In fact, she saw the landlady’s pink Probe pulling in right now…only it was white.
Huh?
Only the driver wasn’t Electra, but Matt.
Double huh?
She stopped cold. “Am I seeing things?” she asked as he got out and headed toward the side door without noticing her.
Matt whirled as if she had shot at him. “What?”
“Your Elvismobile is parked over there. What are you doing driving Electra’s car? And when did it turn white? Curiouser and curiouser.”
Matt eyed the lot, nervously. “We’d better get in.” He trotted for the door and stood holding it open for her like a parking valet.
She looked at the sky. No rain coming. And she couldn’t hurry at this point. She trudged toward the door. “I don’t get it.”
The minute she put a foot on one small step into the building, he was pushing behind her and shutting the door.
He practically pushed her right into the wall.
“Matt! What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’ve been awfully busy lately, that’s all. I’d better get upstairs and check my answering machine.”
“What? No lobby chitchat?”
“Sorry. It’s been frantic.”
He preceded her down the hall to the building’s small black marble-lined lobby so quickly that she couldn’t keep up with him.
When she got there, the space was empty. Both elevators were on the main floor, doors open, so he couldn’t have taken one. He was using the stairs?
Curious, she went to the stair door and opened it, listening for footsteps above.
Nothing.
Either he had run up the stairs already, or…he had simply vanished.
Or…The opposite door to the hall leading to the wedding chapel caught her eye.
Maybe…
She was never too tired to solve a puzzle. Besides, she had a deep personal dislike of men disappearing on her.
Temple opened the door, listened to the silence beyond, then penetrated it.
Electra’s drive-by wedding business was booming, but the big hotels with their fancy chapels had stolen the wedding bells from the tiny, quaint Lover’s Knot.
The room with its corny bower wreathed in plastic flowers and white pews crowded with Electra’s soft-sculpture people was dim and empty.
Maybe because it was dim and empty and neglected, it had the solemn silence of a real church. Temple hadn’t been in one in years, except for a couple services at Our Lady of Guadalupe with Matt. Masses, that’s what they were.
She noticed a familiar silhouette among the fabric people and started. Oh. Only Elvis.
Smiling, she sat down beside the King.
She had seen more than a few versions of Elvis at the Kingdome recently, but this one had snow-white hair.
“Hello, Izzy,” she said softly. “Is real? Not this time.”
If Matt was driving Electra’s car, then Electra must be driving the new silver VW a supposed Elvis had left for him at the radio station.
Why would they switch cars? Why would Matt give up a perfectly nice new car for an old one? Why would he give up Elvis’s last gift car?
Of course it hadn’t been left by Elvis, but by a delusional fan. Or something like that.
Temple sat in the quiet, brooding.
She knew Matt was busy, that he had speaking engagements and media and all that stuff to deal with. But it didn’t mean he should stop dealing with her.
And that’s what she had felt like just now. Snubbed. Brushed off. Run out on.
Just like when Max had vanished without an encouraging word. She hadn’t been so shocked in ages, and was not again until he came back like a clap of thunder echoing out of a clear blue sky.
Max on her second-story patio, back.
She supposed that incident might make her a little oversensitive to newer perceived desertions.
Still, it hurt to feel not wanted, especially by somebody she had flattered herself to think would always want her. Maybe Matt had found someone else. As well he should. But that didn’t mean their friendship had to end.
Max, of course, would disagree. And maybe he was right. He usually was.
Temple took a long shower as soon as she got to her unit, then decided to face the mazurka, and called Leonora.
“Temple Barr. I can’t tell you how impressed Mr. Maximilian was with your layout. Couldn’t stop talking about the ranch house and the facilities.”
Leonora purred her thanks.
“And as for myself, there’s something terribly personal I’d like to ask you. I might as well just jump right in. Maxi was raving about your magnificent cheekbones. I’d noticed them on my first visit.”
“Everybody does,” Leonora interrupted, sounding pleased.
“May I ask—? It’s terribly rude of me, but I wondered.”
“Everybody does. I loved your ring, by the way. Wherever did he get it?”
Okay, reciprocating girl talk. “Fred Leighton’s.”
“Of course!”
“And your cheekbones? You see, I’d like to get some myself.”
“Yes, you are a little flat-faced.”
Flat-faced! That freak!… “I know. It’s been the bane of my life. If you can recommend a good plastic surgeon, one that might be able to do something major with my…flat…cheekbones?”
“I’m sure Doctor Mendel can help you out. He has offices on Charleston.”
“You recommend him? Personally?”
“But of course.”
“Come to think of it, I’ve heard he does Savannah Ashleigh.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“Well, good luck. I would certainly do anything I could to keep your Mr. Maximilian happy.”
You did it yourself for Mr. Van Burkleo, Temple thought, and look what it got you both.
“My face is my work of art,” Leonora added.
Cubist period, Temple added mentally. Hamlet was right, much as she despised the line: Vanity! Thy name is woman.
“I’ll look right into it,” Temple promised.
As soon as she hung up, she opened the Yellow Pages. Dr. Mendel, huh? She already knew him. She’d buffaloed him before, so she probably could flog some information about Leonora and her surgeries from him.
She dialed the office and asked for a consultation, soon. The matter, she said, was urgent.
Chapter 37
Human Error
Although I am the first to assert that my Miss Temple is a pretty sharp cookie you wouldn’t want to try snacking on without a lip guard, I must admit that she does have her unguarded moments. Usually when Mr. Max or Mr. Matt is around.
These moments also occur when she is in the act of entering or exiting a motor vehicle, which I find a most convenient failing. Especially if Mr. Max or Mr. Matt is also in the car.
In this case, it has been a real lifesaver for me and my partners in crime solving.
Thus it is that we three—me and the Terrierable Twos, Groucho and Golda—are safely sheltering under the oleander bushes bordering the Circle Ritz parking lot by the time she accosts Mr. Matt shortly after Mr. Max has driven off.
I say “accost” because Mr. Matt Devine is behaving as I have never seen him do before. Instead of suffering from an inability to take his eyes off Miss Temple, he is darting them around the parking lot as if aware that I and the Dustball Twins are under the oleanders. He is, in fact, looking like a minor character in a bad detective novel. Were I in such a production, I would be forced to describe him as looking shifty.
Fortunately, I am not and can instead say that he is moving his gaze around the parking lot perimeter as if worrying that even the bushes have eyes and ears.