Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“Says you!” Temple was indignant. “I read mine in the newspaper every day and sometimes it’s eerily accurate.”

Max smiled at her. Tolerantly. “Accidental affinities are the long-mined territory of mediums, mind-readers, and scam artists.”

“Is it an accident,” Temple asked, “that Midnight Louie was just catnapped in Chicago to force Matt’s mother to turn over items left behind in a fireproof box by the late Effinger? An accident that the only possible thing relevant we found is what may be a biker tattoo in the form of a drawing of Ophiucus?”

“Ophiucus?” Max was no longer complacent. “Connected to Effinger?”

“And then,” Matt said, lighting fire, “there were the ‘she left’ murders, one at the Blue Dahlia where Molina sings sometimes and one … Temple, you wrote all this down in a table, didn’t you?”

She regarded Max with super-sleuth intensity. “Call me unscientific, will you? I’ve compiled all those eerie details into a Table of … Crime Elements, Ophiuchus and all.”

“Then show me, by all means.” He leaned back and spread his empty hands. “Dazzle me with your superior organizational logic.”

Temple left the sofa to dredge her tote bag from behind it. It sported a leopard pattern bought to match the late, lamented Midnight Louie travel carrier.

First she flourished the drawing of Ophiuchus at Max. “Zodiac signs may be junk science and superstition, but this ‘lost’ one is leaving star tracks all over Las Vegas.”

Max took the drawing to study. “It would make a terrific tattoo.”

Temple shuddered delicately. “It’s called the serpent-bearer, but the muscle man looks more like he’s fighting for his life than giving the snake a lift.”

“Effinger had some tattoos,” Matt said, “crude homemade ones, so this design may only have been a tattoo dream for him.”

“I’m not enamored of making skin into maps,” Temple said, pulling out her netbook.

Its hot pink cover clashed with the red sofa when she sat back down to bring up a file.

She handed the computer to Matt while Max sprang up to lean down over the sofa back between them to see. He was indeed moving like the Max of old.

They all stared at the screen.

“That is worthy of Dame Agatha Christie,” Max said, giving a long, low whistle after studying it.

Temple shrugged modestly. “I have read a Poirot and Marple or two.”

Max’s forefinger speared the table. “I’m right there as a suspect for Murder Number One at the Goliath. And, Devine, you’re down as a suspect for the murder of a call girl named Vassar at the same hotel. My, my. No wonder the closemouthed and manipulative Molina is on all of our cases.” Max eyed Temple. “You’re amazingly unbiased in your suspect list, but I don’t see you on it anywhere.”

“I’m innocent of everything,” Temple said blithely. “This table lists suspects the police would find likely for taking the rap. I’m an objective reporter and recorder. I just find some of the suspects likely, period.”

Her impish grin had both men backing away like nervous tomcats. Max left his casual post at the sofa back that had made them a threesome as Matt frowned at the image on the screen.

“You’ve added the Cosimo Sparks death,” he noted.

“If the Synth is a paper tiger,” Temple said, “why was Sparks killed and his scarlet-lined cloak left in the distinctive ‘Ophiuchus house’ shape?”

“Maybe to misdirect the blame.” Max sat back in the upholstered chair and tented his hands to support his chin. “Most of the cast of characters on your chart, Temple, are mentioned in Gandolph’s computer files. What stands out for me is the murdered professor, Jefferson Mangel That killing was off the Strip and there were no overt links to magic.”

“There was one,” Temple said.

“What?”

“You.”

“How would Gandolph miss that?”

“Jeff Mangel was a professor of philosophy, but a magic fan. He was found dead, in that telling Ophiuchus-Synth position, among a classroom exhibition of magic show advertisement posters. People collect that kind of ephemera. And one of your Mystifying Max posters was on display.”

Max suddenly pounded his temples with his fists. “Damn this MIA memory of mine! I’m useless.”

Temple’s dismayed look consulted Matt.

“Not useless enough for someone’s taste,” Matt said with a bit of Max’s own sardonic drawl. “There’ve been two attempts on your life in the time it took us to make a whirlwind trip to Chicago.”

Max lifted his head, the fury dispersing as fast as it had come. “And on Midnight Louie’s life. Apparently me and the cat have too many of those pesky lives for someone’s security. You’re right, Devine. The more I investigate, the more I’ll flush out the rats. Rat bait is an honorable role.”

“We all need to investigate.” Temple said, “Why are these cold cases that involve one or more of us suddenly hot again? The trouble is, when you look at my, ahem, brilliant Table of Crime Elements, there are so darn many ways we could go and way too much ground to cover.”