Carole douglas - Cat on a Hyacinth Hunt

"They're just alley cats."

"The best kind."

She nodded. "I'd better put the coffee on for Mom."

Matt blinked. Did "Mom" often come in late and a little tiddly?

"She's a sleepyhead in the mornings," Mariah said importantly. "I have to get her going for her job. It's important."

"Yes, I know."

"And I have to go to school." Said with a true martyr's tone. "I get to drink hot cocoa in winter. Instant, though. We don't have much time around here."

"I can see that. Especially with those cats."

Mariah giggled. "Do you always sleep in your clothes?"

"No. But I'm not staying very long. Where's the cocoa? I'll make it."

"Men don't make anything."

"Some can. A little."

"Well, don't spill the hot water on the floor. The cats run through it and dump their food and we end up with such a mess."

Matt was very, very careful with the hot water.

*****************

Molina drove him home after Mariah had left for school in her navy plaid uniform.

She wore sunglasses and cleared her throat a lot.

"I'm sorry I left you high and dry," she said after pulling up in front of the Circle Ritz.

"It's fine."

"Those cats are hellions."

"They're kittens."

"Mariah is a handful."

"She's a kid."

Molina pushed up her sunglasses into the headband position.

Her eyes were clear, blue and rueful. "You swim." It was a statement not a question. She had seen him in the Circle Ritz pool.

"Yeah."

Molina looked through the windshield, down the street. "I... promised Mariah I'd take her to Wet and Wild this summer. In a couple months. It's closed until then."

"Yeah?"

"I don't swim."

"You don't swim?"

"I didn't exactly grow up in a neighborhood with swimming pools on every block. Not in East L.A."

Matt saw that East L.A. must have been a lot like South Chicago. "I didn't either. But the high schools had swim teams, and the nearby Catholic college had a pool."

"In Chicago they had pools. Guess you Anglos get everything."

Matt shrugged.

"So. Would you go with us? I can't take her on those crazy, zigzag tubes."

"I guess I could."

She sighed. "Then I'll let you know when this adjunct of hell opens for the summer. Got to run."

He got the hint and exited poste haste.

Electra Lark was waiting to greet him at the gate to the Circle Ritz.

Chapter 50

Summit Conference

Temple felt like a neutral country hosting a summit conference.

Poor little Switzerland. So many depending on so little for so much.

Max sprawled on the love seat, his arms and knees spread, claiming every inch of it.

Louie squatted on the coffee table, four paws tucked beneath him, chin pulled into his chest, eyes narrowed to fierce feline slits both horizontal and vertical.

But the territorial dispute in question was not taking place here; Max and Louie were actually getting along for the moment.

It was as if the cat had finally given the magician, if not the man, his due, and conceded Max's vital role in freeing Louie's royal hide from duress vile. Louie's sudden thaw toward Max was about two whiskers this side of severe suspicion.

"You're running around like a snail-darter," Max said to Temple.

"Don't worry about our fierce aspects. Louie and I won't bite."

"I know. It's just that Matt's making a big concession. I'd promised him I wouldn't tell anyone."

Temple turned to give Max, and Louie, the full impact of her gaze. Matt was coming down, into their hostile territory, at her behest. He and Max were to be on their best behavior.

Max leaned forward on the sofa, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I appreciate his help. I really do."

"Just make sure Matt knows that. This is . . . very private to him. I know he thinks I've betrayed him."

"And what do you think?"

"I think . . . it's time you two shared what you know, at least. I think it's dangerous to us all to keep secrets from each other."

"Some secrets," Max iterated.

"Some secrets," Temple agreed.

But she wrung her hands while she was waiting, and then realized the gesture would remind Max (and Matt and herself) of her missing ring, and then of that dreadful magic show....

Matt knocked, softly.

Temple started and dashed for the door.

"Hi."

He was already looking beyond her, trying to measure the opposition. Why did it have to be like this?

"Come in. Sit down. On the . . . side chair."

He did so, as stiff as the white roll of paper he balanced between his fingertips.

Temple stood before them, between them, like a ringmaster.

You're probably all wondering why I've gathered you together. . . .

"Matt. Max." Countrymen. "I thought it was time, given what happened ... to me ... at the magic show ... "--blatant appeal for sympathy . . . Lend me your ears.

"Lieutenant Molina--" It was fascinating to read the very different expressions on the two men's faces as she invoked that name. "Lieutenant Molina was looking for someone in the theater that night that she never found, and it wasn't Max."

Max smiled; Matt didn't.

"We agree that no one here wants Molina to be the first to share our secrets. So ... I think it's important that Max see this woman who attacked Matt. Maybe he can shed some light--

"Oh, God, Temple," Matt said, interrupting. "If it'll stop this agonizingly roundabout introduction to why and wherefore, I'll show him my high school photograph."

Max laughed like a Marx brother. "Amen. Let me see that thing."

Matt handed over the rolled sketch that was as long and thick as a thigh bone.

Max unfurled it, gingerly. And then his face became very still.

"What did she call herself?"

"Kitty O'Connor."

"Any clue to why she was approaching you?"

"I was there?"

"You were there." Max nodded grimly. "So was I."

He stood up, his long arms holding the sketch full width as he stared at the face etched upon it.

"Max?" Temple no longer felt her theatrics had been uncalled for, that they were mere nerves. "What is it?"

He smiled, briefly. His skin looked whiter than milk against the black satin of his hair. He looked like a man from an ancient ballad, pale, filled with dread, and with the name of such a song he answered her.

"La belle dame sans merci."

"The beautiful woman without mercy," Matt translated, perhaps for Louie's sake. "I'll second that. How do you know her?"

Max looked up at Matt, as if their common misfortune earned Matt his respect at last.

"She cut me first, almost twenty years ago."

"Cut you? Max?" Temple wanted to come closer, but couldn't. Something about Max forbade approach.

"Not literally. I wish she had." He glanced at Matt. "I'd wear your scar for a thousand years rather than the one she gave me for seventeen, and counting. My cousin's life."

"Oh, no! Not... Sean?" Temple said, remembering the horrible incident Max had related a few weeks before, and again recently.

"Thanks for remembering his name." Max quirked her a smile. "The last thing I gave Sean to remember was watching me go off with Kathleen. That's what she called herself then. It was so simple. Two American boys visiting a charismatic homeland, an ancient land with an ancient wrong riding it. Teenagers. Think they're immortal but they're afraid they won't get a chance to ensure that soon enough. So, a double flirtation, with sex and death. A boyish competition.

Who'd get laid first. Who'd shoot a gun first. Same, stupid thing, isn't it? Nothing of the rational human in it, just. . . testosterone and territory."

Matt was looking serious, but rather confused.

"You need to tell him what happened," Temple told Max. "Or would you like me to do it?"