Cat In A Quicksilver Caper

Now, she will be busting her gray velvet garters to conceal my presence. I will be able to spy for my Miss Temple and make sure her project goes as smooth as spider silk. She can cover the infighting on the ground level; I will handle the high jinks on high. Plus I may be able to collect a sweet commission. In one form or another.

United We Stand

Temple wasn’t unduly religious. Not when she’d been brought up as a Unitarian Universalist. It was the one area where her usually staid midwestern family had kicked over the tracks.

Slightly.

There were only about 800,000 registered UUs in the U.S. of A., including four U.S. presidents, which made them a pretty significant insignificant minority, to turn a redundancy into a contradiction in terms.

The universality and unity implicit in the name pretty much described the doctrine: inclusive. A UU didn’t even have to believe in God (as a sort of straight Leonardo da Vinci in a long beard and antiquated robes) or as anything other than an innate kindly bent in human nature.

Backsliding in the practice of Unitarian Universalism was very difficult to do. They stood for such large, all-embracing concepts and had so few narrow, excluding ones. But Temple had managed to do it. Simply by not going to church.

So making an appointment with the local UU minister for an office “consultation” felt like stealing. And operating under false pretenses.

But Sue Hathaway had been perfectly willing, even eager, to meet and talk with Temple. Temple had a good feeling about a woman with a position few other women in the country held listing herself as “Sue” instead of the more formal “Susan.”

It felt UU and even MU: Midwestern Unpretentious.

And Temple needed all the good feeling she could muster for slinking around, just when the going got tough, to a church she’d ignored for several years. But when she’d told Max that they needed to talk, Temple knew she needed to talk to an expert first. A UU minister named Sue.

“Come in.” Sue answered the door herself.

She was only three or four inches taller than Temple’s five-foot-nothing, a high point in her favor. But she was the opposite kind of woman: wiry short hair, no makeup, blue jeans, linen blazer over a sky blue silk camp shirt; Birkenstock shoes, flirting with either side of forty-five. She was plain but reassuringly savvy seeming and competent, perhaps because of her plainness.

“Temple Barr,” the woman, uh, minister, said. What should Temple call her? “An interesting name. Come sit down. Some espresso? Tea? The obligatory glass of afternoon sherry?”

“Why don’t we wait and see what’s needed,” Temple said.

Sue laughed and nodded.

“By the way, I’m not usually a bottle blonde. This is just part of my last job.”

“You’re an entertainer?”

It was a natural question in Las Vegas.

“Nothing so exciting, or lucrative. I’m a freelance public relations representative, but sometimes in Las Vegas—”

“Always in Las Vegas. Say no more. What can I help you with, Miss Barr?”

“Temple, please.”

“Miss Barr” was how Lieutenant Molina invariably addressed her. Temple did not want to think about the homicide lieutenant while on this particular, and highly personal, mission. “I was reared UU.”

“Not in Las Vegas.”

“No. In Minneapolis.”

“But you haven’t been active.”

“No. So I suppose I really shouldn’t be here.”

“To the contrary. Welcome back. At least for a meeting. What can I help you with?”

“I need a religious professional’s viewpoint on something.”

“ ‘A religious professional.’ I’d never quite thought of it that way, but it’s true.”

Temple sighed, big time. Then she plunged right in with the immediate problem. “I’ve been seeing an ex-Roman Catholic priest.”

Sue Hathaway was a pro. Her expression remained supernaturally noncommittal. And she said nothing, so Temple had to go on.

“I’ve learned a bit about that religion’s position on a lot of things, which are way more . . . definite than I grew up with.”

Sue smiled.

That forced Temple to blunder on even further. “Anyway, although he’s wonderful—smart and kind and well, hot looking—I once made this flip remark that modern girls don’t want to discover sexual compatibility or incompatibility on their wedding nights like in the olden days.”

“One does tend to get flip when nervous,” Sue said.

“And now he’s come up with the darnedest compromise between his religion, which is way anti-premarital sex, and what I sort of said I expected. Which was a”—Temple cringed—“a free sample.”

Sue laughed. Hard. Until the tears came. “How long was he in?” she asked when she could. “The church, that is.”

“About seventeen years.”

“Ouch. Why and how’d he leave?”

“It’s complicated.”

“If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be real life.”

Temple sighed again, much to her surprise. She was astonished by how hard it was to talk about her personal ambiguities even to encouraging strangers of the same gender.