Carole douglas - Cat on a Hyacinth Hunt

"We were going to rise together like shooting stars in the department. He . . . encouraged me to sing, to find those funky old gowns, and there were a lot of them in L.A. fourteen years ago. He was flowers and optimism. And then, the thorns. You know how they start out: Mr.

Wonderful. You know what they turn out to be, Mr. Control-freak."

"He . . . started abusing you?"

Her eyes said, What do you think, you think I'd allow anyone to hit me?

He hadn't thought so.

She turned her margarita glass on its napkin. "He was too smart to use violence. I sometimes think he picked me because he wanted to make sure he wouldn't resort to violence. He liked manipulation. Lived for it. Men. Women. Children. He had a need to lead them astray, into the path most dangerous or self-destructive."

"You're talking about a psychopath."

"I'm talking about Kitty the Cutter."

Matt shut up. Molina was talking. What this had to do with Mariah, he couldn't imagine.

"Simple. He got me pregnant."

Matt tried to digest that, and couldn't. Happened a million times a year.

She leaned inward. "Wasn't supposed to happen. I was using a diaphragm and foam. The foam he couldn't fix, but the diaphragm . . . holes in it the size of a straight pin."

Matt knew she wanted shock, and she got it. She continued talking.

"Usually it's the woman, isn't it? Who's supposed to manipulate in that way? Not this time.

He thought my maternal instinct would take over, that I'd never look into the evidence. He thought I was a dumb broad."

"A cardinal sin," Matt put in.

Molina nodded. "I knew the first time I missed my period."

"So. What did you do?"

"I went to an abortion clinic."

The statement was like a slap in the face, and he pulled away from it before he could stop himself.

"Think about it, Mr. Priest. You've never been a woman, but think about being tricked into motherhood like that. By a man like that, who did it just because he could."

Matt didn't have to think long or hard. He thought he carried the burden of Effinger's abuse.

But no one had foisted a changeling soul on him, part himself, part the unwanted other, part the demon's.

"Why didn't you have the abortion?"

"Because either way he won." Her shoulders lowered, as they must have once long ago in a clinic office. "He wanted me to be destroyed, or to be a destroyer. I decided to be neither."

"Either way, your life was changed forever."

"So I chose which way."

"And if Mariah asks about her father?"

"She already has, years ago. Kids are ages ahead of us these days."

"And you've told her."

"I've told her that her father was a policeman who was killed in the line of duty."

"Was he?"

Molina shrugged. "Not yet."

"Then he's . . . still out there."

"Out there. And I'm in here, drinking margaritas. There. That wasn't so bad, was it? At least I didn't have an abortion."

"I don't know if I could have resisted, in your position."

"That's just it. You don't know. Thanks for saying so. I am so tired of men thinking they know what women should do. You're pretty sure what Temple Barr should do."

"Not really. But that's why you're determined to run down Kinsella. To you, he's the ultimate manipulator. The ultimate psychopath."

"I don't know if I'd call him a psychopath. Yet." She finished the dregs of the margarita glass.

"It was nice to have him pinned down and politely answering my questions, though."

"What about the dead men in the casino ceilings?"

"I can't tell you everything, now, can I?" Coy again, in her hard-edged way. "Part of a scheme to bilk the casinos in question of millions. Someone is always trying to break the bank in Las Vegas."

"And Effinger was a very small cog in a multigeared scheme."

She nodded. "Still, he was connected enough to tip off. Who tipped him off that getting to Temple Barr would get to you, hmmm? That's what the message on the body was about: how to find Temple. Once Electra Lark told me somebody's evil step-father had assaulted her, I knew my take on the note was right. Too bad none of you three characters panned out as prime suspects."

"Too bad? You want to nail us all to the wall now?"

A smile paired her shrug. "You are my crown of thorns. Anyway, my detective interpreted the note smears as "deadhead" at "Circus Circus," but I immediately thought of "redhead" at the

"Circle Ritz," knowing her propensity for trouble and connection to Effinger, through you."

"These big-time crooks would help that weasel out on a personal matter?"

"Your dragging him into headquarters wasn't personal to them, it was messing with their business. Big business. No, Effinger was useful enough to protect; that's why the lookalike was tossed to the authorities. As a distraction. And then Effinger became a liability."

"Yet now, even dead, Effinger still plays a distraction."

"Very good! Yes."

"Can I take it that I'm free to dispose of his ashes as I please? You have no further use of him?"

"Scatter the booger over Lake Mead. I care not, as long as the Environmental Protection Agency doesn't."

"This has been an odd dinner," Matt commented.

"Hint. It's time to go. What time is it?"

"Two A.M."

"Another hour and you can rendezvous with Our Lady of the Can Opener again."

"No thanks."

Matt watched as the waiter returned with a check. Molina signed it, that was all. She had a tab here, but he doubted that she came often. He couldn't see her kicking back like this on a regular basis.

She stood, reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out the car keys.

"I'll have you back at the Circle Ritz by two-thirty."

They passed through the other dining rooms, now cleared and deserted. Matt was impressed. He and Molina were the last to leave, but the staff bowed and nodded, as if they were royalty.

"Influence," Molina said proudly, her face showing the serene placidity of a Madonna's. A mellow Madonna's.

"Ah," Matt said as their footsteps echoed on the parking lot asphalt.

"Speak up."

"I don't think you should drive me home."

Molina stopped, thrust her hands in her pockets, frowned. "Why not?"

Matt plucked the car keys from her left hand.

"Because I don't think you should drive."

"Agh! Don't be ridiculous. I can drive. It's just a few blocks."

"I don't think so." He'd barely consumed one full margarita.

She'd had three-something. She was a tall woman, but not that tall.

"I can drive! It's an emotional letdown, not a chemical one. My blood alcohol level is barely .

. . point oh-oh . . . nothing. Well below the legal limit. Trust me, I know these things."

"I don't think you should drive. It doesn't matter what level you test at; it matters that if you should happen to be stopped, a cop would have to test you. I'll drive."

She folded her arms and glared at him. "You are such a goody two-shoes."

"Hey. You wanted to celebrate your cornering the Mystifying Max. You have. Maybe you should celebrate a little longer and leave the driving up to us."

"Us?"

"The two of me in your view."

"Funny. My focus is perfect. I could hit a target at least in the torso, if not the heart."

"Most encouraging. But I'm driving, or I'm not going anywhere. And if you try to leave alone, I'll call the police."

She suddenly conceded and walked to the passenger side of the Toyota. "If you have to be in control of something tonight, I guess it can be me."

The jibe hit home, but he just unlocked the car door and sprung the passenger lock. He knew better than to open the door for her. "I guess everything's chemical," Matt said as she got in.

"Get over it."

She took a cue from one of her suspects and refused to answer.