Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit

What did the Fontana brothers, all nine of them- excluding Nicky, who didn't run with the pack—do for a living anyway? Temple wondered. After all, the long, Liquid lines of Aldo's suit proclaimed it an Ermenegildo Zegna.

Las Vegas was packed with pricey boutiques carrying such exotic and costly goods. Temple, a confirmed window shopper, had long before learned what was affordable and what was stratospheric.

Aldo was likely packing something even more impressive than an invisible high price tag. She eyed the impeccable flow of his wool-silk blend for a bulkier accoutrement beneath the Dairy Queen–smooth exterior. Like a Beretta.

Aldo fidgeted as much as his tailoring allowed. "I called you because I knew the boss lady wouldn't want to deal with this. Not that you're not a very boss lady, only you're not the boss lady, if you get my drift.”

The only drifts in Las Vegas were sand, so Templedidn't let any grit lodge in her shoes at the notion that she was a mere second banana.

Van von Rhine, who managed the Crystal Phoenix with elegant ease, was also married to its owner, Nicky Fontana, Aldo's "little" brother. Since all the Fontanabrood stood around six feet tall, such distinctions were pretty moot outside the family.

“What wouldn't Van like?" Temple asked.

“The, er, nature of the crisis. For one thing, she would have to wear a hard hat that would muss up that neat French roll on the back of her head."

“And you figure I can't muss." Temple ruefully ran a hand over waves of unabashedly undisciplined red hair.

“No muss, no fuss with TempleBarr, PR," Aldo grinned as he parroted the name and title on her business card. "Besides, I need to check this out with a cool head before I report to the management. They tend not to believe me because I'm family, you know."

“I know. My big brothers never did believe me about anything either, but you are the big brother here, Aldo."

“And I am up to the job." Aldo patted his breast pocket. Temple suspected he was referring to a hidden vein of lead and steel. "I see you have been eyeing my suit, which shows that you have not lost your impeccable taste since last we met. I wish to assure you that not only my software is first class, but my hardware also.”

This statement had a certain sexual connotation nei- ther she nor Aldo chose to notice. One thing about the brothers Fontana, attractive and single though they might be: they always treated Temple with the benign unpredatory tolerance of Great Danes babysitting a Yorkshire terrier. Of course, in the dog world, the tiny Yorkie dominated anything bigger than itself when whatever breed it was . . . wasn't looking.

“So you think there might be dirty work in the mine?" Temple led the way through the maze of moats, fountains, and crystal objects that comprised the hotel lobby.

 "Mines are always dirty work." Aldo sighed and looked down. "Your footwear is most attractive, but I fear it wasn't made for underground exploration."

“Listen, these high heels aren't just for looks. They give me terrific traction. You ever heard of pitons?"

“But we will not be climbing, MissTemple, we will be descending."

“The story of our lives and all human striving, right?" Temple stopped as they moved into the open area around the huge emerald-cut-shape of pool-blue water. Scaffolding draped in dusty plastic hid the entrance to the vast reconstruction project underway below.

“Lucky that all those tunnels from Jersey Joe Jackson's heyday allow the Phoenixto expand below the surface," Aldo mused. "Land along the Strip is going for a hundred grand a square foot these days.”

Temple gazed down at the burgundy leather toes of her shoes. According to Aldo's latest statistics, just standing here was awfully expensive.

Aldo offered her a hand, while his other hand swept back a dusty swath of plastic. Temple ducked under it.

They suddenly stood in a shrouded world of long iron rods and lumber stacked around an elevator that was little more than a skeletal crate on pulleys.

Temple stepped aboard the wooden floor and tried not to watch while Aldo lowered the boom, so to speak.

Rays from underground work lights seeped through the cracks in the elevator floor. Soon they were bumping to a stop in a cavernous space housing generators and worktables and machines that resembled sluggish giant wasps, so streaked with black grease were their yellow-painted casings.

The scene was indeed no place for high-rise heels. "It's time to exchange my hardware for softwear," Temple announced.

She tugged Aldo's sleeve to stop him while she sat down on what passed for a tuffet down here, a newspaper-strewn bench. She slung her ever-present tote bag to the ground. No spiders for Miss Muffet. Unless you considered Aldo....

“I can't imagine what you're packing in that major knapsack," Aldo said, more than somewhat in awe.