Cat In An Alphabet Soup (Catnap)

“Baker & Taylor doesn’t have any. Look. The two biggest national wholesalers are Ingram and us. Traditionally, we supplied libraries and Ingram handled the independent bookstores; you know, the local Book Nook and Cranny. Lately we’ve expanded our focus into the bookstores as well—”

“Aha!”

“But that doesn’t even border on cutthroat competition. Bottom line or not, there’s some gentility left in the book business yet.”

“Well, it’s time to call the local police. This looks like a rinky-dink operation. They don’t ask for much money—but it’s still kidnapping of a sort, and serious stuff.”

Emily clapped a well-manicured hand to her forehead; even that broad gesture didn’t completely obscure her worry wrinkles.

“Temple... no. I can’t. It was my idea to bring the cats here. I just can’t embarrass the company that way. I—we’ve got to get them back.”

“How? How are you going to get the money so fast? How are you going to deliver it with any personal safety? How can you be sure you’ll get the cats back, or that they’re not stew meat already?”

“I don’t know! Temple, help me!”

Temple thought. From the background came the rhythmic rasp of litter being pawed over the scene of the crime. How would she feel if Midnight Louie were in danger? How much would she herself do to avoid the humiliation of reporting a catnapping to someone like Lieutenant Molina? “We’ll hire a PI. Vegas is full of ’em.”

Emily moved her hand from brow to mouth, a wary expression in her eyes.

“He can deliver the ransom without risk to either of us,” Temple explained. “We can watch, maybe, and spot the crook. The big question is, how will you get the money?”

Emily shut her eyes. “My American Express Gold Card.”

“You could lose it.”

“As long as I find the bloody cats. Temple, I just couldn’t face losing those cats, professionally or personally.”

“It’s not your fault, Emily. Who’d think somebody’d bag ’em? That’s really odd—a murder and now a—”

“Well, well, well. Sorry, didn’t see a Ladies’ Room sign.” Crawford Buchanan was leaning in the doorway in an ice-cream suit, eyeing Emily Adcock with his usual predatory smirk. She was too distraught to notice.

“We’re leaving.” Temple stuffed the manila envelope back in her bag and grabbed Emily’s wrist.

The woman’s hand was cold and limp with anxiety; she numbly followed Temple into the office. Buchanan remained in the doorway, forcing them to brush by. A moment later Midnight Louie swaggered past his pant leg, leaving a swath of long black hairs on the pale fabric.

“Alley cat,” Buchanan hissed, kicking at the cat.

Louie leaped away like a heavyweight boxer avoiding a gnat.

Temple and Emily had forgotten both man and cat. “We’ve got till tomorrow. It’s Sunday, but I’ll find a PI somehow,” Temple promised quietly. “You get the money.”

“What kind?”

“Small denominations, unmarked bills, like they say on TV. If we want the cats back, we don’t want to rile the napper.”

“I don’t even know how to get marked bills. Oh, God, Temple! I hope we get those cats back.”

“They also say on TV that kidnappers are notorious for not keeping their word once they’ve got the money.”

Emily smiled wanly. “It’s a mess, but thanks, whatever happens. You’ve been superb.”

As Emily hurried away, Buchanan sidled up. “What’re you girls up to?”

Temple eyed the ream of typing paper cradled in his arm. “I didn’t know you were fetching your own paper these days, instead of using mine.”

“You’re out, for some reason.”

Temple shook her head and stalked off. Midnight Louie followed.

13

Enter Ingram

The lady said it herself; she requires a private eye.

So I leave Miss Temple Barr paging morosely through the Las Vegas Yellow Pages, which offer every service that can be sold and quite a few that should not be, and am on my way.

I exit the convention center by my secret route; I can only say that it involves air-conditioning ducts and certain adept but undignified motions on my part. It is the usual hot, bright day outside, but my tootsies flat-foot over the heat-polished parking lot asphalt as if treading black satin sheets.