Cat In An Alphabet Soup (Catnap)

Mavis frowned. “By keeping track of us kids?”

“I overheard him tell Lieutenant Molina that you were from Kankakee. But how did he know? Later, it hit me. That information wasn’t in your author bio. That’s when I figured out there must be a hidden connection between you and Owen Tharp.”

“Poor Eoin. He may be a murderer, but he didn’t tell me sooner about our relationship because he didn’t want the rest of us to suffer for his crime if he were caught, though he thought he’d go free. He was newly furious about how... Mr. Royal was treating his sister. When he told me everything, when I saw how I’d been lied to all my life—denied my own mother’s memory, kept from knowing my father and family, and from believing in myself—when I realized that Chester Royal had managed to ruin my life twice... well, it made me angry, too, so I did what Eoin wanted. He was my brother.”

“All you had to do was play dumb and pick up the ransom money, though?”

She nodded. “I’ll send the money to Emily Adcock.”

Temple grinned. “Pseudonymously, I hope.”

“You mean—?”

“No one needs to know. Why do you think I kept my mouth shut? You didn’t do anything wrong except abet a relative in a catnapping; that’s hardly Murder One. You’re finally free of Chester Royal. Certainly you’ve paid in advance for any wrong you might have done, simply by working with the old ogre all those years. Just go home and write that Big Book.”

“I won’t abandon Eoin now that I’ve found him. Our mother’s death marked the older ones, and I can’t blame them. Sometimes, Miss Barr, ignorance is bliss. I’m glad I didn’t know what Chester Royal was earlier. I might have done what Eoin did.”

“I doubt it.” Temple bent to pick up Midnight Louie. “Oof, what an armful.”

Mavis daubed at her eyes with a lacy comer of mantilla. “Thank you. Goodbye, and thank you.”

Temple watched Mavis Davis join the migration up the Strip, her back straighter than Temple had ever seen it. Most of them would be racing back to hotels and into airport limos. They’d soon forget the Las Vegas ABA.

Meanwhile, guess who was stuck here? She turned and lugged the cat inside.

Electra was flitting among her fiber people, removing their mourning garb.

“That was more exciting than a wedding any day,” she said. “I thought that lieutenant would never get here. Not very grateful, if you ask me. And those publishing people! I had no idea they were such a kinky bunch. ’Course, when you consider what goes on in some books nowadays.... I bet you’re glad this ABA job is over and you can concentrate on normal clients, like the mud-wrestling federation.”

“I’m going back to the apartment, Electra. I’m ready to collapse, and Louie wants his lunch.”

“Fine, fine.” A matronly dummy lost her swath of veiling and her wig in one sweeping gesture.

Tired, Temple ambled through the breezeway, the cat at her heels. The tepid halls were deserted. She felt she moved in warm Jell-O, like a dreamer wading farther and farther away from the shoreline of reality.

When the elevator stopped on her floor, Louie paused midway in the door to consider his next move.

“In or out, you lug? Make up your mind.”

He finally deigned to amble along the arc of the building’s central hallway. When Temple reached the long shadowy passage that led to her door, she stopped.

Matt Devine, now. in civvies, was leaning against the wall, with what looked like frosty margaritas in both hands.

“Thought you could use a refresher after the show. That was quite an ordeal.”

Temple perked right up. “Great idea, thanks. Say, what was that slow-tempo funeral march you played at the beginning of the memorial?”

He grinned. “Curiosity will be your downfall. How do you know it wasn’t Mozart?”

“It wasn’t.”

Matt sighed, and studied the contents of his glass. “ ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale.’ Procol Harum.”

“One of my favorite songs! Really?”

Matt nodded, then pointed to the business card Temple had put into her nameplate slot. “I saw this when I was installing your chain lock. I think it’s wrong.”

She stared at her card as he handed her a hand-chilling glass. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

Matt’s glass clicked against hers. “It should read ‘Temple Barr, P.I.’ ”

She liked the sentiment, and the compliment, and especially the source, but she said modestly, “No, not really. Never again. I solemnly swear.” She was actually contemplating matters more intimate than detection.

Midnight Louie, ignored at their feet, didn’t believe a word of it. He indolently stretched his forelegs all the way up to the doorknob and gave it a royal whack.

26

Louie’s Last Meow