Cat In An Alien X-Ray

“Metaphor, mountain, right. All this is really interesting, Karma, but I have some bothersome, buzzing houseflies to catch on the first floor.”

And a few zzzzz’s.

“Duty calls,” I say, braving the tickle of fronds as I leap onto the palm tree trunk and ratchet back down to my quarters.

“You are due for a great fall,” Karma’s fading voice calls as I flee.

I am not worried, although her whines of gloom and doom and my hasty retreat cause me to lose two nail sheaths on the way back down.

How come the mighty Karma did not predict that?

Chapter 2

Phoning Home

Temple yawned. It was only midmorning, but Midnight Louie had been thrashing about half the night, giving her dreams of being entangled by a giant furry black octopus.

The cat who deigned to live with her, a solid black, solid twenty-pound guy with a knack for showing up where needed, thumped atop her desk. Midnight Louie nosed her business cards aside to sprawl belly-down on the cool surface.

She eyed the smartphone on her desk as if it were a particularly large insect despite the serene graphic of nearby Red Rock Canyon on the home screen. She’d donned her headset because she expected this long-put-off call to last awhile. She didn’t want to fry her brain … or her ear, which was already hot, and probably red. Her fingertips on the desktop were white. And cold.

Honestly!

Her gaze lingered on a pile of her business cards: TEMPLE BARR, PR.

Why was she indulging in cold feet now? She’d once done live stand-ups as a TV reporter, had repped a prestigious repertory theater where she ran into movie stars, for gosh sakes. She’d been a public relations freelancer in super-hyped, larger-than-life Las Vegas for more than two years. She was smart, single, successful, and had even developed a reputation as an amateur sleuth to the point that a homicide lieutenant had actually called upon her services a time or two.

If Oprah Winfrey—or Larry the Cable Guy, for gosh sakes—called right now, Temple could do an instant interview with either one. Or both at a time. She was a media maven and she’d had eluded murderers attempting to flame-roast her in a burning room only recently. Well, one murderer.

So why did she find phoning home so intimidating? Temple would be thirty-one in a couple of months. Past thirty and way past the age of consent.

Louie bent over to apparently study the cell phone screen displaying her “Family” contacts. One big black paw patted it.

“No claws,” she warned, her hand snatching up the phone to safety.

Louie backed away, lifting a forepaw innocent of claw tips.

“Sorry, boy. I’m a little nervous.”

Just do it, Temple told herself.

Temple tapped the familiar number in Minneapolis and waited for the ring. On Saturday her father and brothers would be off doing man things, like attending her nephews’ and nieces’ soccer games, performing strange rituals with their heads buried in vehicle motors, and sitting in battered wooden motorboats on lakes, pestering fish while mosquitoes pestered them.

Karen Barr should be home alone now, maybe doing accounts for her antique mall stand or … baking oatmeal-raisin cookies. Temple had such a sudden craving for those warm, homemade oatmeal-raisin cookies, her stomach spasmed and her mouth watered.

These autonomic system flare-ups were ridiculous. She called home every few weeks, but … But she hadn’t been back to visit since coming to Las Vegas.

“Temple,” her mother’s voice hummed into her overheated ear. “I thought that might be you.”

“Hi, Mom. How are you all doing?”

“Fine. The weather is warming up, so all the boys are out. We had hardly any snow this winter.”

“I never thought global warming would hit Minnesota.”

“So what’s new in your world? Triple-digit heat numbers yet?”

“Not yet. Luckily, you don’t have to shovel sweat. And it’s a dry heat in this climate.”

“I guess there’s no prying you out of Sin City.”

Good. Her mom had given Temple an out from this awkward conversation.

“There probably is, Mom,” she said. “I was thinking about coming up.”

“That’s wonderful! Any special reason?”

“One.”

“You’re not changing jobs?”

“Nooo…” Temple could have said she was changing boyfriends, but she knew better than to drop the fiancé bomb right away. “I do have someone I want you to meet.”

“Someone?” Her mother’s voice was suddenly guarded. “Kit said you were the social butterfly of the Strip.”

“What? Kit said that? When did you talk to Aunt Kit?”

“A lot of times. Temple. We are sisters.”