"Goodwill." He returned from the kitchen, setting their coffee mugs on the silver-gray melamine-covered ovals. "And just in time. I don't want you holding that coffee cup over the suede sofa seat when I tell you what Molina told me this afternoon."
"You've seen Molina? Matt, you didn't report Effinger's--?"
"No. I'm no tattletale. She reported on Effinger."
"And?"
Matt watched her. "He's dead."
"Dead?" Temple held her coffee mug over the laminated table with both hands, then lowered it very slowly. "But . . . that was fast. How?"
"Molina wasn't saying. She did drag me over to the ME's office to identify the body. Wanted to make sure this time."
"That was all she wanted with you? Identification?"
He shook his head. "She wanted to know where I was before and after midnight on New Year's Day."
"Last night? Before midnight?"
"And after midnight. I was at work, of course. She asked if I thought you had an alibi for that time."
"Me? Why me? I can see why you might be suspect if Effinger's death was suspicious, although why collar the guy and turn him in to the police, then knock him off a few days later?"
"Illusion. Misdirection. Turning in Effinger might make me a less likely suspect when something happened to him later."
"Why would she suspect me, though?"
"I don't know. She sure wants to know where you were last night."
"Safe in bed."
Matt cleared his throat. "Not exactly an alibi, for a single person. Louie was on the crime scene. She may think you were roaming around too." His eyes refused to ask where she had been coming from that awkward morning after.
"Louie?" Temple excelled at misdirection herself, her newly naked eyes avoiding his. "Matt!
You didn't tell Molina about Effinger's attack, that would explain her thinking I had a motive."
"Of course not! But Effinger had something on him that pointed to you. Something about the word 'Hyacinth.' She asked me if that meant anything."
"It's a flower."
"And a street name." Matt lifted the map tented over the sofa back. Its loud crackle made Louie, nose and tail in the air, leap to the floor. Matt found it odd to see Temple examining tiny type without glasses. "That highlighted area there, just west of downtown."
" 'Hyacinth Lane.' Sounds like part of an old Nancy Drew title: The House on Hyacinth Lane.
You ever been near there?"
Matt shook his head as he reclaimed the map. Wrestling with an unfurled map stretched his muscles a little too far. "Mmmfh," he muttered before he could catch himself.
Temple eyed him anxiously. "You look awful, Matt. Pale and wan. Learning of Effinger's death so soon after learning about his last dance with me must be a one-two punch."
"One-two punch is right." He tried to sound rueful rather than pained.
"You were so angry with me on New Year's Eve. I thought. . . I've been trying to tell me why I took it upon myself to keep you in the dark for your own good. That is awfully condescending."
"Never mind. Forget it. I mean that, Temple. I overreacted that night. Pride had to go for a roundabout ride. I was so pleased with myself for digging up Effinger and not tearing him apart that I never considered I might unearth some nasty consequences. I hate that you had to pay for my hubris, but at least Effinger will never do that to anybody again. And ... I see things differently since New Year's Eve. I do understand why you tried to soldier through. I guess that's what people do; try to protect each other."
"Well, that's a turnaround. I was prepared to writhe and crawl on my belly like a snake for at least twenty minutes."
"No time for self-obeisance. Sorry. Can you drive me past Hyacinth Lane and get me to work on time?"
"Sure. But... we could take the motorcycle."
"No, it's in the shop."
"Oh. Okay. I'll get my car keys and meet you in the lot."
"In the lobby."
"All right, the lobby. But with Effinger gone, safety might not be as much of a concern."
"Or more of one. If Molina's involved, someone killed him, if not me or thee."
She paused at his door before she left, tilting her head to eye him curiously. He could tell that she sensed something more than Effinger's death bothering him.
But she decided not to press it. Now.
"Nice couch!" Temple exited on a wink.
He was getting used to her without eyeglasses. He was even beginning to like the contacts.
Her eyes were a subtle blue-gray that reflected every shade of clear and stormy weather in her emotions. He had a feeling the outlook for the next few days was definitely stormy, and not just because of the name of Temple's car.
Chapter 23
Unholy Trinity
After cruising by the disappointingly nondescript Hyacinth Lane, Temple dropped Matt off at ConTact and headed for an opposite side of town: the upscale housing development where Max was hiding out, maybe from more than she knew.
On the way there, Molina's question, delivered through the fiendish medium of Matt Devine, repeated in her mind like a TV advertising slogan: Where were you at midnight on New Year's Day?
Not curled up in solo sleep in her Circle Ritz trundle, but sharing an exotic opium bed in Orson Welles's former house with her former--make that previously former--
boyfriend/lover/fiance. Who of course was in deep cover, and possibly even denial.
Great. Her alibi, should she need one, was the Invisible Man.
Temple knew that Max would probably disapprove of her impulsive drive -by consultation, but should she trust her phone lines now? Besides, she had masqueraded as a real estate lady in this neighborhood before, and could do it again.
Temple did balk at leaving her aqua Storm parked in Max's always-empty driveway. She parked on the lot line three houses down and went in on foot.
After ringing the doorbell in the shadowed outer courtyard, Temple assumed some sort of surveillance system recorded her approach. That hummingbird feeder could be a camera. Then again, a recording device could have been built into the soffit under the eaves.
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.