Cat in an Alphabet Endgame: A Midnight Louie Mystery (The Midnight Louie Mysteries Book 28)

by Carole Nelson Douglas

  Just the beefy one, Temple was tempted to answer.

  Krys was all right. Not fat, but a “strapping” Polish girl who was hiding being twenty and awkward behind an aggressively hip look, and lots of lip. She’d had her heart set on cousin Matt since she turned teen. More so because he had been a priest then, which made him safely out of reach. Temple could understand, but not cater to, that.

  Even nosy, possessive Krys didn’t know that Mira’s new-brother-in-law had been Matt’s father.

  Temple wanted Matt’s unacknowledged father at their wedding in the worst way. This was not a duty call for Max, as she’d just done. This was trying to maneuver a secret duet from the heart, for his mother, Mira, and Matt to have a genuine entire “family” for one day, Temple’s wedding day, even if nobody knew it except the four of them.

  Maybe it wasn’t strange that Matt had grown up wanting to be a priest. After all, his teenaged Polish mother and father from a privileged family had met at a Catholic church, lighting a candle to the Virgin Mary. Mira was a sensitive girl from a boisterous, large family. Jonathan was defying his family to enter the armed forces, and couldn’t admit to being frightened of a foreign war zone. It was love at first fragility. And Christmas, when lonely people longed for comfort.

  The result was they never saw each other again, and Mira had Matt, named for the Disciple, Matthias. The boy’s family knew, and bought Mira a two-flat so she’d have a home and an income property and make no claims on the wealthy Winslows. Being an unwed mother in her Catholic milieu carried immense shame. Desperate to give Matt a father, she married Cliff Effinger, who’d coveted her income property.

  Jonathan Winslow was never told Matt existed. Until Matt tracked him down and did the job.

  Mira, by sheer stupid coincidence met his widowed brother at her restaurant hostess job, and did marry Philip Winslow. So the secret family farrago remained operative in Chicago.

  For one day, Temple wanted Matt’s biological mother and father to share in his happiness, his success, secretly together in one big shared happy ending.

  Secrets can be toxic, but secrets kept without rancor can heal.

  This last Skype appointment would be a piece of wedding cake, Temple was sure.

  “Hi, Mom! Guess what? The wedding’s on. I’ve got the date, the place and, of course, the man. Now I just have to settle a few details.”

  “What?” her mother asked. “You’re doing this without me?”

  “No, it’s just that circumstances, good circumstances I can’t announce yet, call for—”

  “A quickie wedding in Las Vegas! Oh, Temple!”

  “It’s in a church.”

  “Whoopdedoo. I don’t care where it is, I want to know when-where so I can come down to help pick out the gown, the flowers, the reception menu… Surely there’ll be a groom’s dinner. Matt’s parents should plan that.”

  “Uh, we’re kinda blending all that into one super-duper mega event. But you don’t have to worry about a thing, Mom. The Crystal Phoenix is handling all that. You’re all on vacation on their tab, including flying my four brothers and their wives and kids down. I’m their favorite employee.”

  “And you’re my only daughter. What were you thinking?”

  “That a surprise would be really cool for you?”

  “Wrong. The surprise is for the guests, not the mother of the bride. How often am I going to get this chance? Once. I want to weigh in on the placement of every last spray of baby’s breath.”

  Temple felt her buoyant Happy Balloon trickle air and develop worry lines.

  “The Ladies’ Altar Society will take care of that. They’re used to that.”

  “What am I? Chopped liver? And ‘Altar Society’! What church?”

  “Our Lady of Guadalupe.”

  “Of course it would be, with Matt. He’s a lovely young man, Temple. You’re thoughtful to honor his past priesthood, and I have no trouble doing that, but Catholics are very persnickety about their dogma and sacraments and ceremonials. They want to control everything.”

  So, apparently, did mothers of the bride.

  Temple rallied her most diplomatic tone and arguments. “I’m sure Father Hernandez will make major concessions.”

  “On what?”

  “You know, about a UU marrying a Catholic.”

  “Your UU credentials are long lapsed.” Her mother was looking stern and frowning.

  “Then I guess I qualify as a pagan,” Temple quipped, “but they’re okay with that.”

  “Well, they’re always sending missionaries far and wide to get converts.”

  “Mom, I don’t want to argue. I wanted to tell you the good news and get us all together down here for my wedding.”

  “Temple.” Her mother folded her lips. “I guess I’m just shocked you’d leave me out of this. You know how I loved finding you the most beautiful little outfits as a baby.”

  “And all through grade and high school. Did you know, Mom, when I was real young, that the boys would lie in wait to get me in a tussle and get my clothes torn and dirty.”

  “No! My sons?”

  “There’s a lot you wouldn’t know about your sons, unless you were their only baby sister.”

  “So, that’s why…”

  “They wanted to make me tougher, Mom. And they did. Inside, if not out. So you won both ways.” She didn’t go into the Mean Girls in high school.

  “Temple. I never thought that treating you like the little doll you were was a…negative.”

  “It wasn’t. I love being a clothes chameleon. You know I wanted to be a fashion or costume designer in high school. And I’m going to love doing that for my wedding. You gave me dreams, Mom. I’m going to dazzle everyone with them.”

  Karen looked away from the screen. “Well, yes. I did give you a non-girly name at least. Much better than Tessa, which I first thought of.”

  Temple quashed a wince.

  “Okay Temple. Just tell me that you don’t want to marry in dungarees.”

  “Promise. Van and Nicky, my bosses, you remember them?”

  “Of course I do. Your father and I flew in and stayed overnight for Kit’s marriage. Another sweeping example of the generosity of the Crystal Phoenix and Fontana family. That’s the first time we met Matt and saw his stunning engagement ring on your finger.”

  “Well, they’re sponsoring a private fashion show and fitting for our out-of-town bridal party members in the bridal suite for two days before the wedding. Including tux fittings for all the men.”

  “Fittings?”

  “Yes, for keeps. Dad will never again be able to say he can’t go to a formal outing you want to attend because he doesn’t own a tux.”

  “My goodness, they must be fond of you. Am I going to be meeting any more of Nicky Fontana’s Italian gigolo brothers?”

  “Aunt Kit’s husband, Aldo, recovering bachelor. And, yes, assorted tones and flavors of Fontana brothers. All yummy.”

  “Oh.” She looked pleased. “That Kit, snatching up a confirmed bachelor at her age in life. I’m glad she’s no longer living alone and single in Manhattan.”

  Karen made it sound like a spinster’s circle of Hell.

  Temple thought Fun, fun, fun!

  “Temple. You didn’t forget Kit. Is she coming?”

  “Fontana brothers assemble in a flock. So I thought Kit could be Matron of Honor.”

  “Matron.” Karen hooted. Sisterly rivalry showed its acerbic head. “She wouldn’t like that description.”

  Temple didn’t know about that personally. “I’m thinking of lilac for her. But for your Mother of the Bride dress, there’s a shade of exquisite medium green that goes with our hair color.”

  “Well, my and Kit’s hair color has faded.”

  “Nothing about you is faded, Mom. The color I’m thinking of is close to jade green and is socko with the shade of the famous Tiffany blue gift box, a sort of soft turquoise, if you know what I mean?”

  “I have seen a Tiffany
gift box or two in my time, dear.”

  Temple smiled. Matt’s mother would certainly be wearing the Virgin Mary blue topaz earrings he gave her. The women would recognize a tonal bond before they knew it. The subconscious was an awesome uniter.

  “Now,” Karen mused, her eyes cast up, while Temple fidgeted and the Roman church burned. “I think you must ask one of your nephews to be ring bearer. Todd is six and adorable.”

  “Louie is eight or so, and experienced.”

  “None of your brothers have sons named Louis.”

  “Louie is Midnight Louie. My roommate of the feline persuasion. He served as Ring Bearer when Matt’s widowed mother remarried here in Vegas.”

  “But, Temple dear, using a cat as a Ring Bearer is just a joke.”

  “So I should use a fidgeting six-year-old who is scratching his bum through the entire ceremony?”

  “Well, at least Todd would not be switching his tail.”

  “Speaking of that, I could use a flower girl.”

  “Oh, oh, oh. Crescent, Tom’s girl, is seven and just precious, blonde curls, adorable in yellow with violet accents. Perhaps a dotted Swiss. No, organdy.”

  “Oh, would you, Mom? Would you do her dress and a matching basket for petals? I’ll be wearing white, of course. You jade green, like leaves, and little Crescent’s yellow and Kit’s lilac will be the flower tones. Yellow goes so well with the gray tails and white tie the groom and groomsmen will wear, and Dad’s new designer black tux.”

  “Well, of course.” Her mother’s eyes were already speculative, envisioning details. “I will do my best.”

  “You’re always the best, Mom. After we sign off I can send you an image of my gown.”

  Temple did as she’d promised and sat back with a sigh.

  She did feel bad about leaving her mother out of this necessarily speedy wedding, but that was a Vegas specialty and seemed normal to Temple now.

  Her computer tinged her.

  Oh, my goodness, Temple, her mother’s email read. That is absolutely and uniquely “you”, and I now know my daughter is utterly grown up and her own self I could have never dreamed of when I held her as the tiniest of babies and for some reason named you Temple rather than Jane or Sue or Tessa, something ordinary.

  Now, I would like to make one little suggestion. Ruffle-topped, white satin elbow gloves would be the perfect complement to the gown.

  Temple glanced to the glove box on her desk. Ruffle-topped white satin elbow gloves.

  That is the perfect last touch, Mom, she emailed back. You are the perfect Mom. See you soon. Love you!

  15

  Dumped by a Diva

  Matt tried to think himself into the comfortable upholstered swivel chair at WCOO radio, the muffling earphones on his head, the glass walls of the booth a black, blanked-out image reflecting him, only the voices riding the airwaves, one on one, he and a caller, like Elvis, he’d never meet.

  He felt a faint moisture at his hairline, realizing this moment was more important than any TV talk show gig, and maybe performing “live” and on camera wasn’t for him.

  This would be the toughest audition for his vaunted step-up job, and nobody who counted in the network would see it. But he would know if he let any one of the major players down. He was like a judge. He had to be honest and fair, and make each and every one of them follow that path.

  “That was so cool,” Mariah was saying as the front door opened and footsteps sounded in the hallway. “That wiggly effect on the soundboard,” Mariah’s voice continued. It had a pleasant mellow tone he hadn’t noticed when he both saw and heard her.

  “The mic is your first and best friend,” Rafi’s signature baritone voice answered.

  Right there Matt pegged why Mariah’s singing voice was so mature. She’d inherited it from both sides. There was nothing light and girlish about her singing already.

  “Oh.” Now she was directing that slightly dismayed remark at Matt. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Rafi frowned behind her, not at Matt. “I thought your mother had errands to do this afternoon, or the session wouldn’t have run so long.” Rafi checked his cell phone screen, looking ready to bow out right now.

  Matt now understood why Rafi, who had, only a week ago, physically extracted him from a mob nudie bar brawl with swift aplomb, was visibly itching to escape present company. To Rafi and Carmen, The Lie was always the invisible party pooper in the room and now Matt was in on it.

  “Errands done,” Molina said, coming out from the kitchen. “Don’t run off, Rafi. Have some Dr Pepper. Good for the throat after a long vocal session, right?”

  Nadir regarded Molina as if she were crazy, but took the offered bottle, as did Mariah, and Molina again ducked into the kitchen.

  For once, the self-involved teen looked as ill at ease as her parents.

  Her parents. Matt contemplated getting Mariah to make that leap in the course of an afternoon and felt like he was atop the Lake Mead dam attached to a bungee cord. Bungee cord. A doctored one had almost killed Max Kinsella. Matt decided he’d have to take the plunge too.

  “Mariah—”

  “She told you, didn’t she?” Mariah blurted. “I can tell. This is a setup.”

  “What?” asked Rafi, pausing in sitting on the other chair flanking the couch.

  Matt’s quick head shake “no” diverted him to the other side of the couch, next to Molina’s now empty place. Rafi, already well trained to house rules, leaned forward to put the Dr Pepper bottle on a coffee table coaster.

  Matt and Mariah were now positioned in chairs opposite “the parents” sitting on the couch. A classic family confrontation arrangement.

  Mariah was ignoring the adults to drink from the Dr Pepper bottle while slipping Matt nervous looks. She put the bottle on the coaster on the small end table between their two chairs. Matt mirrored the move.

  He noticed Mariah’s fingernails were the short, rounded style he’d seen in TV ads, painted in the popular Goth-dark gel polishes He’d once described himself to Temple as “sixteen going on thirty”. Mariah was thirteen going on thirty.

  “Mom told you, didn’t she,” Mariah whispered while Molina was still in the kitchen.

  “Told me what? That you have an even better gig than backing up French Vanilla of Black & White?”

  “No, silly. Oh.” She sighed as her mother came in and seated herself on the sofa with Rafi. “I’m sorry. It just seemed right.”

  “Whatever it is,” Matt whispered back, “if it seems right at the time, you have to do it.”

  “Even if someone might have their feelings hurt?”

  “Hurt feelings aren’t pleasant, but you have to face up to them.”

  “That’s what you get all that radio money telling people?”

  “Depending.”

  Molina spoke up, trying to sound jovial and only managing to sound suspicious. Cop talk was hard to moderate. “What are you and Matt whispering about?”

  “Oh, Mom. I need to tell him…you know.”

  Matt jumped in, sounding as suspicious as Mariah’s mom. “Mariah, what haven’t you been telling me?”

  Carmen tried to soften the blow, even though Matt knew what was coming. “I don’t want you to feel slighted, Matt—there’s been a change in plans.”

  Mariah overrode her. “You said I had to tell him personally.” She turned to Matt. “I’m sorry, Mr. Devine. I know I promised you forever and forever you could take me to the Dad-Daughter Dance.”

  Matt smiled at how she interpreted “pestered” as “promised”.

  “Well, yes. I thought it was a done deal,” he said.

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t go?” he asked.

  “Oh, I have to go. Just not with you.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s not that you’re not cute or anything else, like that ex-priest thing. But…you’re moving out of town and are doing things like getting married and even though you’re sort of famo
us, I really, really think I need to ask Rafi because he’s been so cool and is teaching me all sorts of really hot singing stuff to follow up on my Black & White gig with a Justin-Beiber-level breakout music video—we promise, Mom, no Miley Cyrus stuff. I’m still too young for that.”

  “What a relief,” Molina said, electric-blue fire in her eyes.

  Mariah missed the sarcasm.

  Rafi pointed a finger at Mariah. “Disney Clean. That’s where the film breaks are.”

  Matt couldn’t believe they were discussing teen career choices.

  Mariah turned to him. “See. Rafi knows music business stuff. I’m going to premiere a line-dance song at the D-D-D. I saw you dancing with, uh, Miss Barr, at the club after the B&W show opening, and, sorry, that’s not what’s happening. And, like, she’s way too not the prime age group anymore. Even that Zoe Chloe Ozone shtick is so over…”

  Her childish pseudo-sophisticated chatter had shocked her mother almost much as Matt. “Mariah! You’re sounding like a brat.”

  Not the way to win over a kid you’re going to knock off her platform shoes any minute now. Matt cleared his throat to intervene, but Rafi beat him to the punch, as he’d done outside the nudie bar not long before.

  “Your mom and me are even older than those people.” He took Mariah’s hands and pulled her to stand before him. “What’s bugging you, kid? Everything you want is going great.”

  She shrugged, looking down at her purple-painted toenails in their peep-toe platform sandals. Matt smiled at what he’d learned from Temple’s shoe collection.

  “I have to do school and all that stupid stuff Disney kid stars don’t have to waste time doing. I’ll be too old to be interesting pretty soon. I guess you’re all so old you don’t get that.” She eyed everyone desperately. “I’m losing time to be discovered.”

  “Is that what you think your singing is for?” Rafi asked. “Not for the joy of learning and doing it, but for getting somewhere, anywhere? Anyhow? Your mother never had those selfish dreams that made no one around her good enough.”

  “That was ages ago, Rafi. She was never going anywhere. I mean, she was a cop.”