Cat In A Leopard Spot

Chapter 3

News Flush

There is nothing more boring than old news. Unless it is a group of people going gaga over old news as if it were new news.

Now I am subjected to the old “three’s a crowd” situation in my own living room.

Not only am I crowded on my sofa by Miss Electra Lark’s encroaching muumuu, but they nose me out of my morning peek at the paper too.

Much ado about nada. Nothing. Like they did not know (or could not guess in Miss Electra Lark’s instance) that the Mystifying Max had probably gone AWOL all those months ago because of death threats.

My Miss Temple surely knows that, as certainly as her name is Temple Barr and she is the most devoted roommate a guy of my propensities could have, except for a troubling tendency for getting involved with dudes of her own species when she should be concentrating on dudes of my species, specifically me.

It is true that, like fickle people everywhere, this threesome soon bustles off on their daily duties: Miss Electra Lark to tend to affairs at the Circle Ritz condominium and apartments, Mr. Matt Devine to do the sensible thing and go back to bed, as his evening shift did not end until early in the morning; Miss Temple to race over to the Crystal Phoenix Hotel and Casino to ready every last detail for the grand opening of its newest attractions. One of its less advertised attractions is likely to be the Mystifying Max, whom I suspect she will meet en route in hopes no one will be any the wiser. Except me, of course, who is the original Wise Guy.

So there I am left alone in the wink of an eyeball, with the newspaper to myself, not to mention three mugs with congealing coffee rings in their bottoms, and not a drop of cream, or even skim milk, in sight.

I do not even have to stretch too far to pull the disheveled pages toward me. I do so hate to be the last to get to the morning paper and find it shopworn.

I use my built-in clippers to scratch out the desired article, the column in which the fateful mention of death threats was made.

Are any of my erstwhile companions aware that I have been drugged, caged, and transported against my will time and again? That I have so many death threats hanging over my head they would weigh as much as a showgirl’s headdress at the Rio?

No, no one worries about Midnight Louie except Midnight Louie.

So. The Cloaked Conjuror is working with a new cat. That is the part of the article that perked my ear, naturally, since it had to do with matters closer to home. Could the sinister Hyacinth be moving her act to another magician? That Siamese siren has a habit of showing up on the scene of the crime, including the murder at TitaniCon only a few days ago.

Time for me to find out. And this time I am not going to beard this lioness in her den alone. This time I am going to bring some muscle. To catch a thief, use a thief. To trap a tricky dame, use a tricky dame.

Now, let me see…where would a wise-guy PI like me find one of those?