Cat In An Alphabet Soup (Catnap)

Temple eyed her desk phone, an innocuous beige business model. She ought to look further into Royal’s malpractice conviction, but the only one with clout enough to do that was C. R. Molina. She’d rather give a hot tip to Hitler’s grandmother. Still....

While she was talking to the lieutenant, she could mention the string of cat disappearances—B and T and now Louie. Might as well multiply culpability times humility and beg help across the board. None of this was Temple’s business, anyway, except for Louie.

That’s what she told herself as she looked up the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police number and dialed. It took ages to get through to Molina. Temple couldn’t decide whether she was lucky or unlucky to find the lieutenant in.

“Yes.” It was said so abruptly that Temple almost hung up. Instead she gave her name.

“Yes.” The lieutenant didn’t sound even vaguely interested.

That made Temple mad enough to ... talk.

“I don’t know how the Chester Royal investigation is going—” Pause. Perhaps Molina would tell her. Naw. “But I’ve discovered something in his background that you may not know about.” Pause. Molina was not forthcoming with the encouraging little murmurs that make a phone conversation a two-way street. “Royal was a doctor. Until he was forced to stop practicing medicine because of a malpractice conviction.”

“Where? When?”

“Why do you think I’m calling you? You must have access to stuff like this on some computer. Had to have been in the early to mid-fifties, because he couldn’t have finished medical school until about 1950, and according to the press release he started dabbling in publishing in 1957. He was an ob/gyn. I bet the case made the papers, wherever it was.”

“I’ll check it out.”

“Great! Could you let me know what you find out?”

A dial tone; Molina had hung up. No chance to mention the missing cats.

“You’re welcome!” Temple cradled the phone with an emphasis that could not be termed polite.

“Whew! Who pushed your buttons?”

Lorna Fennick stood in the doorway, with raised eyebrows.

“A public official. I’m sorry you saw me being petty and unprofessional, but the line was dead.”

“Don’t apologize. I feel like flinging some office equipment today, too.” Lorna came over to perch on the desk edge, pushing her lank hair behind one ear.

“Oh?” Temple prepared to be sympathetic.

“The first fallout from Royal’s death. Mavis Davis is abandoning Pennyroyal.”

“Mavis Davis? She’s the last one I’d suspect.”

Lorna nodded morosely. “The Reynolds-Chapter-Deuce biggies are hugely upset. When the big fish thrash, we minnows are in for a bumpy swim. Apparently, it’s a done deal. Mavis is going with Lodestar-Comet-Orion-Styx.”

“Can she do that? Aren’t there option clauses?”

“Sure, but option clauses are easy to wriggle out of if you can get big enough money from another house or you do a different kind of book.”

“What about her wimpy agent?”

Lorna studied Temple with surprise. “How’d you know about that?”

“Isn’t that one of the things that cured you of editing? Watching Chester Royal steer his unknowing authors to an agent who was in his pocket?”

Lorna sat up straighter. “You know that, too? Yeah, he did that, and I left. I never told anyone why. How’d you know?”

Temple shrugged. “I’m around. I hear things. I listen. It’s part of my job.”

“Please don’t breathe a word of the Davis defection. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I’m so depressed. This has been a hell of an ABA for RCD. Hell on public relations personnel, too. I had to tell someone.”

“I know what you mean. I haven’t had the world’s best day, either.”

“What happened?”

“My cat’s missing, for one thing.”

“You mean that big black tom from the feature story?”

“Yeah. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“Sorry. But, hey, he was a stray. He probably just ran away. Cats’ll do that.”

“I know,” Temple said with feeling, mentally adding Baker and Taylor to that toll. “But I have a hang-up about critters that skip out on me.”

Lorna nodded. “So does RCD. God, it’s been frantic. Now Avenour wants me to set up a small memorial service for Chester. I just hope the local police let the staff leave town on schedule.”

“There’s been no progress on the murder investigation?”

“Nothing visible. Maybe it’s the lull before the lasagna hits the plate glass.”

“That’s what you call it in New York, huh?”

“That’s what I call it anywhere—damn messy. Got any ideas where I can stage a respectful service in a hurry?” Temple ransacked her tote bag and pulled out one of Electra’s cards—an embossed blue ribbon tortured into a rococo knot on a pink pearlized background. “Try her; she can switch from white to black in a flash.”

“Okaaay. You’ve got an answer to everything. At least the worst of your work with this circus is done. Hope you find your kitty.”

“Thanks.”

Temple remained desk-bound after Lorna left, her face propped on her hands, the Pennyroyal Press folder swimming before her vision in a hot metallic haze.