Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

That didn’t sound like Louie, who had a habit of running toward strangers and commotion. Where was the big lug now?

“I saw him upstairs,” Matt put in. “In fact, he led me upstairs.”

Several of the boys laughed lustily. “Hey, there, Matt, maybe he wanted to rush up to where the action was,” Ralph jibed.

“The action was dead,” Matt said.

A pall fell like a winding sheet over the naturally boisterous Fontana spirits.

“Sorry, man,” Ralph said. “We only heard about the body on the bed. We didn’t have to find it.”

The other brothers nodded somberly, but Temple was sure they’d expected to find lots of bodies upstairs at a brothel, live ones. And, frankly, she doubted that dead ones would much upset seasoned wise guys. But she’d never tell Matt that. He’d be shocked.

You could play along with the Fontana boys’ pussycat facades, but you should never forget their Berettas weren’t just a high-tech fashion accessory.

Temple pulled out Nicky’s cell phone and asked him to take the images of the dead woman around to all the tables. There was much tsking and glum murmuring among them, but no Fontana claimed to recognize the girl.

Wonderful! Total strikeout. The victim was utterly unknown by anyone now in the Sapphire Slipper. Not likely. How was Temple going to find a murderer among this cast of dozens? And by tomorrow afternoon, yet?

Start at the point you know, she told herself.

“Okay. This question is for all you younger generation Fontanas. How’s your relationship with your current girlfriend and how long have you been associated?”

There was a stunning silence. Most guys don’t talk relationships even when plied with vodka and needle nose pliers to their private parts. Why were they going to breathe a word in this communal setting?”

“Please, guys. You were the ones deemed worthy of nicking, which set this whole insanity in motion. I don’t have time to take you aside one by one for a private tête-à-tête. The police may be more private about interviewing you, but they’ll be a lot less understanding.”

Macho Mario snorted. “The police aren’t understanding at all. Okay, girlie, you didn’t ask, but I’ll come clean. I’ve been a widower for twelve years. I ain’t never been to the Sapphire Slipper. I can still get my own girlfriends at any bar in Vegas.”

“Have you ever dumped a girlfriend since you were an eligible bachelor again?”

“For one thing, I have never been eligible. I have lawyers who see to that. For another, I know that a guy my age and weight can’t be choosy. I also know my rep attracts the little dolls. I have never been known to say no to a little doll, hence they do not leave me unless a wedding ring comes along from some new beau. Then it’s no hard feelings, aloha.”

Macho Mario’s unabashed confession got the brothers rushing to spill their guts.

“It was Aldo,” Armando said. “Flipping over your aunt. That got our girlfriends all stirred up. Then they try on the bridesmaid gowns and say they hate them, and only a bridal gown will do. Vera Wang, yet.”

Rico shook his head at their oldest brother. “When Nicky tied the knot, we all thought he was just young and didn’t know better. No offense, Van. And, although he was the youngest, he’d always wanted to settle down early, go straight, have a hotel of his own, and kids. Or kid, in your case. How is little Cinnamon, anyway?”

“Safe at home now, and in preschool otherwise,” Van said, “which is more than can be said about any of you, then or now.”

The brothers managed to look both sheepish and suave, en masse.

Van nudged Temple in the side. “Fontanas do ‘guilty but innocent’ so well. I’d like to see your stone-cold police lieutenant, Molina, handling this gang in an interrogation room.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Temple answered. She addressed the Fontanas again. “All your girlfriends hate their bridesmaid gowns?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Mamma mia, does she!”

“Already offered it as a car rag for the Viper.”

“But Kit and Van put a lot of thought into them,” Temple objected. “The colors are sophisticated, the lines elegant, and there’s no bow on the butt. What more could they want?”

There was a long, sullen silence.

“Bridal gowns,” Temple answered herself.

“This wedding stuff has made them snap,” Eduardo said. “Simple as that.”

“How long have you been going together?” Temple asked absently, still mourning the fact that Van’s and Kit’s brilliant choice of bridesmaid gowns was not only a washout, it had incited a rebellion.

Their answers echoed the women’s. “Six years.” “Three.” “Four.” “Three.” “Five.”

“Uh, guys. That’s a pretty stable amount of time. Didn’t it ever occur to you that they might be expecting some more permanent commitment?”

“They have jobs,” they chorused again.

“Jobs, hell. Careers.”

“Nobody was clamoring for bambinos, and that is sure not gonna happen for Aldo and Kit.”

“They liked a good time, and we had ‘em. Why ruin it?”