Cat On A Hyacinth Hunt

Chapter 23

Unholy Trinity

After cruising by the disappointingly nondescript Hyacinth Lane, Temple dropped Matt off at ConTact and headed for an opposite side of town: the upscale housing development where Max was hiding out, maybe from more than she knew.

On the way there, Molina's question, delivered through the fiendish medium of Matt Devine, repeated in her mind like a TV advertising slogan: Where were you at midnight on New Year's Day?

Not curled up in solo sleep in her Circle Ritz trundle, but sharing an exotic opium bed in Orson Welles's former house with her former--make that previously former--

boyfriend/lover/fiance. Who of course was in deep cover, and possibly even denial.

Great. Her alibi, should she need one, was the Invisible Man.

Temple knew that Max would probably disapprove of her impulsive drive -by consultation, but should she trust her phone lines now? Besides, she had masqueraded as a real estate lady in this neighborhood before, and could do it again.

Temple did balk at leaving her aqua Storm parked in Max's always-empty driveway. She parked on the lot line three houses down and went in on foot.

After ringing the doorbell in the shadowed outer courtyard, Temple assumed some sort of surveillance system recorded her approach. That hummingbird feeder could be a camera. Then again, a recording device could have been built into the soffit under the eaves.

Paranoia was a terrible affliction.

The door opened of its own seeming volition, as usual. Temple was beginning to suspect it was automated, like a haunted house door. All that was missing: the scream of creaky hinges.

"Is this a raid?" Max's voice asked darkly from the dark within.

"This is a retreat."

"What's wrong?" He clasped her wrist and drew her inside.

"It seems that we are each other's alibi in a murder case. If we can trust each other's testimony. But it doesn't matter because we can't testify."

"Come into the computer parlor; the light's better."

He led the way through the tangled house plan. Homes of a certain age in hot climates were shaded mazes designed to foil the sun's daily invasion.

Just before they crossed the threshold into the glow of the computer screen, Max surprised her with a steamy soul kiss in the dark. "Nice not seeing you again, so soon."

Temple was almost ready to deep-six her mission; their reunion was bringing back all the many advantages of a steady relation-ship, including myriad possibilities for the private display of affection at the most inapt times in the most unexpected places, and therefore all the more exciting.

She sighed as they emerged into the subdued light of the computer-cave, a cable-lined cavern whose boundaries were piled printouts and stacked volumes of endless documentation.

"Did you have a chance to look over the manuscript yet?" Max sounded boyishly eager, a new role for him.

"Not yet. Didn't get home until mid-morning, you know, and then I crashed. I am a recovering invalid."

"Sorry. I've worked on it night and day all through the winter.

"So." He sat on the big swivel chair and pulled Temple onto his lap. "Whose murder rap do we have to dodge?"

"Effinger's."

"You're kidding."

"Never about Cliff Effinger. He's the evil genie who's stalked us from the time you disappeared after the body was found in the Goliath casino ceiling, to the dead Effinger lookalike who plummeted down onto the craps table at the Crystal Phoenix, to the fist sandwich I ate in the Circle Ritz parking lot four days ago."

"I'm glad you didn't say 'evil genius.' I would have had to take exception. But how do you know about this? And why do 'we' need an alibi?"

"Well, it certainly looks like I need one, and since we were supposedly together at the time in question, you'll have to be it. Except that I woke up several times during the night and you were not necessarily here." You know how often I wake up at night."

"And a convenient habit it is too." Max took a stab at giving her a hickey on the nape. "You know how often I get up to roam around at night. Usually a case of the hungries."

"Great. So we agree. We both have erratic nighttime habits and who knows when, and if, we really were here."

"But I don't understand. How did you hear about Effinger's murder?"

Temple extricated herself from the distracting nibbling. "From Matt. Molina had him downtown to identify the body, for real this time. From what she asked him, the critical time is around midnight last night. And she asked him if he thought I would have an alibi for that time period."

"Naturally you immediately told Devine exactly where you were and what you were doing."

"Naturally ... not! Matt doesn't know much about the murder or any evidence, but he thinks Molina has something concrete that relates to me and to the word 'Hyacinth.' "

"Hyacinth. Pretty word. Pretty flower. Why don't I print out a new version of my manuscript and you can give it a quick read while I do my best to distract the editor from typographical errors."

"How can you be so calm? Matt may be home free . . . though I get the impression there's something he's not telling me."

"How dare he? The cad!"

"Yes, I know we're all a hopeless bunch of liars at the moment, at least by omission. But what are we going to do? Our mutual alibi is hardly ironclad and, anyway--"

"And you don't want to use it, anyway, because you haven't screwed up the courage yet to tell Mr. Devine that you are seeing me in a very committed fashion."

"Dammit, Max. I need some time on this."

"Molina may not give it to you."

"Yes. That's freaky, Effinger dead so soon after mashing my face."

"Nothing in the evening paper. I skimmed it already." Max spun the chair and began clicking computer keys.

"You're consulting the Millennium Swami?"

"The local paper's on-line. Maybe they posted a story that won't make print until morning.

Ah."

"What?"

"Bizarre."

"Max! I can't read the screen very well while still adjusting to these contact lenses. Please!"

" 'Unidentified man drowns at Oasis barge attraction.' Sounds like Molina's got the information on this case wrapped tighter than steel wire. Hmm. Man caught in the barge sinking mechanism and drowned. Not a member of the work crew. No theories on how the tragedy happened."

"Hmm." Temple was suspicious in turn. "I know media fudge terminology. They always call it a 'tragedy' when they're not sure if it's an accidental or deliberate death. He could have just gotten drunk and fallen in the drink."

"Not likely. Remember, I told you that I didn't think his well-being was a good bet in this town for long."

"Yes, I do remember, and is that a sterling piece of evidence for the prosecution, in case you hadn't noticed! 'Did Mr. Kinsella predict that Mr. Effinger was not long for this world three days before the man's death? Answer the question, Miss Barr.' "

"But you will turn a cold ear, as you did to Molina for all those months, and bravely go serve an open-ended contempt sentence, your lips sealed until the bitter end.

"Max." She put her hands on his shoulders and gazed deep into his eyes, which she could do a lot better without glasses in the way. "Did you kill Effinger?"

He shrugged, then shook his head. "I was beginning to be as enthusiastic about the idea as Devine, especially after his last... transgression. I did suggest that he be watched, and that may turn out to be a very good thing."

"Who? Who would watch him?"

"Associates of mine."

"Not the Brotherhood?"

"No. No capitalized pass-names. Only discretion. Wait a second. I'll do a search for the word

'hyacinth' on Gandolph's system."

Max's "second" stretched into a few minutes, which they managed to occupy quite creatively. Matt Devine's effect on Temple's heart might be ambiguous, but there was no doubt what Max Kinsella did for her hormones.

"I wish you could move in here," Max said after a while.

"Well, now that Midnight Louie has deserted me, there's not much to keep me at the Circle Ritz. It is nice being together again, isn't it?"

"It is. More than nice." A pause. She knew where he was going next, and that was nice too.

"It's paradise," he sang softly.

That you belong to me. But the old standards fell short of modern realities. "Belonging to"

was not a politically correct notion nowadays. Temple rested her forehead against Max's, happy she no longer had glasses to steam up. That was one thing she owed Effinger: losing the eyeglasses.

"Four references."

"Huh?"

"To hyacinth."

Temple blinked and leaned forward to study the screen.

"Hyacinth Lane. Matt found that on the map."

"Hooray for Matt and his electric map."

"Hyacinth Bowling Lane?"

"And the Hyacinth Cleaners. Also, Shangri-La and Hyacinth."

"An intersection? But who would name a street 'Shangri-La'?"

"In Las Vegas, dollink, anythink is possible. 'Hyacinth Halo Escort Service.' "

"I bet they're no angels."

"I doubt it refers to anything we'd find on here, Temple. It may have been some lucky phrase. Effinger was a gambler, above all. Or Molina may have just thrown it into the mix to confuse matters."

"She's a cop. She has to tell the truth."

"Not to suspects. And look where she went. Not to you. To Devine. He's the weakest link.

Don't sputter defense and protest, Temple. I'm being totally practical here. Molina's already had several go's at you on my whereabouts and didn't get anywhere. But here's Devine, fresh from an authoritarian system in which he examined every shade of motive and meaning. He's not good at dodging the truth, Temple. He's had very little practice. He'd crack before you or I would."

"So Matt's a target because he's honest?"

"Being straight is a weakness in a crooked world, Temple."

Temple stared down at the keyboard, unhappy with the truth Max had spoken.

"I know Matt's hiding something, something he hasn't told Molina."

"Then you had better find it out first. And in the meantime, don't tell him anything that might be . . . distracting."

"Now you're telling me to not tell Matt the truth about us at the earliest opportunity?"

"I'd love to see this unholy trinity busted up, but not just yet. It might make the difference in saving all our skins if we work together despite ourselves."