Cat In An Aqua Storm

Louie, basking in the warm glare of the makeup lights, sprawled atop the counter, looking regal. The only trace of his recent heroic measures was the dried blood faintly visible on his claws, which were flexing in and out in perfect time to a soft baritone purr of satisfaction.

“I can’t believe”—the Lieutenant looked at Temple again—“that with all your fiddling with birth dates and birthday rhymes you never checked out your own.”

“I was too busy to fool around with that stuff.”

“I can’t believe,” Electra put in, glaring at Lieutenant Molina, “that you would set up Temple as a sitting duck down here.”

“I can’t believe”—Temple finally got her two cents in—“that Officer Choi was just a cat in wolfs clothing, an honest-to-badness double decoy.”

“I can’t believe,” Molina said in her turn, “that your cat is really going to drink that Black Russian.”

“Oops!” Electra pulled the glass away, but not before Louie’s whiskers had received a chocolate-colored coating.

“He deserves it,” Temple said stoutly, but she sipped the drink Electra put into her right hand. “You really had this place bugged?”

Molina shook her head. “Wasn’t necessary to bug it. The two-way system was already in. We just patched it into Savannah Ashleigh’s dressing room. And waited.”

“And waited until I was at death’s door,” Temple said. “A good thing Midnight Louie had decided to camp out here.”

“Cut the theatrics. We would have been in time,” Molina said. “We did need conclusive evidence.”

“Conclusive to me!” Temple objected. “I don’t get it. How did you know what to expect?”

“For one thing, you can be sure that I never would have seriously gone for the corny Catwoman decoy trick you two came up with. As it is, it’ll take years to live that one down in the department.”

Molina sat on the countertop and crossed her arms. “You’re a born magnet for murderers, Miss Barr. I figured that if I let you go about your unauthorized business, someone would get annoyed enough to try to off you.”

“Temple came too close,” Electra put in. She looked fierce in her fringed leather chaps and motorcycle jacket. “That’s her secret for attracting murderers, outsmarting them.”

“She almost outsmarted herself this time,” Molina retorted. “Okay. Same deal as last time. I’ll need a statement tomorrow morning. Think you can drive with that wrist? Or should I send a squad car to collect you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Temple said. “Do you want me to bring Louie?”

Molina stood. “That, thank God, won’t be necessary. Stay out of trouble until tomorrow. Please. We need your statement.”

Temple sighed raggedly when she left. “Gee, Electra, this drink is hitting me like a freight train. Am I still here?”

“You sure are, honey!” Electra hugged Temple’s shoulders, then backed off when she winced. “The wrist?”

“The everything. I’ve had it. Can you get me home?”

“Only on the Vampire.”

Temple stood up. Her legs still worked. “What the hell, Electra. Let’s go.”

“What about Louie?”

Temple turned and looked at the cat, who winked one semihooded green eye. “Let him find his own way home. Apparently he’s better at a lot more things than we know.”

32

Louie Bows Out

I am, of course, not invited to the finale of the stripping competition. At nine, I am considered underage for attending such adult shenanigans.

In truth, I do not have the heart for It. The Divine Yvette has returned to her gilded cage. All right, it is pink canvas, but nonetheless a cage.

As for my prescient presence on the attempted-murder scene, I admit that it is all a sham. I haunt the premises only because of my obsession with the Divine Yvette, who finds freedom a heavy burden to bear.

Of course, my eleventh-hour dive atop the murderer's head makes me a hero in those blue-green eyes. Some may think that the imminent peril faced by my dear consort in accommodations at the Circle Ritz, Miss Temple Barr, has spurred my bold attack. Such persons are unaware that the hidden presence of the Divine Yvette is more to the point