Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

Temple heaved a sigh and sat on the edge of the frilly feather bed. She fell backward into the linens like Alice in Wonderland into a flower soufflé. After Aldo hauled her upright again, she spit out an errant down feather.

“That’s what this scenario is,” she said, “feathers in the wind. We’re drowning in a miasma of details, and a pile of personalities, half of them strangers, and I can’t pin any one of them down.”

“Sit on this toy rocking horse here, you won’t sink into that.”

Temple followed Aldo’s advice, after removing a small black leather riding crop from the saddle. “Ick! I can’t stand cruelty to rocking horses. Aldo, I was crazy to think I could come out here to get Matt and Nicky off the hook. This case is going to rest on forensic evidence, and we just have to hope that killer left some.”

“Besides Matt and Nicky doing such a good job of that? CPR in a whorehouse. Way to go.”

“Aldo! The murder weapon was an article of clothing as common as cinnamon buns in a bakery to this scene. A fishnet stocking. Please!”

“That’s a little too pat,” he said. “You know it screams kinky sex crime.”

“You don’t think this was a sex crime, half-naked woman and all?”

“They’re all half-naked here. The guy clients too. Nah. I don’t like it. Why, I can’t say. That’s your job, Toots.”

“ ‘Toot, Toot, Tootsie, Good-bye,’ “ Temple quoted the title of the ragtime song. “Go back to the guys’ barroom and ask your brothers about the hiring of this Marlon Gherken. Who, when, and why. And have Electra send up the girlfriend who cops to setting up this event with the Sapphire Slipper and Gangsters. All I can do is follow the trail of the arrangements that made this Murder in Shades of Blue possible.”

He stood, shooting his sleeves again. No wonder the Fontana brothers’ clothing always looked smooth and sharp. They shook their coats like Big Cats shrugging off a nap. Temple admired the effect, but thought that being married to such an unselfconsciously self-conscious man would be tiring. Matt looked better ruffled, especially if she did it.

She sat back on the hard settee, curious to discover which insecure little witch would appear.

It was the endlessly upbeat Meredith Bell, lifestyle coach.

“Aren’t these rooms a hoot?” she asked on entering. “I mean, talk about cheesy fantasies.”

“Is that why you booked the place?”

“No. I booked the place because most of the legalized brothels are farther north, upstate. Lots of freelance ladies work Vegas, which has zillions of available hotel rooms for hanky-panky right on the Strip. Nobody needs to drive to a double-wide in the boonies to get his pathetic rocks off.”

“Apparently you thought the Fontana brothers did.”

“Did not! That was the fun part, taking the Romeos of Las Vegas Boulevard someplace tacky. It might remind them of what they were treating us like: modern conveniences, but not worth committing to. Guys today! With the sexual revolution, they have it all: women who love them and let them walk all over them.”

“Girls today seem to want their freedom too.”

“ ‘Seem to.’ Most women don’t do casual sex well, no matter what face they put on it. Who wants a come-and-go alley cat that can pick up all sorts of diseases, not to mention never show up again some day, when you can have a responsible resident house cat.”

Temple wasn’t going to delve into that one, with this woman or with Midnight Louie. “So why were you elected to call the brothel?”

“I deal with all sorts of people in my job. I’m good on phones, or in person. I’m . . . just convincing, I guess.”

Horrifyingly so, Temple thought. Why is it that people who guided other people were always so infuriatingly self-certain? Except for Matt, which was what made him the brilliant counselor he was. His own uncertainties showed through.

“How did the scam go?” Temple asked, settling into her uncomfortable corner of the settee.

Meredith, a woman who looked like she did daily yoga routines, didn’t even notice the harsh seating.

“Perfectly,” she said. “None of us know more about brothels than we could find on the Web, but I knew this place encouraged large parties and accepted exclusive reservations.”

“When did you make the reservation?”

“Ten days ago. I had to be sure to get the whole place to ourselves. Luckily a lot of their business is impromptu and Monday is a dead day and night. I just put on my executive assistant voice, gave ‘em the credit card number, and we were set. The Sapphire Slipper, and the Fontana brothers, were all ours for twenty-four delicious hours.”

“Whose credit card?”

Meredith straightened her spine and shook her silky blond ponytail. “Alexia had Eduardo’s. We thought the punishment should not only fit the crime, but underwrite it.”

“And what had Eduardo done to incur a three-thousand-dollar tab?”

“Let her see his credit card number when buying her some low-end sop to her self-respect.”

“Hmm,” said Temple, wanting to kick the smug Miss Bell in the supple shins. This juvenile scheme had put Matt in harm’s way. “What was this ‘low-end sop’?”