Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“Welcome to Las Vegas. Lieutenant C. R. Molina is my new secret boss. In the wee hours of this morning someone tried to electrocute me at the Oasis Hotel’s ‘Lusty Ladies and Laddies’ pirate adventure attraction. And Rafi Nadir could be under suspicion of murder, although any evidence would be only circumstantial. May I give you two—excuse me, three—a lift home?”

Matt took it much better than Temple did. “Are you driving anything with trunk space for luggage these days?”

“And a belted seat for Louie’s carrier?” Temple asked.

“No, but I rented a minivan that fills the bill.”

Temple couldn’t keep from hooting. “You in a minivan. That’d be worth seeing.”

“Then walk this way,” Max said, stepping ahead and feigning an exaggerated limp, like the hunchback of Notre Dame. It was eerie how his height shrank.

Matt sighed and conversation ceased until they got to the close-in parking lot and beside a blue, yes, minivan.

“How did you know where and when—?” Temple asked Max, repossessing Louie’s carrier.

“Font of all knowledge of things Circle Ritz.”

“Electra.” Matt paused in loading their luggage. “You’re relying on gossipy senior citizens these days?”

“Any port in a storm, as we say at the Oasis. Well, perhaps not so much today.”

“And what about Rafi? Murder?” Temple finished arranging Louie’s carrier in the backseat although he was pummeling the canvas sides. He was keeping quiet, though. “Just a short ride home,” she assured him, “and then you’ll be free to be feline.”

Through the black mesh portion she detected a wide, pink-mawed yawn, the cat equivalent of “yadda yadda yadda.”

“Circumstantial evidence,” Max said as he put the Odyssey into gear. Matt rode up front with him, Temple and Louie in the middle bank of seats. Max twisted his head to regard the couple in turn. “You two are dressed mighty like city slickers.”

Like Louie, they kept mum.

“Oh, right. Chicago. I get forgetful.” He lifted a finger off the steering wheel to indicate Matt. “You do the Ann Landers bit on syndicated radio and also do some national TV.”

“OOD,” Temple caroled from the backseat. “Out of date. ‘Dear Abby’ survived the advice column wars when the newspapers were sinking fast. And they were both from Chicago. Imagine, twin sisters who were newspaper column advice queens all their lives, and only one byline survives their deaths.”

“Got it,” Max said, “but I don’t play Trivial Pursuit, so don’t need that info. Don’t think you can distract me with minor matters, Temple. I still want to know the dish on where you’re coming from. In Chicago.” His voice had grown speculative. “And why would you lug that overweight cat along?”

“Merely,” Temple said, “to keep the great Mystifying Max guessing and his recovering memory agile.”

Max declaimed, “They drew a circle that shut me out. I drew a circle that took them in.”

“‘Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout,’” Matt quoted, eyeing Max. “That’s the poem’s second line. If the description fits…”

“Heretic, no. Rebel, yes. A thing to flout, lately that seems very appropriate.”

Temple wasn’t getting any of this except the rival guy vibe, so she leaned forward over the seat. “Back to Rafi Nadir. What did you mean by ‘circumstantial’ evidence in a murder?”

“The death occurred at the Oasis Hotel. That’s Rafi’s turf as assistant security chief.”

“And you were there too?” Temple asked. “Why?”

“Doing what you do so well. Sticking our noses into other people’s business. I should mention it was three A.M. and the attraction was shut down.”

“So Rafi wasn’t on duty,” Temple guessed.

“Rafi wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t drawn him into the web of Vegas cold cases I’m investigating on a wing-nut brain and a prayer. The dead man was an anonymous thug and if fighting him off is murder, I probably did the deed and Rafi was a deer caught in the headlights, prepped to take the fall.”

“Why would Rafi Nadir even be there?” Temple wondered.

“He’s a good guy.”

Matt raised his eyebrows to look over his shoulder at Temple.

“And,” Max added, “I’m trying to shut down any lingering poisons from my British Isles adventures way back when and recently. Namely Kathleen O’Connor and anyone responsible for the dead man in the Goliath Hotel surveillance system and a certain unwanted … relative of yours by marriage.” He nodded to Matt. “The late Cliff Effinger.”

In the silence, Max added a chilling coda. “Not what I wanted, to get snarled up in your tragic family history, but Kitty the Cutter certainly involved you in mine.”

A silence inside the idling vehicle reflected everyone’s mutual shock, Temple refected. Max couldn’t know that the Chicago trip had stripped bare a link right back to Las Vegas and possible Synth activity. And Matt had to realize that Max couldn’t resolve his long forced involvement with Irish terrorism and a true femme fatale stalker without treading on part of Matt’s family history Matt wanted no one but Temple to know.