Max was able to discharge his deep emotion in a shaky laugh. “Not that. No. Sorry.” He rose and sat on the huge square coffee table’s edge. “There’s still a lot more story to come, though. We Irish love telling and hearing stories.”
Temple retrieved his glass and went to Matt, already holding the Jamison’s bottle. He cocked his eyebrows as he refilled it and eyed the others.
“As a humble radio counselor, I’d advise a topping off,” he said as he made the rounds. “What is the famous line from that old movie you love?” he asked Temple.
“Bette Davis in superb sardonic form. ‘Fasten your seat belts. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.’”
Temple took her champagne glass, sat on the coffee table beside Max, and set the glass down on the nearest coaster. Matt settled into Eileen’s place on the sofa after offering her husband Patrick an inquiring look.
“There’ll be no more waterworks, I hope,” Patrick muttered.
Max sipped from his glass and gave Temple a wry smile before continuing. “You were all quite right after the bombing. I underwent paroxysms of guilt on all fronts. It took a while for the authorities to sort out the crime scene and separate the wounded from the dead, or pieces of them. I knew Sean had gone missing.” Max shut his eyes for a moment. “I had to provide his toothbrush for DNA testing, which was quite new then.
“No one was there to stop me. I became a vengeance machine. I told the IRA men that Sean and I had come over hoping to join the movement to free Northern Ireland from the British…yes, what we now call ‘young naive foreign fighters’ for ISIS. I’d always done magic tricks as a hobby and that makes you very observant, very able to be unobserved. I was a perfect spy, really, and I found the two men who’d planted the bomb and gave their names to the British. I never heard what happened to them, but a swift, secret killing was fine with me then. Many people were badly wounded, but Sean was the only one dead.
“Of course, in my guilt and fury I had no time for colleens whose eyes ‘shined like the diamonds’, as in the old song. I didn’t know that Kathleen’s savage early life had made her psychotic about being abandoned. She couldn’t understand that my bond with Sean made avenging him my only priority. And I didn’t know then she was an IRA agent, a champion fund-raiser well-known to the scattered Irish abroad.
“So,” Max said, “when I came home for the closed casket funeral, I saw that my lies to cover up why we were in Northern Ireland in that pub weren’t credible. And I saw that the pressure of one cousin back from a pub bombing without a scratch—or visible ones, anyway, and the other cousin identified from fragments—would gall good people, one family happy but guilty, the other reminded daily of their loss, and guilty. And me guiltiest of all.”
Matt shook his head. “Catholic guilt is built-in. We’re asked to examine our consciences from the age of seven, and that situation was a perfect trifecta.”
Maura just sat there, numb. “Our collective grief blinded us to the living. We thought of you still as a child. And here you’d been through war, through your own hell, and we didn’t know it.”
Max shook his head, to deny her need for guilt. “Then word came that the IRA realized I’d ‘betrayed’ them, probably alerted by Kathleen, and had a price on my head. In those days before the peace, IRA sympathizers were everywhere, especially in the U.S. I had to get as far away as possible or my family and friends could get caught in the cross-fire. By then, counterterrorist operations had heard of my exploits, so they both saved and recruited me and magic became my cover. It turned out I was quite a good magician, especially at disappearing acts.”
Temple turned to face Max. “So you were already adept at it when my turn came.”
“You?” Maura jerked her head toward the other couch where Matt was now sitting. “But you just married him.” She stared at Temple again.
Temple smiled. “Yes, Maura, your son swept me off my feet in Minneapolis and directly to Las Vegas, where he had a year’s engagement as The Mystifying Max. We planned on marrying soon. When he realized some shady characters had waylaid me to inquire about him, he left on the closing day of his act, without a word, the same night a dead man had been discovered on the hotel premises, which made him a suspect.”
“He left without a word?”
“I followed him from my home city and family and a good job.’ Temple linked arms with Max. “And, to ensure my safety, he left me here for the police and other less honest people to harass. Still…I love my freelance public relations work, and Vegas is the place to be for that. Then Matt moved into my apartment building. And Max did finally come back to face the music.”
The moment of astonishment hovered, a paused recorded Lifetime movie moment.
“And,” Matt announced from behind them all, from the door through which Max had entered. “So, finally did Sean and his wife Deirdre of County Tyrone, Northern Ireland, come back.”
30
In Sunshine or in Shadow
Everyone had automatically turned toward Matt’s voice, beside the open door Max had used, now framing Sean and Deirdre Kelly standing together arm-in-arm like a life-size couple on a wedding cake.
The Kinsellas and Kellys stood as one, shocked to their feet to face the unexpected couple.
Except Max. He bounded over the Kinsella couch and ushered them into the room, his enthusiasm masking how tense and shy and wary the newcomers were.
Cries of “Oh, dear God” and “Glory Be” and “My darling Sean”. “Our lost boyo, Sean.”
Max and the couple were mobbed in an incoherent group hug.
Alone and marooned behind, Temple told Matt through a teary voice, “This is the greatest wedding present ever.”
He hugged her and teased, “Are you sure you don’t want to do the counseling part of our partnership?”
“You’re over the moon about this reunion too.”
“I talk to so many lost souls on the radio. Found souls are a rare reward. But there’ll be a bit of hell to pay for Sean, just like Max. They both withdrew when they should have trusted and been open.”
“Gobbledygook!” Temple’s non-Irish was up. “Sean’s family is so amazed to see him alive, they haven’t even noticed the price he paid to survive. As Max did. They weren’t ready to accept the truth, what, sixteen years ago? The guy’s instincts were right. The families had ladled an ideal vision over the future of ‘their boys’ and had to grow up themselves to accept the truth.”
“Pretty profound,” Matt said, “we’ll have to see if we can get them to appear on the Devine Temple show.”
“Now I feel like a snooping reporter. Let’s just be eavesdropping well-wishers going forward.”
“A heck of a way to celebrate a wedding night.”
“We’re flying out tomorrow, alive and well, and will be alone, without even the Fontana brothers, for six wonderful nights.”
“Even without Midnight Louie?”
“Oh. He will be miffed. I’m glad the Crystal Phoenix gave him the spotlight for his revived commercial career. And I know he’ll enjoy supervising the renovations. Surely he’ll even more relish having the California King to himself.”
“We could leave now,” Matt suggested.
“No way am I missing a sob in this saga.”
So Sean went back to the beginning and told how Deirdre had suspected some scheme by Kathleen O’Connor and stayed with him when Kathleen lured Max away. Deirdre had wanted Sean to leave then, too, but he’d found Deirdre an enchanting colleen herself and wanted more time with her while he waited for Max.
She finally dragged him away just as the bomb exploded. Yes, she had some scarring, but Sean had a concussion and traumatic memory loss as well as shrapnel damage.
She nursed him back to health, with the blessing of the IRA, which believed Sean, recovering slowly, was an American boy wanting to fight in the cause. Eventually he was able to fight for the peace. The only peace on earth ever made in a bitter ethnic struggle of more than eight hundred years.
Perfect, no. But admirable.
Sean and Deirdre retreated to literal peace and quiet at their Bed and Breakfast in Northern Ireland’s County Tyron. Sean had finally recovered much of his memory, but, sure, how would he explain taking so long to remember his own family? And how would he justify his youthful disobedience and risk-taking? All he needed now was Deirdre and a simple Irish cottage and a life of world-class sunsets on the edge of the Atlantic.
The families were all soothing murmurs and touches and tears and protestations that they would have understood, which is when Max and Sean exchanged a glance of perfect agreement. Your families always think that they are up to the job, but sometimes errant young souls must figure things out the hard way.
Temple yawned.
“Am I boring you?” Matt asked.
“Never. But…I think the Oscars are over and we’re not invited to any of the After Parties.”
They slipped away, unnoticed.
A wandering Fontana brother prowled the hall.
“Why, Ralph, it’s nearly one a.m.,” Temple said.
“You recognized me, Miss Temple.”
“But, of course. It’s the earring.”
“You remembered.”
“Yes, but I suggest signature individual lapel pins for more accurate identification.”
“You would abuse and penetrate the exquisite weave of an Emenegildo Zegna suit with a pin? Heresy. Perhaps…cuff links are less cruel, Miss Temple. Mr. Matt, do you own an EZ suit?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Oh, you would know. Then allow us to arrange a visit with our tailor for your debut TV show.”
“That’s a bit overwhelming. I’d like a honeymoon first.”
“That is why I am here to drive you home.” Ralph cocked an ear at a burst of simultaneous talking beyond the closed door. “Did I hear a woman crying?”
“Family reunion, Ralph,” Temple said. “Tears of joy.”
He nodded knowingly. “And tears of vino. You should hear us Fontanas at a family reunion. Surely you can join us next time; you are now family.”
Temple linked arms with Matt, and then Ralph. “That sounds wonderful, Ralph, but now we’ll all visit the full reception again, with everyone Fontana…and Tony and Courtney and all.
“Then we’re off the see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz, who is somewhere out there smiling in the neon and glitter and fairy dust and fever of the Las Vegas Strip, family reunion capital of the world for a night.”
31
Under Reconstruction
“How was San Diego?” the woman behind the nameplate reading Lieutenant C. R. Molina asked.
“Wonderful. The famous Hotel del Coronado lived up to its reputation, and the view was amazing too.”
“Hmm,” Molina said. “You may wonder why I asked you to visit me at work here at police headquarters?”
“It isn’t for another girly luncheon outing to the off-price mall nearby?”
“Sadly no. Although I do find Coldwater Creek intriguing.”
Temple wrinkled her nose. “I think you should really do Express.”
“Size would be an issue.”
“Only for men.”
“Aren’t you the snarky TV hostess already? No, I asked you to stop by because I have a wedding present for you, Miss Barr.”
“Oh. You and Mariah already sang.”
“We appreciated your gifts of the, I’m told—” Molina rolled her eyes “—‘adorable’, I quote Mariah,—custom T-shirts, rhinestone-festooned, is that the word? With the image of the Midnight Louie Austrian crystal high-heeled pumps.”
“First off the press for the commercials.”
“I’m sure the podiatrists of America salute you. Mariah is asking for an additional model, black on white instead of white on black, for French Vanilla’s backup singers, including my daughter on weekends. I’m sure the commercial ramifications of such exposure will suit your new talk show career.”
“Oh, yes! Perfect.”
“Enough of popular culture, Miss Barr.”
“I thought, after the wedding, we were Temple and Carmen now?”
“We were Temple and Lieutenant Molina, but this is police business.”
“Yes, sir.” Temple restrained herself from saluting.
“I can assure you that the Department no longer has any intent of pursuing Michael Aloysius Xavier Kinsella, also performing as the Mystifying Max, as a person of interest in any suspicious deaths in Las Vegas. So far this year.”
“He’s off the hook for the cold cases? Why? And why are you telling me?”
“Mr. Jackhammer, firmly in custody while you were distracted getting married and having an X-rated honeymoon apparently, having been thoroughly terrified by the events at his house and by your new husband, has confessed to killing Cliff Effinger and his brother, Joseph R. Effinger, as well as assorted other victims, including his inside man at the Goliath Hotel casino ceiling, who coincidentally died the very night said Mystifying Max completed his run as featured magician and disappeared to leave us all in the lurch.”
She concluded, “So you’ll be happy to hear Max Kinsella is free to start over in Vegas with a clean slate.”
“What do you mean, ‘start over’? He never really left.”
“Well, with his house burned down—”
Temple bit her tongue, annoyed that Molina knew that before she did. “He didn’t say anything to me.”
“Then you haven’t been associating with him recently.”
“Uh, not much.” Temple paused. “I think we all know whodunnit. Kitty the Cutter turned firebug. That house was an historical treasure. Orson Welles had lived there.”
“And, most relevant to the Mystifying Max, it was the home he shared with his late mentor, Garry Randolph. All their magic show paraphernalia burned as well, I imagine. I suppose his new gig as house magician at the Crystal Phoenix will be a welcome distraction.”
“No. Max isn’t doing that, after all. Which is a shame, since I can’t represent the Phoenix in PR there any longer anyway. That would be a conflict of interest with my new job. Jobs.”
“Really? I can’t say I’m surprised you and Matt are about to become Vegas’s new young media power couple, but ‘jobs’ plural?”
“And Louie. He—we—have the most exciting multi-commercial commitment. My feet, his feet, my voice, his voice. V.O.s, of course.”
“V. O. The four-years-in-the-bottle designation for Cognac?”
“Oh. No.”
“V. O.? Very Obnoxious?”
“Voice Overs.”
Molina nodded and produced a smile. “A happy ending for all concerned.”
Temple flashed her a Look. “You can be very Mean Girl sometimes, Carmen.”
“Sometimes, Miss Barr, it’s my job. Sometimes it isn’t and is just for fun.”
Temple put her front-seat “topper” on, a brimmed straw hat with a cloth scarf attached so her sun-vulnerable redhead’s white skin was protected, and took down the convertible top on the Miata, letting the rushing wind blow past her.
In no time, she was at the Circle Ritz, peering with Electra Lark through the plastic curtains that enclosed construction.
“Before we explore, dear,” Electra said, “I have a small token of my admiration and thanks for getting me out of hot water on the murder front, not once but twice.”
“Oh, Electra, this second time was so bogus. Living here is thanks enough.”
Electra produced a tote bag from behind her back made of a soft shimmering fabric.
“Hot pink! I don’t have that color. Thank you!”
“There’s something inside.”
Temple rooted through a bouquet of pink tissue spangled with tiny silver stars to pull out a matching piece of fabric. A T-shirt as vividly colored.
“‘And though she but little, she is fierce,’” Temple read aloud from the front type. “I love it! That line’s about Hermia in Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dr
eam. And the tee is hot pink too.”
“Raspberry, they called it. And it came in extra small.”
“Of course! It would be a crime if it didn’t. And we know crime!”
“It’s from your old employer.”
“Old employer?” Temple was confused. The Crystal Phoenix? The TV talk show deal and commercial deals would take a while to launch, so she could continue to rep the Phoenix for a while.
“The Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis,” Electra explained. “Since you moved in and told me about doing PR there, I looked it up on the Internet. And now you’re going to be a performer. I thought this would be perfect for you and your new role.”
Temple gathered the tee to her chest. “Yes! It’s so perfectly thoughtful of you. I hadn’t thought that way about everything. I’m gonna be a star, sort of. Thank you.”
The T-shirt made it through an effusive hug and back into its bag.
Temple looked at her first “curtain” as a star, the plastic construction sheeting draping her longtime residence and the scaffolding extending up into the unit above.
“I’m so glad you’re allowing our alterations, Electra.”
“Allowing it? Temple, this will be the most charming, ultramodern vintage unit in Vegas,” Electra said. She gazed up through what had been the floor of Matt’s apartment. “Even if you should outgrow the space—”
“What do you mean ‘outgrow’?”
“Well, you know.” Electra winked. “Get another cat. The remodeled unit will be the most in-demand in Vegas.”
“Speaking of cats…” Temple was frowning at Midnight Louie, reclining, whiskers down-turned, on her plastic-shrouded sleeper sofa. “I’m amazed he’s sticking around here in all this construction mess. Louie is such a loyal, loving home-body big guy. I worry he might get hurt remaining on the premises under construction.”
“Temple, he’s safer here than anywhere else.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that little black she-cat at the Crystal Phoenix is chasing him away from there. I went over to consult with Ernesto, who has been such a dear boy in supervising security here while we’re open to the world on two floors, and she chased poor Louie all the way to the reserved spaces in the front driveway.”
Cat in an Alphabet Endgame: A Midnight Louie Mystery (The Midnight Louie Mysteries Book 28) Page 24
