Carole Douglas - Cat in a Zebra Zoot Suit

“ Hmpfft . Besides the flash on her ring finger that Mr. Matt gave her, she has not much in the way of fine jewelry to interest a thief.”

“Or…” Here I pause, to build suspense. It does not work.

Louise merely rolls her eyes and yawns. “Senior moment, Daddy dude?”

“No! Or…someone is after the secret map of Vegas Miss Temple put together for where Miss Kitty’s secret stash of big-time money and guns for the IRA might be hidden in town, or hunting remnants of the Synth conspiracy to continue their aim to stage the Vegas heist of heists.”

Miss Midnight Louise is still yawning. “Those scheming magicians are dead or scattered. Nobody who ever looked for that ‘buried treasure’ saw more trace of it than a rat-chewed, crumpled bearer bond. The underground tunnels between the Crystal Phoenix, Neon Nightmare nightclub, and the Fontana brothers’ Gangsters hotel have now been remodeled into entertainment entities so popular and crowded you could not hide a mouse whisker in there.”

“Still, there is the Ophiuchus connection between several of the deaths our associates have investigated.”

“Ophiuchus is a constellation of a man battling an improbably big serpent. The ancient myth-tellers and modern comics purveyors are fond of that notion. I know this ‘forgotten thirteenth sign of the Zodiac’ appeals to conspiracy nuts, like those UFO freaks that recently descended on the city. I would hope that superior and sensible species like ours are not so gullible as the human one. If one cannot see, hear, or eat it, it is likely to be a hallucination.”

Well, I have been told off! I guess I will not remind Louise that a drawing of Ophiuchus was found only a couple of weeks ago in an old lockbox the late Mr. Clifford Effinger left with Mr. Matt’s mother in Chicago. Vegas is as full of lost treasure tales as Oak Island is on cable TV. At least Vegas has had seventy years of mob shenanigans to make it a more likely spot for harboring such mythical things.

“Very well, Louise,” I say. “I will keep an eye and ear on Miss Temple. You will have to tail Mr. Matt.”

She sighs. “The hours are lousy and it is a long midnight trek back and forth from his radio station, but the Jaguar has a splendid sound system, at least. I will have to monitor his show. His call-ins do nothing but caterwaul about their personal woes. And then I must put in a full day as Crystal Phoenix house detective. It will be a taxing, boring assignment, but someone must do it, and you cannot be in two places at one time.”

“Yet,” I say. “You are whining like a Weimaraner dog. Except for the occasional intruder, I predict it will be a snoozer around the Circle Ritz too. I must agree that Mr. Max and Miss Kitty enlivened the neighborhood a good deal.”

4

Off-Base

“I come bearing Pecan Sandies,” Electra told Temple the next morning when her summons on the unit doorbell was answered. “If you have the coffee.”

“I love Pecan Sandies. Stand and deliver.”

Electra presented the box and followed Temple into the kitchen. The arched white ceilings reflected the sun rays flooding in from the balcony as Temple poured a stream of dark-chocolate-rich coffee into two mugs.

“ Ooh .” Electra pored over a selection of individual flavored creamers while Temple arranged the cookies onto a plate.

“What can I do for you?” Temple asked after their mini-feast had been transferred to the living room coffee table.

“Get outa town fast,” Electra said in a blissful cookie-crunching mumble.

“Which I’m planning on doing as of now.” Temple sipped a double dose of caramel mocha coffee, then leaned forward to add yet another creamer. “Matt and I are flying to the Twin Cities ASAP. He’s a major frequent flyer because of his talk-show guest appearances in Chicago, so he got tickets for Saturday morning.”

“And a lucky thing.” Electra had concentrated on the cookies first and was shaking more out of the box onto the plate. “Is Matt beside himself because of last night?”

“He wasn’t pleased that some clumsy ninja broke in. The police patrol car didn’t find anyone suspicious lurking in the neighborhood. We weren’t planning to move in together until we got married, but—”

“Excuse me, dear. You know I never pry…” Electra’s be-ringed right hand, free of cookie crumbs, patted her temporary hair-coloring choice du jour, magenta and purple. Electra used her snow-white hair as a canvas, and her mode was avant-garde.

Temple politely didn’t contradict her.

“But…” Electra went on. “Matt doesn’t, er, cohabit here nights, does he? I mean, we all know these are modern times. And he is right above you every night. Maybe I should rephrase that.”

“You know we’d talked about Matt buying his unit and combining it with mine.”

“I’m not averse to a two-story unit, but I don’t understand what keeps you two kids living like a couple in a fifties sitcom.”

“Matt is too considerate to wake me up when he gets home from his midnight gig at WCOO .”

“‘Considerate’?” Electra repeated. She cocked a gray eyebrow. “Oh, wait. I suppose Max’s California king-size bed might have issues for him.”

Temple glanced through the bedroom’s open door. “It certainly doesn’t for Midnight Louie.”

Electra half-rose from her chair to peer in. Temple had spotted Louie’s four limbs and signature tail sprawled like a big furry Rorschach blot on the zebra-pattern comforter with red piping.

Electra sat back to sip coffee. “You’re not taking Louie with you to Minnesota? Or is he still snubbing your new carrier?”

Temple glanced at the red-lined, zebra-striped canvas cat carrier with its door open like a protruding tongue. Inside lounged catnip mice and other goodies. “So far he’s boycotting his new travel carrier. I’d hoped the zebra pattern would remind him of his favorite snoozing spot, but you know cats.”

“Contrary,” Electra said, nodding.

“I did just get something amazing for the trip, and I’ll wear it whether Louie and his new carrier are on board, literally. Wanta see it?”

Electra eyed the unlabeled shopping bag leaning against the sofa. “I’m always ready to be amazed by your doings, dear.”

The rattling of the paper bag brought Louie racing in from the bedroom to investigate.

Some people, like magicians, were good at pulling amazing things out of hats, but Temple excelled at pulling amazing hats out of bags. Now she had an audience of two for her latest score at her fave vintage shop, Leopard Lady, only it was a horse of a different color.

Her landlady, Electra Lark, perched on one arm of her off-white living room sofa. Midnight Louie had jumped up to pose on the other arm. Both stared unblinking at what Temple whisked out of the bag.

“ Voila !”

“Oh my word,” Electra said. “In my wild youth I had a hat just like that in leopard print. Fuzzy like real fur too.”

“This is definitely fabric, and not politically incorrect hide.” Temple lifted the zebra-print pillbox hat atop her wavy cascade of red-gold hair.

“A pillbox hat,” Electra mused. “Like Jackie Kennedy wore. We smart young things all had to have one in my day, with a “birdcage” veil, no less. Women were still slaves to fashion, and it was not a casual age.”