Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In An Aqua Storm

Temple nodded.

“Did you tell them?”

“How could I? I don’t know.”

“So you say.” Molina pushed herself away from the wall and resumed her shoes. She slid Temple a glance from under her dark wings of eyebrow. Lord, that woman could benefit from a little female artifice , Temple thought.

“Why now?” Molina asked when she stood, tall as ever, in front of Temple again. “Four months since Kinsella’s disappearance.”

Temple just shook her head.

“You need to take this seriously, so I’ll have to tell you something I don’t want to.”

Temple perked up. It was about time the shoe slipped onto the other foot, even if it was a clodhopper.

Molina’s lips worked reluctantly. Then she came out with a hail of words as blunt as bullets. “After Kinsella disappeared, the night he disappeared, a body was found in the surveillance area over the Goliath’s gaming area. Stabbed, once and well. The hotel’s assistant security director. You know all the casinos have skymen on watch through one-way mirrors and video equipment over the gaming areas? Well, the man’s body was found in an unauthorized peephole carved out of the air-conditioning vent. Only a clever and agile person could have managed that spy-hole, and getting someone else in it.”

“You think Max—”

“A magician could have done it, but whether he ran because he knew his accomplice was dead and figured he’d be next, or just because the man was dead and he’d done it, I don’t know. Nor do I know what was involved—abetting confederates at the tables below, or blackmailing cheaters, whatever.”

“Whatever, in your book, Max’s a murderer or the prey of one.”

“And if someone’s after him because he knows too much, they may not have bothered with you because they didn’t know who you are, or where you were: until you came back to the Goliath this week. You did frequent the place when Kinsella was appearing there?”

“ ‘Frequent.’ Come on, Lieutenant, that makes me sound like a gun moll. Yes, I met Max there for a drink or dinner now and again. I went to a few shows.”

“Didn’t you know the act by heart by then?”

“His illusions may have been familiar, but Max and the audience were different every night. That’s what Max did. He never made anything seem the same twice.”

Molina contemplated the interesting ramifications of that assessment without losing her cool, then nodded soberly. “They saw you again and decided to get some answers. That means they’re familiar with the Goliath and that you’re in danger working there. No chance you’d quit?”

“The show must go on.”

Molina shook her head. “Then it’ll go on with police all over the place. You’re tiptoeing around something a lot uglier than you’ve ever imagined. You’re lucky those two drivers had a set-to in the ramp, because even if you really don’t know where Max Kinsella might be, those thugs wouldn’t have stopped. They sound as if they enjoy their work.”

Temple nodded. Lucky.

“All right.” Molina stepped aside. “Come downtown tomorrow first thing for a mug-shot tour. I’ll alert the staff. If those men want Kinsella, I want those men.”

“Better them than him,” Temple muttered as she hopped— ouch! —off the table.

“What?”

“I’ll do what I can, Lieutenant,” Temple said from the doorway. And then she skedaddled.

Matt’s blond head hit her bleary eyes like a puddle of sunshine in the dreary waiting room. She headed straight for him and collapsed on the adjoining chair. It had been a long and traumatic evening.

“I’m free to go. No X rays, no casts, no permanent injuries. They tried to lay an abuse rap on me, can you imagine? And we need to stop for a prescription on the way home.”

Matt glanced at the white slip in her hand and nodded, then picked up Temple’s tote bag. He let it ease back to the floor again as Lieutenant Molina approached them.

She suddenly squatted on her heels in front of Temple, her piercing eyes and serious face impossible to avoid.

“I know you don’t listen to officials much, but no matter how your injuries happened, you’re a victim of a crime. You need to deal with that. Here’s the number of a self-help group. Give them a call. You’ll have a lot of rage. Your self-esteem has taken a body blow, too. Don’t be dumb. Talk to someone else who’s been through it.”

Temple sat in silence.

“She’s right,” Matt said.

Temple glanced at the number. Heck, maybe they needed a freebie PR person. “Okay.”

Molina patted Temple’s knee— Molina!— and rose. She flashed Matt a smile Temple had never seen, approving. “Thanks for the sensible support.”

“I have to give it. I’m a hotline counselor.”

Molina’s expressive eyebrows lifted before she nodded. “Then you’ll see that she does it.”

“I’ll see that she’s encouraged to do it. Temple will do what’s she thinks is best for her.”

“What’s best for her is what I suggested.”

“Grrrr,” Temple remarked softly as Molina walked away. “What an insufferable woman.”

Matt grinned as he watched Molina’s iron-straight navy-blue back disappear. “Insufferably right. Tacky of her. Reminds me of a mother superior. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Home. A nice word. And nice to have someone to go there with.

18

A Roommate to Die For

T emple felt abouttwo hundred years old when she and Matt once again stood before her condo door. He unlocked it smoothly this time. She entered first, startled to find lights blazing. Electra Lark sat at her kitchen cafe table painting her fingernails black.

The moment she saw Temple, Electra bounded upright and whirled over in a blaze of highly colored Hawaiian flora. Her welcoming embrace—arms wide and fingers splayed to protect her wet polish and Temple’s bruised frame—ended up as a gentle cheek-brush, during which Temple whiffed an unmistakable trace of Emeraude. Oh, no....

Matt beamed like a Boy Scout. “I called Electra when you were seeing the doctor.”

Electra’s ear cuffs rang. “I used the passkey to get your gel packs,” she told Matt. “They’re already on ice. I bet you two kids are starved! I could order a pizza.”

“I’m not really hungry.” Temple toddled gingerly toward the living room.

“Oh!” Her huge cocktail table stood by the French doors because her sleep-sofa had been opened and made up.

“We’re not going to let you stay alone after what happened.” Electra’s tone brooked no disobedience.

“We?” Temple asked.

“Well, I made up the bed,” Electra said modestly, implying that she didn’t often stoop to such domestic make-work. “Matt said he’d stay tonight.”

“Oh.” Temple turned to her new roommate. “What about your job?”

“I called the hotline from the hospital, too.”

“I’m all right. I don’t need baby-sitting.”

Electra bustled between them. “Maybe we need to do it. Now, are these your pills? Hmm. Tylenol Three. You’ll sleep tonight. I’ll get you to bed, and then I’ll get the ice packs. Then maybe we can tempt you with—I know, ice cream.”

“Why ice cream?” Temple asked in amazement. “That’s what I always let myself eat when I’m sick.”

“And it doesn’t require chewing,” Matt added. “I’ll be right back. I need some things from upstairs!”

“Fine,” Temple managed to say over her— ouch —shoulder. “The guest bath is to the left off the office.”

“Now, what can I help with?” Electra waved her morbid fingernails again as she followed Temple into the bedroom, her thong sandals vigorously slapping parquet.