Cat on a Hyacinth Hunt

Chapter 31

Nigh Noon

At high noon the next day, Temple's phone rang.

She wasn't surprised that Lieutenant C. R. Molina was on the line's other end, requesting an audience.

Actually Lieutenant C. R. Molina was demanding an interrogation.

"Here? In half an hour? Sure. I appreciate curb service."

Temple hardly knew what to do with herself while preparing for a visit from the local constabulary. She took a white -glove stroll through her rooms. (Actually, she darted through, picking up newspapers and straightening gewgaws.)

She decided she needed a pizza for lunch. She decided her nails needed doing, but there was no time. She concluded that it would be easier to get her story straight, if only she knew what part of it she needed to embroider: the part where she had no alibi for Effinger's death because she was sleeping with Max at the time (and she certainly couldn't admit that to Molina), or the part where Max had no alibi for Effinger's death because he was sleeping with her at the time (but she was awake and Max was not necessarily there at the time).

Temple was a wee bit nervous. Ordinarily, Molina couldn't do that to her. But ordinarily Temple's future did not turn on sleeping with Max (whose very presence and location in Las Vegas were sacred trusts for her) and being able to prove it.

Even the doorbell sounded paranoid instead of mellow when Molina punched it. Temple just knew Molina punched it. She was the type to abuse even a vintage doorbell. A doorbell that was probably older than Molina was. Bully!

In this state of anthropomorphic snit on behalf of her doorbell, Temple opened her door.

She had forgotten how bloody tall the lady lieutenant was, or how thick and uncompromising her eyebrows were.

Molina entered without invitation, but only advanced eight steps into the room before turning on Temple.

"Where are your glasses?"

"I've switched to contact lenses. Sorry. Is that a crime or misdemeanor?"

"Neither. You just look different. Why didn't you wear contacts before?"

"Simple. My eyes were too sensitive to handle all those chemical baths. But I guess they've come up with new formulas. They're working so far."

Molina stalked into the living room. What else could she do in those clunky-heeled oxfords so popular now?

"You know Effinger is dead, of course."

"Of course." Temple sat down, but Molina didn't.

"Can you account for your whereabouts around midnight the night of January one?"

"New Year's Day night?"

"Right."

"Ah, yes and no."

"Yes first."

"I was here asleep in my condominium."

"The no?"

"I was here solo."

"No witnesses."

"Sadly, no."

"Midnight Louie?"

"Out on errands of a peculiarly repellent nature."

Molina's midnight-margarita eyes narrowed to catlike slits, it seemed. "You speak truer than you know."

"What do you mean?"

Molina only smiled, meanly, as she circled the love seat. "Where's Midnight Louie now?"

"I don't know. He does come and go. I have to ask: why do you associate me with Effinger?

Or his death?"

"I don't do it; he did."

"Effinger? How? He said something before he died?"

"Now that's interesting. What would he have to say about you at any time?"

"I don't know. But you said he implicated me."

"Not personally." Molina smiled. It was not a reassuring expression. "I must say that coming here to see you personally was an inspired idea. I ran into your landlady in the lobby."

"Electra."

"The very one. She was happy to see me."

"Oh?"

"She was delighted that you had decided to report your assault in the Circle Ritz parking lot."

Temple fell suddenly silent.

"She was happy that the evil stepfather wouldn't be allowed to get away with it. I'd say he wasn't."

"It wasn't much of an assault. Most of the damage came from getting away."

"Then you weren't too disabled to get out and about New Year's Day night."

"But I wasn't out and about. I was. . . home."

Molina smiled too tolerantly to indicate belief. "Assault aside, a note in his pocket implicated you."

"A note? To me?"

"Not precisely."

"Could you tell me, precisely?"

"No."

"Could you at least tell me how Mr. Effinger died?"

"Mr. Effinger. I imagine that's a new one for him, even dead. His death was bizarre, to say the least."

"I read the item in the newspaper."

"He was... affixed to the prow of the fatal barge and was submerged with it."

"So he drowned?"

"Not necessarily."

"He was already dead, of course, before the barge descended."

"Not necessarily."

Temple considered the options. "I don't look like someone who could 'affix' a grown man to the prow of a barge."

"You could have had an assistant, or vice versa."

"You don't really believe that."

"All I know for a fact is that the deceased carried a reference to you in his pants pocket. And now I learn, not from you, that he had assaulted you recently. And I know that you have friends very capable of teaching him a lesson."

"What was on the note? My name and phone number?"

Molina shook her head.

"Then what?"

"I can't say. I can only ask if you still insist that you were nowhere near the Oasis dock that night."

"I swear to God, I wasn't there."

Molina nodded, finished, if not satisfied. She headed for the door. There she paused for a parting shot.

"Then why was your cat, Midnight Louie, on the scene?"

Temple was speechless.

"Accompanied by the Crystal Phoenix mascot, one Midnight Louise."

"I. . . I'm not responsible for where cats go, or when."

Molina left. Leaving Temple to ponder her earlier question: where was Midnight Louie now?