.

But it wasn’t Trent, ultimately, who had prompted Suzanne’s request that last night. At least, that’s what Becca concluded.

“Suzanne wanted a casting out spell because of Kathy.” Becca had pieced it together in the intervening weeks. “She knew about Trent—about the money—but it was Kathy who was spreading rumors. Setting us all against each other. Suzanne might not have known who was stalking her. She certainly didn’t know how dangerous Kathy was, but she knew the coven ‘pet’ was a bad influence, and she wanted her gone.”

“Makes sense to me.” Ande had joined her friend over tea—mint, this time—to debrief her as the case unfolded. The accountant had been giving testimony about what she’d found in the coven’s accounts and had come over after the trial had adjourned for the day to find Becca and all three cats waiting for the latest.

“I didn’t know the half of it, but working for Reynolds, Suzanne must have figured out the connection,” Ande explained as the cats looked on. Laurel’s mouth opened slightly, taking in the tea’s aroma, while Harriet began to shift, eager for the talk to give way to eating. “She heard enough to know that Larissa was Reynolds’s ex and that she was desperate for money. Reynolds had been telling her in no uncertain terms that she had to get rid of her ‘boy toy’ before he’d give her any more. I guess Larissa was claiming that she’d been ripped off because she was embarrassed.”

Becca mulled that over as she waited for her tea to cool. The woman who had yanked her lover’s chain didn’t seem the type to embarrass easily. “Maybe she just thought she could get more money out of her ex that way?”

“Or maybe she really didn’t know how much Trent was taking, forging her checks and all?” Ande asked. “I should’ve known, the few times we went out. He definitely acted like he had something to prove.”

Becca kept silent, but from the slight rise in her color, Clara knew she was thinking of a misadventure on the sofa—and how the intercession of her cats may have saved her from a bigger mistake. To hide the blush—or maybe because of Laurel’s intense concentration—she broke off a piece of almond cookie and held it down for her cats to lick.

“So what are you wearing to Marcia and Luz’s wedding?” Ande was polite enough not to comment. Not even when Harriet body-checked Laurel out of the way.

“I don’t know.” Becca was grateful for the change in subject. “I’ve got to go shopping. I’ll tell you, though, it would be nice to have money again.”

“Reynolds owes you, big time.” Ande nodded. “I mean, I’m sure you’re great for the job—but you also helped keep Larissa out of prison.”

Becca’s color deepened as she broke another cookie for the cats. “I don’t think it would’ve come to that. Nobody really thought she’d done it.”

Her guest cracked a grin. “I don’t know. You thought so.”

Becca nodded, growing thoughtful again. “I even wondered if you were involved.”

“Well, yeah.” Ande’s smile widened. “I was so caught up in the wedding planning, I kind of missed that maybe it wasn’t the best time to be all secretive. So who are you bringing?” Ande’s smile widened. “The old guy or the new?”

Becca’s cheeks were flaming now. “He’s not my new guy.”

“You’re bringing the boss’s son! Excellent.” Ande pushed back from the table, startling the cats. “Anyway, it hasn’t all been nuptial—I really do have a load of work waiting for me. And you have to get ready for your new job.”

“Maybe.” Becca looked over at Clara, almost as if she could read the calico’s green eyes. “We’ll see.”

***

Despite Reynolds’s repeated entreaties, Becca kept stalling.

She needed some time, she said. She had her own research project to finish up. Even after repeated visits back to the city records hall and hours poring over documents, she still couldn’t understand exactly what she’d found. At night, she studied her copies and checked her notes, reading everything she could find about Rebecca Horne and her cat. Was it possible that a feline could have had legal standing in the early days of the Commonwealth?

What, she kept asking, was the relationship between her ancestor and her cat?

Neither Clara, Harriet, nor Laurel chose to enlighten her. On that, the three sisters were agreed. Their brief moment of solidarity had passed, otherwise, and by the time the high summer had come around, Harriet was once more ignoring her youngest sister, while Laurel had taken to teasing her.

“I’m the head of this family,” Harriet announced as she shoved her siblings. “Without me, we would have no more Becca to serve us.”

“You wish, chubby,” Laurel snarled, just a bit. Clara, who knew her middle sister was still self-conscious about being seen cross-eyed, kept quiet. She didn’t even interrupt when Laurel suggested a dress for the upcoming wedding. The slinky number might have been a daring choice for the young researcher, but Clara had to admit, Becca looked good in it.

***

As it was, Becca was running late the day of the ceremony, a midsummer hand-fasting down by the river. She’d spent the morning at the records hall, again, trying to track down another possible branch of her family when one of the clerks had interrupted her.

“Excuse me, are you Becca Colwin?”

She’d looked up to see a round face with round glasses that should have looked jolly but was instead tense with worry.

“I am.” She glanced at the papers before her. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh, not with your research. Not at all.” The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s only—I hear you’re the witch who solved that murder last month?”

“Well, I’m not sure.” Becca couldn’t hide her smile, though it had more to do with being recognized for her magic than for her role in exposing Suzanne’s killer.

“I have a friend who could use some help.” The other woman didn’t wait for Becca to explain. “She’s in trouble, you see. And, well, she needs someone who can draw on other powers…”

***

“I don’t know if anything will come of it.” She told Clara about it as soon as she got home. “I mean, I really haven’t done anything since the pillow.”

She shimmied into the dress as she spoke and looked at herself in the mirror.

“But even if the police were already building a case against poor Kathy, I did help.” She reached for a necklace and paused, looking at the beaded choker she’d chosen as if it reminded her of something else. “Besides, it would be nice to earn a living doing something I really care about.” She turned her head this way and that, letting the beads sparkle in the light. “Helping people with my magic—and my research skills too.”

Just then, Laurel came in, and suddenly, Becca was lifting her hair off her neck and reaching for a clip.

“Nice,” the seal point purred. Clara glanced over, but held her tongue. Becca did look good with her hair up. More sophisticated.

“What?” Harriet ambled in, in time to see Becca putting on her earrings. “No treats?”

“I don’t think you’d want to eat those,” Clara ribbed her sister as Becca rose and addressed the three of them.

“So, yeah, kitties, I think I’m going to turn down Reynolds’s offer after all, not that it wasn’t nice of him, and set out on my own. Becca Colwin, Witch Detective. Do you like the sound of that?”

“Oh no!” Clara protested, while Laurel’s ears went out sideways in consternation.

“Or, Colwin and Cats? Maybe that.” She turned one last time before the mirror and then smiled down at her flabbergasted pets.

“Now don’t you think for a minute I don’t know what’s on your minds,” she said as she reached for a pretty lace shawl. “Of course I’m giving you dinner before I go out. And, yes, Harriet, treats too.”

Acknowledgements

So many friends and readers helped bring this new series to life. Karen Schlosberg, Brett Milano, and Lisa Susser were early readers, and Sophie Garelick, Frank Garelick, and Lisa Jones have always been incredibly supportive. My agent Colleen Mohyde got the book to my brand new editor Jason Pinter, making magic for me along the way. And Jon S. Garelick not only read multiple versions but put up with some very late dinners, too. Purrs out to you, my dears. Purrs out.

About the Author

A former journalist and music critic, Clea Simon wrote three nonfiction books, including the Boston Globe bestseller The Feline Mystique (St. Martin’s Press), before turning to a life of crime (fiction). Her more than two dozen mysterious usually involve cats or rock and roll, or some combination thereof. A native of New York, she moved to Massachussetts to attend Harvard and now lives nearby in Somerville.

Visit her at www.CleaSimon.com or at @CleaSimon.