Cat In A Leopard Spot

Chapter 40

Calling the Cops

“Molina,” the phone barked.

Matt felt a moment’s qualm. She sounded pretty disgruntled. He was making a big mistake. But what else could he do? Everything he did nowadays could be a mistake, a fatal mistake.

“This is Matt Devine. It’s vital that I talk to you.”

“Go ahead.”

“No. In person.”

She sighed pointedly. “My desk is covered with case files up to my chin. This about one of them?”

“Not really.”

“It’s personal?”

“Partly.”

“Do you have any idea of what I’m up against? All right. Come in at, um, six o’clock then. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee dregs to celebrate Thank God It’s Friday.”

He hesitated.

“Yes, no, maybe?” she demanded.

“I’d rather not see you on the job.”

“Who knows when I’ll be home? I could call you when that sweet hour arrives. You’re free nights up to eleven or so, right?”

“Right. But—”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“I don’t think it’s safe to go to your house.”

“Safe? what’s going on here?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Where can we meet where no one is likely to know about it?”

“Oh, God.” He heard voices jousting for her attention in the background.

“That’s it! A church,” he said, inspired.

“Is this a scheme to up church attendance in America? Or just mine?”

“How about early mass at Our Lady of Guadalupe?”

“The old folks’ mass at six A.M.?” She groaned.

“All right. Saturday evening mass, then. You must get some time off on Saturday.”

“I suppose five P.M. Saturday is better than six A.M. Saturday.”

“We could talk afterwards in the sacristy. Father Hernandez is an understanding pastor. He wouldn’t mind. Or…I know! The confessionals. They’ve never been removed at OLG because the old folks would be lost without them.”

“Just what I want to look forward to on a Saturday night after a monthlong workweek: an assignation in a confessional after Sunday late-snoozers’ mass with an ex-priest. Do I have to kneel?”

“You can take the priest’s seat. I’ll kneel.”

“Damn it, Devine, this had better be good.”

“No. It’s bad. Very bad.”

He hung up before she could question him further.

Always leave them wanting to know more. That’s what Temple said.

Matt’s next call was to arrange cover. He made a date with Sister Seraphina and the nuns at the OLG convent for Saturday night mass.

Kitty O’Connor, he thought, would be pleased that she had made such a dent in his social life that he could only date old nuns.

Surely they would be safe from her obsessive, possessive insanity. Or were they?

Chapter 41

Hunt Club

“Temple!”

She turned, midway across the massive, sparkling, tinkling lobby of the Crystal Phoenix, flabbergasted.

Not that she was surprised to hear her name called here. Every time she visited to check on final touches for the new entertainment areas people expecting instant answers were hollering her name right and left.

Only they weren’t Max Kinsella, doing it right out loud in public.

This one-of-a-kind event would not only scare the horses, it would stop Temple in midhurtle.

She spun in her tracks. He was almost on top of her. “What on earth—?”

Caught up, he grabbed her elbow and hustled her toward the indoor wall of greenery fencing the Crystal Court lounge. There was a look of strain on his face that she’d never seen before, except in jugglers who have six ax blades up in the air at once.

“I couldn’t reach you on your cell phone,” he fretted.

Temple began groping in her tote bag. “I have it right here. Somewhere right here. Or maybe there. Can we sit down while I dig it out?”

Max was looking around like he expected an attack by tsetse fly. “No. Where, why doesn’t matter. I’ve heard from the hunt breakers.”

She blinked at the term, finally diverting her mind from Jersey Joe Jackson and his mine ride to Max’s recent high-desert adventure.

“Hunt-breakers? Oh, those protesters who put themselves between hunters and their prey.”

“I promised to help them document the action at Rancho Exotica. They just told me a hunt is scheduled this evening.”

“That’s…nuts! Why would the ranch do business now that Cyrus Van Burkleo is dead? With all the attention his killing is getting, they risk exposing their illegal operation. The protesters must be wrong.”

“They ought to know. They’re out there, watching. I need someone inside the ranch watching too.”

“Me? Why would I go there again?”

Max grinned down at her. “Because you’re so good at plausible pretexts.”

“Pardon me, but why can’t you be the inside man?”

“Because I have to be the outside man.” He lifted his thumbs and fingers, fanned to form a frame. “Home movies, remember? I need someone inside to stop the hunt before anything is killed.”

“Anything? Or anyone?”

Max shook his head. “This has nothing to do with the murder. This is purely because of a promise I made. Look, the least I can do right now is help these people out. They’re liable to get hurt if they come between an amateur hunter and his target. If I’m out there documenting it on film, it’ll keep them from doing anything foolish.”