Cat on a Hyacinth Hunt

by Carole Nelson Douglas

  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."

  Chapter 24

  Hunting Hyacinth

  I am astounded.

  I express my minor annoyance with Miss Temple's altered domestic arrangements by steering clear of her for a few hours, and not only does she not notice my dereliction, but she ends up suspected of murder.

  Some people simply cannot be left to go through this world unshepherded.

  Although I had hopes of muscling in on Mr. Matt Devine's bachelor pad whilst I was expressing my severe disapproval of Miss Temple's new nocturnal habits, he is pretty much a bust too.

  As soon as the roommate formerly known as mine skedaddles the premises, Mr. Matt Devine makes a face and heads for the bathroom. I follow, as he needs to learn to leave the window open at least seven inches so I can come and go as I please.

  But he does not go to the spare bathroom on the building's outer wall, but to the master bathroom, which has no window. It does not even have a litter box yet, and if Mr. Matt does not tumble to opening my usual window, he had better tumble to a litter box, or he will step into a significant surprise on his bathroom floor in the morning.

  But while he does not seem inclined to consider my needs, I am fascinated by his. For when he strips off his bulky sweater (and I know Miss Temple would love to be here to see this, even if she is dallying with the competition), I find that he is either wearing one of those new-fangled wide-body cat harnesses, or a half-mummy wrap.

  When he strips the item off (and I do not think this part would interest Miss Temple), I see that he has been in a cat spat and slashed by a critter either the size of one of Siegfried and Roy's six hundred-pound white tigers, or by a human with artificial shivs.

  I am no sissy and have nursed my share of festering nicks, scratches and punctures without medical attention in my career, but I do cringe at the sight of this nasty gash, taped together as if by Dr. Frankenstein in the dark.

  Right now two of the significant others in my life are bearing marks of another's antipathy. I pause to muse that it is too bad Mr. Max Kinsella has not received his licks, so far as I know, but an attack on him might backfire and engender Miss Temple's ever-ready sympathy. This is the only reason he and I did not go mano-a-mano in her bedchamber the other night. Also, I consider it tacky to get blood on the bed linens.

  I also note that the lines of communication between the humans of my acquaintance are getting tangled and dangled and mangled. They are so busy hiding things from each other that they will never find anything out.

  I see it is up to me, and I will begin by tracking down the mysterious meaning of "hyacinth."

  To do so, I will have to leave. I tell Mr. Matt Devine so.

  "What? Food? Out? You'd better go back down to Temple, who knows what you want."

  If she knew what I wanted, the magician would never darken her door, and vice versa, again.

  Mr. Matt sighs and leads me to the front door. "You want to leave?"

  I rub on his legs twice before I go, hoping that public display of affection will encourage him to run out and purchase a litter box and a better class of cat food than Miss Temple keeps on hand below. But my hopes are faint. Mr. Matt Devine is not tuned into the animal world and will take much patient educating before he knows how to offer the proper tender, loving care.

  Once in the hallway, I am stuck, being barred from Miss Temple's place and my easy exit to the outside world. I will just have to deal with the inside world.

  I trot for the stairs and shove a shoulder into the swinging door. It opens just enough, long enough to allow my body and most of my--ouch!--tail through. Then I take the stairs to the penthouse.

  Hyacinth Lane, indeed.

  That is too easy. There must be a dozen other hyacinths in Las Vegas, and I intend to find every one, by every means available.

  But first I must figure out a way to break into Karma's joint from inside. I am used to being an outside operator. Inside is nothing but hallways full of door knobs. Now I know how these door knobs work, and I am certainly big and strong enough to reach one. I just do not carry the proper equipment to move the silly thing.

  So I resort to the ancient technique of my kind, which I have mentioned before. The Stare.

  The Stare is usually more effective if there is a human within sight, and up here on the penthouse level I do not stand a chance of even being spotted by a helpful tenant.

  No, all I have is the solid mahogany wall of Miss Electra Lark's door, the only one in the place that is not numbered.

  But I have faith, if not hope and charity. I sit and give the door the Stare. I just pretend that there is one tasty mouse behind that door and that eventually something will have to come out of it.

  "Eventually" is not as long as I fear it will be.

  The door opens and I lift my head. I expect to be looking Miss Electra Lark in the kisser, but there is no one there.

  Chagrined, I lower my gaze to my own level.

  Sure enough, Karma herself is sitting there, doing the compulsive washing bit with the white gloves on her forelimbs.

  "What do you want, Louie?"

  "Two things: a way outta this place, like your patio, and a lead on something in this town called 'hyacinth.'"

  'The first part is simple, Louie. I am always ready to show you the door. The second is complicated. A hyacinth is a flower. There may be thousands of them in Las Vegas and neighboring communities. And that is just counting by the plant, not the individual bloom."

  "Enough with this blooming conversation! I am not looking for your ordinary posy. The hyacinth I am hunting has something to do with a murder and with my Miss Temple."

  "My, my. You certainly do like to push a big paw into business that is none of yours, do you not, Louie? Well, as long as your crude powers roused me from a nap, come in. Miss Electra is out, fortunately. I will think about hyacinth as other than the obvious flower while we make our way to the patio doors. It will be up to you to open them; I used my current energy reserves to unlock and open the front door just now. You certainly are a bother."

  "You certainly are a bother," I mouth behind her long fluffy tail as it fans back and forth before me on the way to the patio.

  Once there, Karma turns, sits, and allows her baby blues to go slightly cross-eyed.

  "Hyacinth." She begins to purr. Actually, it is a sort of hum. Actually, it sounds a lot like that phoney baloney eastern meditation chant: "Om." Most of our kind are content with a simple, down-to-earth purr. We need not do it in a foreign accent.

  However, since all of Karma's creamy hairs began to stand out in a disheveled halo, and since for a second it seems to me that she is, er, elevated slightly off the floor (although that may have been a misleading side effect of the sudden Static Attack), I am not about to mention my skepticism to her.

  "Oooom," she purrs. The ear with the gold ring twitches. (My ear woul
d twitch on cue too, if it were pierced by some alien object.) "Hyacinth. I detect an odor."

  "Why not? Flowers do stink."

  "Fragrance, Louie. Flowers have fragrance. That is your key problem in this life, Louie: you do not discern the difference between scent and stink."

  "I know when I smell a rat, and that is all that matters in my business. And I not only smelled this stinko rat, I saw it."

  "I see that you must, as usual, deal with the crudest element first. Very well. So shall I."

  "Weill," she hums, purrs. "Shallll."

  I shrug. You have to put up with a lot from sources, sometimes, in my business.

  "I smell water. Rats indeed. Death by drowning. Bastet watches with her ancient eyes."

  My own ancient eyes blink. Take away the falderal, and Karma the Kute is describing the scene of the crime pretty darn well.

  'The mummy bears a hyacinth in his dead, bound hands, but he knows not what he harbors.

  And you are not alone, Louie. I glimpse a softer, feminine side. Is it possible?"

  "Nix on that. And if you are referring to my alleged daughter, Louise, you would know she has got the soft, feminine side of a buzz saw."

  "I see you are proud of her, Louis."

  "Louie! And she is no spawn of mine."

  Karma hums. Karma purrs.

  "I smell a house of flowers, not too far away. Such an outpouring of blossoms. Quite, quite profligate. Even sinister."

  "Profligate? Hey, I do not do that anymore!"

  "Poor Louie. The subtle is lost upon you."

  "So what else does Your Worshipfulness sniff?"

  "I smell... the scent of a woman."

  "Human female?"

  "That is .. . debatable. Feline, certainly, but of more than one species, I believe. Magic. I smell magic at all four corners of this sphere."