Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“I meant the wedding was a hasty event, not the events leading up to it. You will remember, Louise, that had I not investigated Miss Matt Mama’s premises and sacrificed myself as handy kidnap victim to two Chicago Outfit thugs, our detecting friends would never have uncovered the Effinger connection. Makes you wonder about fate and redemption and true love.”

“Makes me wonder about your mental stability.

“I know you favor Mr. Max, but I will tell you Mr. Matt looked so good in his silver suit, Miss Temple seemed likely to make them the next couple in front of Miss Electra Lark in her black justice of the peace robes. They were a symphony in gold and silver.”

“And you were a tuxedo cat for a day.”

“For a couple of hours. I performed impeccably, by the way, when Mr. Matt bent down to unhook the wedding ring from my white tie and collar. I held still.”

“So, what was the ring like?”

“I heard Miss Kit Carlson describe it to Miss Van Von Rhine as a ‘fancy blue diamond solitaire surrounded by diamonds with a matching diamond wedding band.’ As per the usual wedding, the gemstone was outshone by the glitter in the eyes of the female guests.”

“Anymore pant-worthy details?”

“For the ceremony, which was short and sweet, all the unattached Fontana brothers sat in the pews next to Miss Electra’s soft sculpture congregation. It was interesting to see them paired with the likes of Gloria Steinem, Judge Judy, and Bette Midler.

“I, of course, cuddled up with the King, because I really did wear a ring around my neck, and I was ‘his, by heck.’ And that’s all she wrote.”

Chapter 55

Twisted Tight

It was over.

Matt moved aimlessly through his apartment at the Circle Ritz, not that it was a very big space. Mom married. The wedding banquet at the Crystal Phoenix had been festive … and underwritten by Nicky and Van. Temple had been amazing, as usual.

They’d kissed the happy couple good-bye and come home to change finery and chill out. Matt relished this time alone. He’d come to Sin City hunting the ghost of his mother’s almost willfully unhappy marriage and, now, thirty years later, had watched that misery dissolve into a midlife renewal with a good man.

He himself had been remade by coming to terms with the past.

Matt loosened his tie, kicked off the fancy black patent leather loafers, sat on his red suede vintage couch. So many of the people he’d met here in Vegas had helped him make a deep personal transition.… The staff at the ConTact phone help line where he’d first worked. Janice Flanders, the police sketch artist. Danny Dove, choreographer and friend extraordinaire. Letitia Brown at WCOO. Carmen Molina, always tough and resilient. Even the Mystifying Max Kinsella.

And Temple. He could never do for his mother what she had done, taken Mira in hand and out of her self-imposed isolation. Temple was always the warm, steady heartbeat of everyone around her. Especially him. His love for her was an inner island of calm … easily ruffled by waves of shore-shaking excitement.

Now would be time for Temple and himself, solely and exclusively, and their own wedding plans could commence without any baggage from his past. At last.

As he sat there, enjoying the silence, the thoughts of the future, he noticed a nagging background sound. Something tap, tap, tapping somewhere.

Matt shut his eyes. Breathed deep. Relaxed.

Still that annoying rapping, like Poe’s darn raven.