Cat On A Hyacinth Hunt

Chapter 8

Mr. Mystery

"You look like hell," he said.

"Happy New Year to you too."

"Come on. Let's wash off that unhappy face."

Max boosted her onto the pedestal sink's generous edge, then opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out the cotton pads and makeup remover.

When she'd patted on the concealing makeup, Temple had thought of how uncomfortable it would be to rub off, but Max, veteran of greasy stage pancake that he was, whisked it off with featherweight strokes.

"So." He ran warm water over a washcloth in the sink. "How did he take it?"

"I can't believe you were sitting here waiting up for me like an overprotective parent. What if he had come in for more than a quick look around? And where were you then anyway?"

"Outside. Prepared to make like a human fly if he checked out the patio. You're avoiding the question. Why would he come in if you told him that you're ..." Max swathed her face in the warm washcloth.

"That I'm what?" she asked through the muffling terry cloth.

"How can I put it so you won't take offense?"

Temple pushed the washcloth away. "You can't."

Max grinned. "Never could. How did you put it?"

"I didn't, exactly."

Max backed away from her and leaned against the opposite wall, a study in black-clad disappointment on washroom-white tile. Temple used to take his all-black attire for Magician Chic; she suddenly realized it was Sable Second-story Man.

"My masquerade didn't work, Max. So we got into the Effinger incident instead. Telling Matt that finally finding his stepfather had made me into a target was bad enough; I didn't see any way to add on, 'Oh, by the way, Max and I did the wild thing in New York and I can't talk to you any more.' "

"You're just avoiding the inevitable, and insulting us both."

"I know. But it feels like I'm sparing somebody's feelings, like mine."

Max pushed off the wall, relaxed again. He dabbed at her cheek with the lukewarm washcloth.

"I think you'll like the contact lenses, but why did you chicken out on getting a wild and crazy color?"

"Don't be so sure I did. These are temporaries while I'm waiting for the prescription."

Max looked intently into her eyes; she wasn't getting sleepy. He took her hands, held them up like Exhibit A on the strong tented surface of his fingertips. The ring he had given her was missing.

"Temple. I know you wouldn't be waffling on telling Devine the truth if you didn't have deep feelings for him. I'm not putting a name on them, but they're there, and they won't get out of our way until you tell him that we're together again."

"But are we? One night doth not a relationship make. Or mend."

Max reached behind her neck to undo the tiny black hook at the neckline, then ran the back zipper open to her tailbone, his fingers tracing the route with the same featherweight touch.

"Why don't you slip into something comfortable and sleep on it? Tomorrow evening, when you've had a chance to rest up and concoct a new set of waffles, I'll pick you up so you can come on over to my place," he whispered into her ear in a bedroom voice. "I could use an amateur sleuth and an editor in the worst way."

Then he grinned and left her sitting on the sink to jump down on her own.

She followed him as far as the bedroom door, shouting after him as he vanished onto his favorite exit, the patio.

"Max, you want to lure me over to your place for editorial services?"

He didn't bother answering, so she shut the door, pointedly, and did as he suggested.

Amateur sleuthing at the former Orson Welles house? Editing? Curiosity killed the cat, and apparently it had driven Louie out for the night as well.

Temple felt relieved to drop her glittering carapace of a dress and peel off the concealing pantyhose. She actually felt relieved to be alone at last, bereft of all masculine company, human or feline, passionate or purely platonic.

Sometimes you, yourself and I were all the company one could stand.