Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

She lifted her eyebrows again, but said nothing. Then, “Molina. Hey, all we have to do is dial direct.”

“You have her on your instant dial too.”

“Guilty.”

“Janice Flanders,” she read off without expression.

“Never know when I could use a good police sketch artist,” he said.

But they both knew he’d briefly dated Janice when Temple was unavailable.

She nodded. Hit a few more buttons, then dialed.

Matt frowned, trying to remember who else was in his scanty cell phone address book. His agent, Tony Valentine, of course. Danny Dove, Temple’s choreographer friend who’d become an odd combination of counselee-mentor for him lately. Who the devil else?

The phone was ringing, and from the way Temple slightly raised her voice, he knew it was a long-distance call.

“Temple Barr calling on behalf of our mutual friend, Matt Devine,” she said confidently. “Sorry to bother you, but Matt’s in a spot of trouble in a brothel in the Nevada boonies and—” She laughed, almost flirtatiously. “I thought that would get your attention. So help me God and Judge Roy Bean. Right. Heart of the West. I, we, need to know what this phone number means.” She repeated the digits. Then listened. And listened. And listened some more.

“No shinola! That would explain what happened when I called it. Yes, I did. Just now. I’m sorry! There was no other way to learn what we’re dealing with on that end. On this end? Murder. Matt tried to give the victim CPR and was discovered in a compromising position with the body. Female, right. That too. Are you online? Yes, about thirty. Hard to tell. Really made-up.”

Temple glanced at Matt. “Well, it happened more than twelve hours ago. It’s a touchy situation. We were hoping to—Yes, I know that’s loony. Yes, I know you know me. Molina? Over my dead body. We’re sixty miles from Vegas anyway and in a different county. Really. Yes, I have seen some of Smoky and the Bandit, but only accidentally while using the remote control. County sheriffs are really that obsessive? Okay, okay, I’ll have Van von Rhine call the LVMPD. You bet I don’t want to be the whistle-blower here! This call was bad enough.

“Yes, all the Fontana brothers and their significant others, as a matter of fact. It was a bachelor party. Aldo. Getting married, yes. The girlfriends crashed the party. My aunt from New York. She’s not that old! You’ll call and cancel? That would be great. I kinda hung up by pretending to pass out.”

Temple cringed. “I know it was a stupid stunt. Helicopters? Well, we do have more people here now than would fit in even the most elastic stretch limo. That much an hour for gas? Man, fuel prices are outrageous. There oughta be a law.” Temple cringed again. “Yes, I know I’ve broken several. Thank you for calling that helicopter thing off. It might have stampeded the lizards.”

Temple flipped her phone shut and grinned at Matt. “I’ve irritated some real heavy hitters in law enforcement, but I’ve now got a motive. A damn good motive. Next stop is Miss Kitty’s safe.”

Not So Safe

“Sorry, Red. I don’t open my safe until the police get here.”

Miss Kitty folded her ample arms over her truly commanding chest.

She filled the golden oak desk chair now, and Temple and Matt sat on the maple side chairs drawn up to it.

“We need to present the police with a fait accompli solution,” Temple said. “There are folks who have places to be tonight and I imagine you have rooms booked too.”

Miss Kitty stirred on her executive throne. “True. But I don’t break a confidence. My business reputation depends on it.”

“Even when the other party is dead?” Matt asked.

The madam heaved out a frustrated breath.

“We know you recognized Madonnah when you first saw the dead woman,” Temple said. “It would have simplified everything if you’d just said so. I wasted hours trying to find out who she was.”

“I don’t break a confidence. In life, or in death. Even I didn’t recognize her at first, and I knew the girls’ hadn’t seen her latest ‘look,’ so they wouldn’t say anything. She really was a woman of a thousand faces. Had to be, poor thing.”

“Look,” Matt said. “I’m the prime suspect here, just because I tried to breathe some life back into Madonnah. It’s obvious she had something to hide.” Matt glanced at Temple. “She knows what it is, but she hasn’t told even me yet. And we’re engaged to be married. Whatever this information in your safe is, it could help find Madonnah’s killer.”

Miss Kitty’s barely there eyebrows lifted. “Engaged to be married? Would you hold your bachelor party here too?” Apparently the group take was hefty.

Matt glanced at Temple again. “Uh . . . not really.”

Temple shrugged and appealed to Miss Kitty. “He cannot tell a lie. That’s why the police would make garlic mashed potatoes of him.”

“Where did you find such a rare specimen of the gender?” Miss Kitty asked.

“Formerly in the priesthood.”

“Oh. Really?” Miss Kitty gave Matt an accessing glance that only a madam could. “What a waste.”