Part 3 (1/2)
After ten minutes she returned to the living room. ”I figured the place would be clean, but better safe than bugged.”
”I am bugged, Lieutenant. I am bugged that you're here, this early, upsetting my domestic routine. And my . . . cats.”
Molina eyed the duo, who were returning from accompanying her every move. They settled in tandem in the exact same spot she had first seen them. Obviously she was not used to cats that behaved like paired Dobermans.
”These animals are acting like police escorts and I don't like it.”
”So sit down, chill out, and don't move. I'm sure they'll stay put then. Can I get you some coffee?”
” 'May I,' ” Molina corrected automatically, and then had the grace to look embarra.s.sed.
Temple guessed that she was getting the grammatical correction reserved for the lieutenant's daughter, poor little Mariah. Well, the twelve-year-old wasn't so little anymore, she was taller than Temple! But she was still ”poor” for having Molina for a mother.
Temple forgot the coffee and sat. ”Is this going to be a maternal lecture or a police warning?”
”With you wearing those slippers-?” Molina's dark caterpillar eyebrows lifted as she stared at the paired bunny faces on Temple's toes.
”My mother gave these to me for Christmas, so what's it to you?”
Molina lifted her hands in tandem, presenting the palms of peace, and forestalling further banter.
”Far be it from me,” she said, ”to critique a mother's abysmal choice in Christmas presents. I've inadvertently committed a few of those myself. I can see that anthropomorphic slippers are off my list forever. For that I thank you. The lecture part is this: you are a civilian. You have no business playing undercover investigator at striptease clubs. You have no right to risk Midnight Louie's happy home life by risking your own life in a dark parking lot. I don't care that it came out all right and the perpetrator was captured. You could have gotten killed, and, believe it or not, Miss Barr, I would be very unhappy about that. But you know all this and will take me about as seriously as you would someone who would give you bunny slippers for Christmas.”
”I am wearing them,” Temple said uneasily.
”That's the lecture part,” Molina went on. ”The police part is this: you may think I'm off base keeping an eye on you and your a.s.sociates, but as of last night you are now involved with not one, but two murder suspects. Some people might consider that a coincidence. I am a law enforcement professional and I consider it a weakness.”
”Two? What's wrong? Is persecuting Max not enough for you now? That's why I went to Baby Doll's, you know, because you were so bound and determined to nail him as the Stripper Killer. Were you off base!”
”In this case. That doesn't change the fact that he was all over the scenes of the crimes in various guises.”
”As were you!”
”Me? What gives you that idea?”
”Max. Max saw you more than you saw him. He is a magician, after all. You want to talk about me taking risks! What about a homicide lieutenant who's secretly undercover investigating her own ex ... whatever as a murder suspect and trying to pin the rap on my current ... whatever.”
Molina's nostrils flared. Temple shut up. She'd been goaded into committing truth, but realized that the truth always came with a sting in the tail: the other person's particular truth. Molina would lash back.
”This is not about Michael Aloysius Xavier Kinsella,” Molina said shortly.
Sails collapsed, Temple could only wait for Molina to paddle on. Meanwhile, she bailed brains to figure out what Molina's point really was.
”This is about Matthias Anthony Devine.”
”So you've looked up everybody's birth certificates. What's my middle name?”
Temple had asked for it, and she got it.
”Ursula,” Molina intoned promptly with a smirk. ”I believe that's a saint who founded an order of nuns.”
”I'm not Catholic. I'm Unitarian. Ursula is a nonsectarian name in my case. I don't know why it's in the family. An aunt got saddled with it too. So, what about Matt? You're going to accuse an ex-priest of murder?”
”It's not that unthinkable. Non-ex-priests have been accused of a lot of felonies lately.”
”Right. Matt. You have really flipped.”
Even as Molina sat back on the sofa, a black cat jumped up on either arm, as if to say: I'm all ears.
Feline muscle, or eavesdropping, did not dissuade her.
”All I can say,” Molina went on with a relish Temple would have to describe as personal, ”is that you sure know how to pick 'em. So I can't prove Kinsella was involved in the matter of the dead man in the Goliath Hotel ceiling over a year ago, so I couldn't prove he was the Stripper Killer, but he's guilty of something, and proving it is only a matter of time.
”Then there's nice Matt Devine. I must admit that I was rooting for you to ditch Kinsella for Matt. What's not to like? Sincere, ethical, untouched, good looking, apparently honest-”
”What do you mean, apparently?”
Molina shrugged, s.h.i.+fting the polyester-blend navy-blue jacket on her shoulders.
Polyester-blend, navy-blue. Ick, Temple thought, trying to distract herself from the ugly news that was coming. Who could believe anything that came from the lips of a P-B, N-B-wearing person? The unlipsticked lips of such a person? Whose eyebrows needed a serious shrubbery tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.
But no matter how much she denigrated Molina's persona, Temple couldn't banish the chill, sick feeling in her stomach. Molina wouldn't be here unless she had some serious stuff on Matt. Molina wouldn't be here unless she thought she could use Temple to turn Max-or now even Matt-against his own best interests. Temple curled her toes in the bunny slippers until they dug into the walnut parquet floor and braced herself. With a cat it would be called digging in; with a short woman, it would be called maximum resistance.
”Who, where, when, or why could Matt ever be a suspect of murder?” Temple asked. Give me your best shot.
”A call girl, at the Goliath Hotel-your favorite and Kinsella's too for mayhem-last night, because he freaked at the idea of s.e.xual intercourse, or he had s.e.xual intercourse and freaked afterward. Take your pick.”
Whew. Temple's toes did not uncurl, nor did her hidden fists unfurl, nor did her breath stop being held.
”That's your idea,” she finally said, ”of who, where, when, why. I still don't get the why. Why on earth would Matt be there with that kind of woman to do that? Never in a million years. I don't believe it.”
”One answer, three little words, your own, and quite brilliant in their way. I can see why you're a public relations ace: Kitty the Cutter.”
”Kitty O'Connor? The poison ivy of Ireland? Oh. She a.s.saulted Matt once, but that was a long time ago.”
”It didn't end there. She's been stalking him.”
Temple said nothing. She couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that Kitty's attacks had continued, and especially couldn't believe that Matt hadn't told her.
”My own daughter was involved.”
”Mariah? That's crazy. What would she have to do with Kathleen O'Connor?”
”t.i.taniCon?” Molina asked, invoking the recent science fiction convention at the New Millennium hotel. ”The car that chased you from the parking ramp over the pedestrian bridge and crashed into the hotel's gla.s.s doors while your party escaped down the escalator? You, Matt Divine, and my own daughter. Oh, yes, I heard about it. Matt said that every female in his company was in danger at that event, including Mariah. Kitty had claimed him for her own; either he'd cooperate, or she'd take heads.”
”He didn't say anything to me.”