Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In An Alphabet Endgame

“Matt?” Temple sounded panicked. Was she thinking he’d be angry?

His fingers tightened on hers. When he turned back, his eyes stung, from the bright sunlight, of course.

“Temple, you’re incredible. We’ve talked about that, but you’ve made the best wedding gift for me in the world come true, that I could never dream of doing myself. When I say these vows, not even eternity will end them.”

“Really? I’d hoped, but it was…presumptuous of me.”

“If you weren’t a presumptuous PR hussy, I wouldn’t love you as much.”

“So. Then. You won’t be upset if I confess that I also invited Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Kelly—”

He frowned, trying to place the unknown name.

Temple gulped. “…and Mr. and Mrs. Kevin Kinsella.”

He couldn’t help looking shocked.

“Too,” she added.

“Incredible.” He blinked again. “Instead of us going to Racine, you brought the shattered family to us . We’re going to do an intervention at the reception.”

“Privately.”

“That means Mr. Max Kinsella is lurking somewhere in the neighborhood.”

“Hunting the IRA treasure with my maps. I think it’s a matter of life and death, but, of course, he wouldn’t say that.”

“So how did you manage to invite two couples we don’t know to our wedding?”

“I lured them onto Skype and made a pitch about poor Max’s memory loss and how he’s a friend of ours, and seeing them all here might help him. Quite true.”

“You convinced, conned, complete strangers, they think , to fly to our wedding to reunite with their lost black-sheep son and nephew?”

“Of course the Crystal Phoenix is footing the bill for all flights and suites. It’s Van and Nicky’s wedding present to me. Us.”

Temple paused. “And I also invited Mr. and Mrs. Sean Kelly from Northern Ireland.”

“Ah,” Matt said. “‘Sean of the Dead’, back again. Now I understand. You made those three couples an offer they couldn’t refuse and have designed a situation I can’t refuse, nor can Max. It’s fiendish, Temple. Simply fiendish. And I’m the designated driver.”

“It’s good practice for our new TV show.”

“Could turn into an ‘After Party’ from Hell.”

“I hope it turns out to be a Happily Ever After Party for everyone,” Temple said. “I—

Oh, that reminds me! I want to drop in on the convent and invite the nuns personally. I have an e-vite list, but they probably don’t do email or texting.”

“You may be right. I’ll check the church again and meet you outside in a bit.”

“While you’re here, thank the Virgin for getting you to me.”

He nodded.

Her short but brisk high-heeled departing steps clattered like hail on the tiles. For the wedding, a carpet would make her step as silent as a ghost’s.

Inside the church again, Matt shivered in the cool silence. He genuflected out of habit and then approached the altar with new eyes. Yes, the Virgin of Guadalupe watched over everything with her prayerful, maternal gaze. Including the altar.

Matt kneeled in front of it, as he had kneeled once to become a priest. Yes, he was right. The central design, carved in low relief from an impressive chunk of turquoise, was the humped serpent symbol of the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl.

And the signature of Clifford Effinger’s work for the mob.

It was lucky Temple had given her groom a simple suit-fitting to accomplish in the next four days. He would have ample time to find out why investigating the Effinger clan, both then and now, was proving so dangerous.

17

Holy Cats

“I think we need to go to church,” I tell Miss Midnight Louise, intending to shock her.

We of the cat persuasion are not notable pew occupiers. They are usually made of uncushioned wood and hard on the back (and also the soft underbelly).

And some of us remain faithful to the ancient goddess of our kind, Bast, who lent her noble feline head and fancy headdress to a slinky Egyptian woman attired during a time of an apparent linen shortage in the Nile delta and standing twenty feet tall. The younger generation are not so observant of the old ways.

“I applaud the idea,” Miss Midnight Louise says, shocking me. “I assume you have a Catholic Church in mind, since you can confess all your many sins there.”

“So much for your assumptions. It is not called Confession anymore, but the Sacrament of Reconciliation.”

“Sounds like a mealy-mouthed substitute. How do you know all this churchy stuff?”

“My Miss Temple brought me to a Blessing the Animals ceremony at Our Lady of Guadalupe shortly after we first hooked up together.”

“I also was there and blessed, but as ‘Caviar’, a Humane Society cat. Thankfully, I did not notice you there at the Big Moment. But your Miss Temple quipped I could be ‘Midnight Louise’. And so they sadly named me after you when I became the Crystal Phoenix unofficial house detective. How could you forsake the Las Vegas Strip and the run of the entire Crystal Phoenix hotel and grounds to share a second-story flat with a nosy Nelly who cannot even decide which high heel shoe to wear, much less which man to marry.”

“At least she has a choice. Females of our kind are at the mercy of their hormones.”

“Exactly why I was thrilled to be ‘fixed’.”

I just shake my head. “I too am ‘fixed’, but by a fancy human procedure that leaves my anatomy intact in all its original glory, yet unable to sire unwanted kits.”

“Yes, you have a smidge of political correctness. Not voluntarily, though. I assume you wish to visit the scene of the forthcoming crime.”

“By ‘forthcoming crime’, I assume you are referring to the wedding.” I hiss out a sigh. “Yes, I heard at home a few nights ago it is a done deal. Miss Temple will marry Mr. Matt at Our Lady of Guadalupe. They will honeymoon in San Diego and stay at the Crystal Phoenix afterward while their respective rooms at the Circle Ritz are combined into one larger unit.”

Miss Midnight Louise’s golden eyes squint at me sideways. “And where do you plan to live after all this ceremony and during reconstruction? In the Circle Ritz parking lot? Do not expect to move in on my territory. Your day as unofficial house detective at the Crystal Phoenix is done. You abdicated the job to me. Looks like you are homeless again, Pop. That is human loyalty for you. Maybe Ma Barker will let you sleep in the basement of her favorite abandoned house.”

“Tut, tut, Louise,” I manage to mutter in a calm tone. “It will all work out. Meanwhile, we both know unsavory individuals are circling our human friends. Time to hie our hides to Our Lady of Guadalupe.”

“Lucky,” says Miss Midnight Louise as we watch from behind an oleander bush while the white van zooms away on to its next stop, “that the church linen service truck happened to be passing so we could slip inside during the next delivery. It will take a week to get the odor of starch out of my sensitive nostrils.”

“Luck, my rabbit’s foot. I have been staking out the place. I calculated the routine.”

“And we dropped off at the convent. The church is around the corner.”

“Ironic,” say I, “that a laundry service provided us transportation, given that those hateful laundry asylums for fallen women and girls unleashed Miss Kathleen O’Connor on all our friends.”