Carole Douglas - Cat in a Midnight Choir

“I’m sorry, Temple.” Max came to put his arms around her, creating a living ring. “I don’t much like Molina having custody of that ring either. But it was lost weeks ago. We have to give it up.”

“It’s so beautiful, and it was from Tiffany’s.”

Max embrace hardened. “How did you know that?”

“Molina found out.”

“She is starting to really irritate me.”

“It’s mutual, and don’t you forget it. I reminded her that the ring was taken by that Shangri-La onstage at the Opium Den, in front of all of us, you, Matt, me, Molina. How can she suspect you of getting it back and then being stupid enough to drop it on a murder scene?”

“I got you and Louie back from the abductors, didn’t I?” Max pulled away and retreated to the buttress of the refrigerator door, this time as if he needed the support. “Maybe Molina figured I found the ring during my search of the magical chambers, and palmed it. Then I decided it wasn’t safe to give it back to you, so I took it along on one of my stalking expeditions and left it as a tip for a beat cop.”

“Max, don’t joke. She’s dead serious. And it does look like some body wants to implicate you in these murders. Maybe it’s the Synth. Maybe that book you’re writing on Gandolph is making them nervous. Whoever, it doesn’t matter. Molina thinks she’s got a hold of another coffin nail for you.”

“Why’d she show it to you now?”

“Because she’s convinced, she wants to convince me, that you’re a monstrous criminal I should turn in to my nearest precinct house. She said you could be going down for something big, and that I could be a witness, or an accessory.”

“What did you say?”

Temple had to work on finishing her Dreamsicle, which had melted like syrupy emotions while she’d been talking. It was hard to discuss serious issues with ice cream in your mouth. Disposing of the treat gave her time to notice that Max’s insouciant attitude, both physical and mental, overlaid an uncharacteristic edginess.

He showed the strain, a magician’s worst enemy.

“Is there something I should know?” she asked.

“There are a lot of things you should know, that I can’t tell you.” He pushed off from the refrigerator door’s icy steel support, looking gaunt and haunted under the unforgiving overhead fluorescent light.

“Undercover work,” he said, “which I did a lot of for a long time in a good cause, mostly requires keeping an ungodly amount of balls in the air. You deceive by telling the truth, or by telling slices of the truth to a lot of people, like doling out a piece of pie that’s too rich for human consumption.”

“I guess the food analogy fits a kitchen,” she noted.

“Spy work is all oblique, all analogies. Yet there is a simple straight-forward rule underlying the cut corners and endless angles. You must always respect your sources and their confidences, or the whole thing falls apart. That means you know pieces of everybody else’s truth, but can never tell the whole truth. You tell lies — not to deceive, but to protect the truth that some people have the courage to tell. You must know more than any one of them. You must see the big picture, and prevent them from seeing it, or they will fall into it and die. And it will be your fault.”

“You’re saying you have to lie to protect people.”

Max nodded. “From others. From themselves.”

“But —”

Max leaned forward to collect the empty wooden stick from her and throw it in the trash can hidden behind an island cupboard. He waited for her to finish her thought.

“But…you’re talking about professional espionage. Telling lies not to deceive but to protect people: isn’t that where people go wrong in their personal lives?”

“Not so much committing untruth, but neglecting to mention truth, I think.”

“You know what I think?”

He smiled. “No. That’s what I like about you. I get to find out.”

“I think you and Molina both know something that you don’t dare tell anybody else, but that makes you mortal enemies.”

Max folded his arms. “That’s possible.”

“Sure, play Mr. Stone Face. She does the same thing. Just glowers and intones warnings like a witch from Macbeth , but she won’t come out and say diddly!”

Max was laughing. “A witch from Macbeth . I like that.”

“Good, because you’re Macbeth, trying to decide which way to jump.”

“I’m not contemplating killing anyone.”

“No, you want to stop the killing. That’s always been your problem. Most people are happy to get a good job and retire with a gold watch, although yours probably would be a Patek Philippe. You want to end the Irish Troubles and put your dead cousin to rest.”

“Sean will never rest.”

“He will, but you won’t. Max, being secretive about what you really do, your past, is hurting you with Molina. This could get serious. She could arrest you, or worse, shoot you. If you would only tell her a little —”

“She wouldn’t believe it. She’s made a hobby out of not believing me, and telling her a little could hurt a lot of people.”

“She’s in law enforcement, I can’t believe she’d be so blind —”

“Believe it!”

Temple stiffened to encounter the stainless steel in Max’s voice, an ungiving intensity she’d never heard before.

“Do you realize what you’re doing, Temple? You’re taking Molina at face value. Because she’s a woman, a policewoman, because she has a career in law enforcement, you assume she’s straight. You assume she doesn’t have a personal agenda. You assume she’s honest.”

“Well, she acts annoyingly self-righteous. Are you saying Molina might be crooked?”

“She might have agendas that have nothing to do with the law or her job. I’m saying she might be human, and if she’s human, she might go very wrong.”

Temple leaned against the island’s hard granite edge, feeling it dig into her back. It was straighter than a stone ruler, and could not lie.

People were another matter.

“You’re right, Max. Ever since Molina came charging at me after you vanished, nagging, worrying, digging, like an annoying dog after a bone — you’re right, I assumed that all she wanted was justice. She might be misinformed, or, in your case, under informed, but she really just wanted to catch criminals. You’re saying she has a special interest in pinning these vague crimes on you. It isn’t just dogged police work, it’s…obsession? Self-protection?”

“I’m saying if someone is persistently wearing blinders, maybe he, or she, has something to hide from herself. And people with something to hide from themselves are very dangerous.”

Temple tried to rearrange the chessboard in her mind. Molina, the Red Queen, say. Not just legal authority but a human being with human failings. Blind to any but one view of Max, because that supported an illusion she needed to maintain, no matter what.

“I wish I could, Temple,” Max said softly, watching her think, watching her rearrange her assumptions. His voice was sad and tender.

“Could what?”

“Could tell you the whole truth. But I love you too much to risk it. I’ll have to risk you finding out half-truths from everybody else and turning against me. It’s just the way it is.

“I can tell you this. I spent more than ten years of my life worrying about danger that might befall strangers. Now, since I came to Vegas with you, it’s become personal. I don’t worry about strangers anymore. I’m cured of that delusion. Now I’m like everybody else who can’t do anything at all about fate, and life, and death. Now I worry about the people I know.”

“People?”