Unknown - Cat_In_A_Hot_Pink_Pursuit

“All good Irish-Catholic given names,” Matt said, savoring the effect.

“Like Matthias,” she lashed back.

“Not particularly Irish Catholic. Look, I know this is serious, but I also think you’re seriously hung up on Max Kinsella. He’s not the father of your child, and that’s who’s really got you riled.”

She huffed out a sigh, part anger, and part exasperation. “You’re right about that. Screw Max Kinsella. He’s off my most-wanted list. It’s this other guy.”

“You mentioned him to me a long while back. The one you were living with in L.A. who got you into that ethical corner of unwanted pregnancy. To abort or not to abort. Didn’t you think he’d pushed a pin through your diaphragm?”

“I can’t believe I’m sitting here discussing this in depth with a priest.”

“What do you think I did all those years of being a priest? Discussed the unthinkable with the unwilling. I’ve heard it all.”

“But you haven’t lived it all.”

“No. That’s my weakness.”

“What’s mine?”

“You think you’ve lived it all. So this guy is here in town now.”

“Worse. He’s finally put two and two together. He realizes I live and work here. Next thing, he’ll find out about Mariah. Your little friend is pretty helpful in that quarter.”

“Temple? How so?”

“She’s hooked up with him somehow. She fairly reveled in having him pretend to nab a perp in my last case. I admit I was on her about Kinsella but that’s no reason to sell a thirteen-year-old down the river.”

“Wait a minute. Temple wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t know this guy is Mariah’s father.”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“No. The time you mentioned it to me, he didn’t have a name, much less a local mailing address. I’d have never told Temple anything about it. That was … confidential.”

“Confessionally secret?”

“Not technically, but as far as I was concerned. I’d virtually forgotten about it. Believe me, Carmen. No one knows but you and me, and I’m not talking. Ever. Not even to you if you want it that way.”

She took a deep breath, leaned back in her chair, rubbed a hand over her forehead, disarranging her Dutch-cut bangs.

“Never ever?”

“Never ever.”

“Then do you think I have to tell Mariah about her so-called father, or vice versa? Can’t he just go away?”

“What do you think?”

She paused to do just that. “There’s unfinished business. He won’t go away, now that he’s found me, because I went away from him all those years ago.”

“I can’t believe Temple would champion him.”

“I rode her about Kinsella for over a year. I imagine it’s sweet revenge.”

“Temple isn’t vengeful.”

“What you know about women I could put in a thimble.”

“Do you sew? Not very useful then. So what are you asking me?”

“Do I need to let Mariah know about him before he finds out about her and tells her himself?”

Matt didn’t hesitate a moment. “If there’s the danger of the latter, yes.”

“That is not what I wanted to hear.”

“Yes, it is. You wanted to hear the truth from an uninvolved person. And you did.”

“You’re uninvolved?”

“Pretty much.”

“What does that make you, then?”

“In worse shape than you are. Oughta be some comfort.”

She smiled and scratched her neck. “Actually, it is.”

Matt insisted on helping with the cleanup, which mostly involved soaking the dishes in one side of the sink while Tabitha patted the bubbles.

“You remember seeing me wear a blue velvet dress at the Blue Dahlia,” Carmen asked out of the … well, blue.

“No. I remember a ruby-purple one. And black. But not blue.”

“I’ve got one in my closet and can’t ever remember wearing it, much less buying it.”

“You don’t wear them that often, do you? Especially lately.”

“That a hint that I oughta climb back onto that stool and sing?”

“It must be hard to keep your voice up if you don’t exercise it regularly.”

“True.”

The doorbell rang, catching them both with hands in soapy water.

Carmen tossed Matt a towel after she’d blotted her palms, and headed for the front door with raised eyebrows, obviously not expecting company.

Matt heard voices from the living room. The other one was male so he ambled out there, just in case, although Molina was a match for most men on the planet.

A guy about his size in a black jeans jacket was just inside the door, talking faster than a Fuller Brush man.

Seeing Matt stopped him dead. “You’ve got company, sorry. I thought you wanted these documents right away.”

“Tomorrow at work would have done,” Carmen was saying coolly, but her manner was edgy.

The guy was one of those dirty blonds whose face was all angles sharp enough to cut you. You could see him as the scrappy kind of kid who always got into playground fights. Tough in an oddly admirable way. He seemed too lean and hungry to be a beat cop: those guys tended to have sloppy beer bellies and neat mustaches, and the deceptively laidback attitudes of those who know they’re in authority.

In the ensuing silence, Carmen did introduction duties, clearly loathing every word.

“Larry Paddock, Matt Devine.” She emphatically avoided saying what either of them was.

Paddock nodded, Matt nodded back.

Matt was the guy with chili powder on his breath, so Paddock had to leave.

He ducked his head and backed out, looking none too pleased.

Carmen put the small manila envelope, unopened, on the TV cabinet. “This job never leaves you alone.” Larry Paddock’s drive-by visit had broken the off-hours mood.

Matt fished for the car keys in his pocket, making leaving noises himself.

“Don’t rush off:’ she said, “right after I’ve drafted you for manual labor.”

Did she think Paddock might be waiting for him to go?

So he settled on the living room sofa and accepted a tiny glass of Tia Maria liqueur and commented on the cats until her unexpected visitor was long gone enough so he could go too.

The night outside was as warm as a sauna. Larry, he thought later. New one. Matt got in the Crossfire, sitting for a moment to lower the window for some breeze—now they had a convertible version out—and to savor the newness of everything, the new-car leather scent, the dramatically night-lit dashboard, before starting the engine. New Car Whine.

Carmen came running out of the house, her bare feet slapping concrete, and reached him before he could shift into reverse.

“Matt! Can you come back in for a moment?”

“What for?” Trust an ex-priest, on seeing a woman run after him, to know it was for some reason quite impersonal.

“To find out if I’m going freaking crazy or not.”

Chapter 15

Sweet Tooth

Matt followed Carmen back into her house.

By the time he caught up with her, she was pacing back and forth in the tiny fifties foyer like a tiger in a rabbit cage.

“I can’t believe it. While we were here talking! It had to be.”

“What?”

“You have to see it. Come on.”

He followed her through the living room and down the long narrow hall. Most of Las Vegas’s older homes were one-story and built like rat mazes. What kept the sun out also kept the interiors dark and cramped. Matt had never been more appreciative of the Circle Ritz’s round construction style. There, every unit had an outside wall of windows.

Matt was in her bedroom before he had time to think what a leap in intimacy that involved. He’d never been in any woman’s bedroom before, except a guest room in a convent, which hardly counted. And Temple’s. But only in passing.