Carole Douglas - Cat in a Zebra Zoot Suit

“So,” said Electra a while later, nibbling on a Pecan Sandie, “when you’re gone, I’ll have Ernesto and some other Fontana boys over for lunch and a security evaluation. With particular attention paid to your unit.”

“The Fontana brothers are doing private security now?”

“Honey, if you are on their A list, the Fontana boys will do anything to help you out. Although, if Max still lived here, it’d be even safer.”

“I’m not so sure.” Temple frowned. “There’s only so much you can do with an old building like this,” she added. “All these cute balconies are a liability. That’s how my would-be thief got in.”

“What about that crazy stalker who was bedeviling you all?”

Temple shook her head. “Can’t be her. Last I’ve heard, she was going so far away she’s practically off the planet.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Sorry? Electra, why?”

The landlady made a sheepish face. “She’d be a good scapegoat for some recent disturbing events. Now I really have to worry about the locals. I didn’t want to alarm the tenants, but the Fontana boys were going to upgrade security here before your break-in last night. There’s been some exterior vandalism.”

“Here?” Temple looked over her shoulder and walked toward the balcony to view the residents’ parking lot below. “On cars, or what? Matt’s Jag and my Miata might be tempting targets. Vandals are usually jealous and mean.”

“Oh, the cars. Another thing to worry about. I’ll have Ernesto see to that too.”

“Where else would the vandalism happen?”

“If you want to take a stroll, I’ll show you.”

Her appetite dampened, Electra put down her half-eaten cookie, although Temple had not yet snagged a one, and they left their coffee mugs cooling on the kitchen counter. Temple was getting alarmed again. She grabbed her tote bag on the way out, for the keys and cell phone inside.

They only had to go down a floor in the tiny elevator. Once in the charming but small foyer, Electra turned right into a part of the building Temple rarely visited.

“The wedding chapel hasn’t been harmed?” she asked, concerned. Matt’s mother had recently been married there and it was on Temple’s long list of possible wedding sites.

When Electra unlocked the door, they entered, then stopped. The space was airy and bright, a bower of green and gold with rows of white pews inhabited here and there by a gentle company of mute attendees. Temple picked out her favorite soft sculpture figures, elegantly hatted ladies with painted cloth features tricked out in estate sale clothing, so many decades were represented. The gentlemen were fewer, and not as colorfully attired. Of course, a jumpsuited Elvis was the glittering exception. She also glanced at the Lowery organ, where her then brand-new neighbor, Matt Devine, had played an unexpected wedding march, a Bob Dylan song.

“It’s strange,” Electra said, her fond glance on the organ too. “Strange that we never suspected the new tenant, who could play a wedding march from memory and was so at home at a chapel organ keyboard, was a former clergyman.”

“‘Love Minus Zero—No Limit’,” Temple said, smiling.

“What?”

“That’s the title of the song he played that day.”

“What on earth does it mean?”

“Unconditional love, I think. Look up the lyrics online. They’re another side of Bob Dylan. A classic love song.”

“That’s more my generation than yours, dear. I hope Matt will find someone else to play it when you two get married here.”

Temple opened her mouth, but Electra forestalled her. “I know, I know. You both have families likely to pressure you about where you should get married, but I hope I’m family enough to be in the running.”

“You sure are.” Temple gave her another hug. She was beginning to realize she’d found a mother figure in her home away from home. “I may be in desperate need of neutral ground on that issue.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe the decision will be clearer after my trip north.”

“But you and Matt are definitely getting married?”

“Definitely, finally, and sincerely getting married.” Temple felt a familiar velvet brush on her bare calves and looked down.

Mr. Slugabed had roused himself to join them.

“Where’d Louie come from?” Temple said, laughing.

“Oh, he’s a fast one, getting down here ahead of us. He often sleeps in the pews,” Electra said. “Usually in Elvis’s lap. He likes to commune with the King.”

“Maybe, but he probably showed up now because he’s angling for a replay of his earlier starring role here. Ring bearer for Matt’s mother’s wedding.”

“He was so cute in his white bow tie,” Electra reminisced, “with the ring box dangling from it.”

Temple had noticed that the word “cute” was as annoying to Louie as to her. Being little didn’t mean one couldn’t be smart and, when occasion called, fierce.

Louie was not shy of the spotlight. All cats gravitated to basking in natural or artificial rays. But now he gave a restless merow and moved away.

“So,” Temple asked her landlady, “everything looks great here. What’s the vandalism?”

“Just you wait.”

Electra led Temple, again joined by Louie, where Temple at least had never gone before. They walked through the chapel and out to the exterior entrance, which featured a drive-by window for the “marry in haste” crowd and parking for those who opted for more ceremony inside.

“How gorgeous. I’ve never driven around to this side,” Temple said. “I love the twin shirred chiffon awnings for both the drive-up and walk-in areas. Flamingo instead of pale pink. Classy and kicky at the same time. You’re a savvy marketer, Electra.”

“And the awnings are made of microfiber fabric, so they’re easy to clean.” Her tone flattened. “Not so much now.”

Temple looked closer, then walked under an arched awning. Black spray-painted graffiti of crude, even x-rated, language covered the interior.

“How horrible! Luckily,” Temple added, looking for an upside and finding a literal one, “people in love tend to gaze at each other, instead of up at the undersides of awnings.”

“Still, Miss Optimist, this will take a cleaning service to eradicate,” Electra said. “I used the garden hose to lighten the stuff on the walls.”

Louie had leaped atop a long, low concrete planter box, his head bowed to sniff the dirt. The lumpy, empty dirt. Temple looked at Electra.

She nodded. “Yup. The flowering plants were ripped out. And someone’s taken a hammer to the decorative friezes.”

Now that Temple looked more intently, she spotted scattered stone chips, evidence that Electra had cleared out a big mess. “Who would do this and why?”

Electra sighed and nodded to the street. “If you take a drive about a hundred yards down, you’ll find a big empty building with a sign almost as big. A new business is going in.”

“Huh.” Temple was surprised. “This is an old strip shopping neighborhood, pretty isolated, but the Strip is always reaching out tendrils to new land like an octopus. Maybe some Strip enterprises got the zoning changed for future expansion. That can’t be all bad.”

“Your optimism is no help to the Lovers’ Knot. The news is all bad.”

“And—?”

“It’s an offshoot business of Pornucopia, an Adult Wearhouse,” Electra intoned.

“A porn shop?”

“A porn department store with a movie balcony. Yes. So I naturally looked up a what new business they were spinning off in the neighborhood. And now I’m considering a neighborhood protest. Whoever owns that operation does not play nice.”