Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit (45 page)

“
Close but no cigar. I must confess, with regret, that
my most recent Elvis visitation—”

Here she snorts her disbelief with a vehemence that
would get her arrested were she not an innocent-
looking feline.

“
You and Elvis! That is a delusional mutual admira
tion society. As I recall, he was a dog and horse man.
And I would not expect his ghost to be any different.”

`That is just it, Louise. Not every Elvis apparition is
the real thing."

“Not
every!
Like any one of them could be!"

“Your Mr. Matt had his suspicions?'

“Elvis might look up Mr. Matt. I might look up Mr. Matt if I were returning for my tenth life. Neither of us would look you up.”

What is a guy to say to such a blanket dismissal? A
few choice expletives cross my mind but I am ever the gentleman. Especially on
Candid Camera.

“
So,"
I sum up. "We have three suspects, so far. I
think tomorrow we shall have to arrange to trip them all up. Literally. And soon.”

Chapter 50
A
Hasty Hand
Temple hadn't really been able to sleep.

She'd set the bedside clock radio but it was like clock radios in hotels: so many hands had been on it that it was unlikely its current reading was correct.

Luckily, Mariah was out cold. Temple felt a twinge of
guilt after she turned off the possibly unreliable alarm
and unplugged the unit just to be safe.

Better Mariah should miss breakfast and her first consultation of the day than that she should be involved in a confrontation with a killer.

Actually, Temple only needed to confirm where the suspect was, then dash to the entry area and await the arrival of jolly old Detective Alch. He could do the takedown and Molina would be seething with . . . gratitude?

Well she should be, Temple thought. The clear and present danger would be over. Mariah would be safe,
along with everybody else, and still an innocent contestant with a chance of winning.

Xoe Chloe, alas, the incorrigible roommate now re
vealed as an overage fraud, would be outed and kicked
out of the Teen Queen Castle. Fair exchange: Temple cherished no delusions of ever becoming a teen queen, back then or here and now. She'd been lucky to go to her high school prom, even with a dorky date, much less be crowned queen of it. Or anything.

There is something strangely unreal about thinking
you've discovered a murderer. It gives you a sense of invulnerability, oddly enough. After all, you know what's what when nobody else does.

That's how Temple felt when she tiptoed out of the bedroom, leaving it dim behind all the drawn miniblinds, with Mariah's head still buried in the covers.

She checked Xoe Chloe's watch, a jingling band with a cheery collection of skulls and Harley Davidson charms mixed in with such girly icons as tiny spike heels she'd found at the mall.

All Temple had to do now was ensure the perp was ensconced in the proper consulting room, then guide Alch there.

He thought he was here as a mere delivery boy. She
hoped he still carried. Maybe she should have speed-
dialed the Fontana Brothers as backup. Her Aunt Kit
would adore meeting them.

She got down to the main floor, checked her watch, and
hovered at the front entry hall. No Alch yet but it was
only 8:25. Maybe she should pick up some muscle on the way.

Time to skitter down the endless halls—where were Xoe's Rollerblades when she needed them?

Temple's heart was pounding when she reached theright door, and not from the run. What if she was wrong? She knocked. After ten seconds' silence, she pushed the door open.

The office seemed empty. Strange. The 8:30 slot was booked. Someone should be here.

Aware that her every move might be recorded, Temple played the curious arrivée, peering in, peeking around, moving around on silent little cat feet.

No bogeymen jumped out from behind furniture, so before she knew it, she had advanced to the empty desk.

Upon its admirably clear surface lay a note, scrawled
in a hasty hand.

Temple cocked her head to read it sideways: "See me first thing tomorrow.”

Hmmm.
Sounded like the tail wagged the dog, al
though this dog had always been in charge of the manger.

Either way, she needed to hit another office fast. Her watch said Alch would be pushing open the Teen Queen Castle entry portcullis right about now. . . .

She dashed down another hall, around a corner, and
into familiar territory.

Another door, another knock, another long silence. Brash, bleached-blonde Xoe Chloe walked right in. Peered.

The high-backed leather chair behind the desk was
spun away from the door to face the windows overlook
ing the pool area.

Temple had a very bad feeling. She should cut and run,
whatever that meant.

She'd been here before. Empty office, sinister chair
back. Cameras, anyone?

Why had Dexter Manship left that imperious note just
sitting on his desk? Had he figured out what she had?
She'd trespassed on his empty office before, but then
there had been nothing sinister to find after all.

That was there and then. This was here and now.

Had he too tumbled to the bizarre truth? Where was he now?

Was she too late? Would Alch find yet another victim instead of a perp?

She didn't like Manship. Who did? Manship probably didn't even like Manship. But . . . he was a human being, sharp and observant. Maybe too much of both.

She approached the desk. Walked around it. Outside
the Nevada sunshine was bouncing off the blazing white
stone and blue water and basting bronzed blondes to
French toast.

Inside, the office was dim. Silent. Still as death.

She grabbed the chair's high back and spun it around with all her might.

She needed all her might. The chair was heavy and
only rotated forty-five degrees.

Enough to reveal a passenger.

An inert passenger.

The wrong one.

Xoe Chloe could have skated back down a quarter mile
of hallway to the front door in about two minutes.
Temple was less athletic and way more practical.
She screamed. It was a wimpy thing to do but it would bring 'em all in about sixty seconds flat.

Chapter 51

Heartfelt

and Red-Handed

"They have you on tape," kindly Detective Alch said. Threatened. "We have you on tape, since their tapes are now our tapes. Slinking around Manship's empty office a few days ago."

“That wasn't me," Temple said. "That was Xoe Chloe. She's much nervier.”

Temple wasn't nervy at all now, except in the wimpy meaning of the word. Her back was to the desk and Beth Marble's very dead body, but the grotesque image was
branded on the movie screen behind her eyes: Beth's
head tilted back, eyes open, the curled black hair slid
back several inches . . . a wig like Xoe Chloe's ex-
accessory, but the head beneath it . . . bald. It was bad enough the woman was dead; worse that the killer had
scalped her in a sense. Temple wondered if gravity, or the
murderer, had unmasked Beth after death.

“You say you were going to spring the murderer's
name on me when I got here. Then why the detour
to Manship's office?"

“He'd left a note from my suspect on his desk, asking him to see her."

“
'Your suspect?' Miss Barr, I personally think you're an
okay person, and I get that my boss wanted you on this
scene for reasons relating to her daughter. But you've been
caught red-handed over a dead body. You see my position."

“
Yup. You're probably sitting on the exact place the body was laid before it was propped up in the chair.”

Alch eyed the large ottoman, then sprang up. "You
think she was killed elsewhere and brought here? But
how? This place is crawling with cameras and antsy contestants. You couldn't import a bedbug here without getting major notice."

“I don't know."

“
So.
Are we to suspect you, or Manship?"

“
Good question. Since I'm a wild card here—" Alch snorted.

“
Probably Manship. He's the Big Meanie on board.
The note signed by her was left in his office, so he probably was there."

“
So
how did he waltz a dead body three hundred feet through corridors that might be highly populated any second?"

“
I don't know. He's Australian. They're used to
wrestling crocodiles."

“Okay. Tell me about the vic."

“Well, I think the vic was actually the perp."

“You're kidding me, right?”

Amazing, Temple thought, how talking the talk cut through the fog. Vic. Perp. That made the so-intenselypersonal act of murder strangely impersonal.

“Or one of them."

“Say you're kidding me."

“
I can't. I do have a rationale for why I thought the
perp who is now a vic became a perp."

“
Rationale. Look, Miss Barr, the lieutenant told
us
about your pseudo-participation in this circus. We are inclined to overlook a great deal. But being found first on a murder scene is not one of the overlookable offenses."

“How many 'offenses' did Molina consider expected?" His expression tightened. "A few. Like breaking and entering on the first death scene. And bringing her daughter along."

“
You guys have taken over the show's secret recording
duties."

“Darn right. Now. I'll take you downtown so the lieutenant can debrief you."

“Mariah—"

“Not to worry. Su's with her.”

For some reason, Temple felt usurped.

“
Why didn't Molina use Su in the first place? Why
drag me into it and then punish me for getting ahead of
the curve?"

“
You're a head of something, all right," he said, gazing
at her blindingly blond hair. Then he chuckled. "Don't sweat it. Somehow I don't see you as a candidate for stabbing someone through the heart."

“Was that the murder method?”

Alch put a finger to his lips and mustache. "Not for publication.”

So she was escorted out of the death scene, a defiant Xoe Chloe to the last. Everyone gathered around: herd of tittering blondes, glad to have Xoe off the show; Crawford Buchanan, hissing a blow-by-blow commentary into his live mike; her own aunt, looking aghast but keeping her lips zipped like a good actress; a subdued Dexter Manship; and Rafi Nadir, bringing up the rear to give her a thumbs up, her only supporter.

Unless you counted Midnight Louie at the crowd's
very edge, backed up by a trio of hip kits, one silver, one golden, and one as black as Xoe Chloe's hair used to be.

Louie did not give her a thumbs up.

But he did wink. Or blink. Whichever. He had a
whisker's chance in hell of helping her.