Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“But—”

“Yes, you have accurately recalled the disadvantages of your situation. Your ever-helpful ex-redhead-in-residence is not in town right now. You can’t rely on her extra-sharp memory. She’s quite the little snoop and puzzle-solver. You’ll be on your own. Might be interesting.”

“Funny. Nobody mentioned you were a sadist.”

“If you made it across Western Europe dodging assassins, I think you can navigate the Goliath Hotel. Consider it a challenge grant.”

“The pay is lousy.”

“And so is the food. Welcome to a menu of plain, old-fashioned law enforcement, Mr. Kinsella.”

He chewed on her assignment and the rest of the dinner, including the plain, old-fashioned tapioca pudding she insisted on ordering for him, saying it might spark memories of his childhood—she was indeed a sadist.

She also gave a dry, even skimpy, summation of the Goliath murder case files, which were basically the method of murder—knifed above a casino table, interesting—name of victim, and time of death and discovery.

This was a cold case and most likely a criminal hit, not a juicy crime of personal motive. It was the deep-freeze of cold cases and the most personally challenging crime she could ask him to investigate.

Game on.

Chapter 7

Suite Deal

Temple had finished her tour of the suite, cooing over all the posh designer touches.

She returned to Matt in the living room, where he’d slipped off his shoes and was checking out the six-foot HDTV offerings. Just like a guy.

Normally Temple never let bare foot touch hotel carpeting, but this stuff was so soft and expensive, it felt like walking through velvety grass on a golf course only billionaires played.

Louie reclined near Matt in his “King of Sheba” position, glossy black front paws straight out like the Sphinx’s, head high, ears forward, and tail arranged into a graceful S behind him.

In this very pose he had made his rival TV commercial cat, the unlamented Maurice, look like yellow tabby hash at a greasy spoon diner.

“The producers called,” Matt said over his shoulder, clicking past the Home Shopping Network and QVC while Temple quashed a knee-jerk reaction to cry, Wait. Accessory Alert!

“Dinner Sunday okay?” he asked.

“That’s family dinner day.”

“The family get-together will be over by six P.M. Every Sunday dinner is Thanksgiving-size in my family. Given the beer, they’ll be ready for naps. And the producers dine downtown, close by. That’ll work.”

“Do I have to meet the family all in a bunch?”

Matt shrugged, still channel surfing. “Not my choice, but we’re the guests.” He paused the screen to turn to her. “I tried to get Mom to meet us first, but Saturday nights are busy at the restaurant and I guess she couldn’t get off.”

“That big tourist draw must have two hostesses.” Temple sniffed avoidance and Matt nodded agreement, about to say more. Although what can you say about a family so uneager to meet someone who is marrying into it?

“She’s—,” Matt began, sounding apologetic all over again.

The room phone rang, echoed by all the other phones dotting the suite. It made the place sound like an office … or a command post.

Matt leaned over to the sofa table to take the call, then stood and turned to face Temple so she’d get the drift.

“Yes?” he said. And then, “Sure, Mom. Yes, the flight was fine. Except for an incident at the airport. Someone tried to snag Temple’s carrier with her cat in it.” Matt laughed. “He’s a pretty big cat to snatch without pulling a muscle, so we got him right back.”

“Tell them they thought my cat carrier held the crown jewels,” Temple said.

Matt did, and added, “No, no diamonds. Only on her finger.”

He listened, then smiled. “Sure. We’d love to have dinner at your apartment.” His eyes questioned Temple, who nodded extreme agreement. “We’ll cab it. And I guess we can bring the ‘famous’ cat.”

Temple looked at Louie, who was lounging on the sofa like a sultan, one leg now draped over the pillow edge. Despite the playboy pose, he was a rough-and-tumble street cat adept at opening the French doors in her Vegas condominium. One shuddered to think what he might try at thirty-some stories if he decided he didn’t like being left home alone in a hotel suite.

“That’s good, excellent,” Matt told Temple after he’d turned off the portable phone. “Looks like Mom got her courage up despite the situation that’s got the whole family in an uproar.”

“Will she discuss it in front of me?”

“Remains to be seen.”

“And you said she shares an apartment with your young cousin Krys?”

“Yeah. Krystyna, all y’s, is doing performance art in her spare time. I can imagine.… She hates the Polish spelling of her name. Too Old World. She is a radical chick, a rebel as much as you can be one in my family. Mom was … pretty shut down for a lot of years. Moving in with Krys got her out of her shell, enough to meet this guy who wants to marry her.”

“That was at the restaurant where she hostesses?”

“Right. It’s a classy but down-home place. Polandia. Ethnic food.”