Cat In A Topaz Tango

She was now officially a fiancée acting against her intended’s better judgment. She hadn’t had to answer for her own safety to anyone since leaving her Minneapolis home almost three years before. True, she’d been living on her own since she was twenty-three, and she was pushing thirty-one now.

Temple tossed and turned, trying to track down the gnawing feeling of guilt taking nibbles out of her innards. She’d left Minneapolis with Max, which was hardly a huge independent step, although leaving her smother-loving family was a hard break to make.

Max had been concerned about her safety—he’d left her without a word for almost a year to lead some nasty hoodlums away from their love nest. Love nest. Temple smiled. Max was hardly the nest type. They’d lived together, but Max had always had a secret life she finally found out about. So he’d never moved back into their Circle Ritz condominium once he was back in Vegas and her life. They were both free to come and go.

Matt was a lot more conservative than Max. He worried about her unleashing Zoe Chloe Ozone again, even though the police were unofficially encouraging her to do it. Temple supposed a suspect nicknamed the Barbie Doll Killer might be a tad unsettling to a fiancé who wasn’t a secret agent on the side, like Max.

But she’d gotten attached to Mariah when she and Zoe had been roommates for the Teen Queen competition. Temple had only had older brothers in her family, always bigger, stronger, surer, “righter.” Mariah was like a little sister who needed advice on being girly, being a performer, being a snoop.

Temple grinned. How could she and Zoe be any safer? She had two relentless protectors in the form of feuding bodyguards, each competing to be the more perfect parent and police officer.

Insecure Security

The ballroom where the show would be held seemed football field huge, with electricians and stagehands running around it like fire ants.

Temple eased her candy-apple red patent leather platform shoes over the snakes’ nests of black cables crisscrossing the carpeted floor.

“Watch your step, little lady.” Rafi took her elbow and almost hoisted her above the entangling cables.

On her other side, Molina frowned. “You two are on cozy terms.”

Rafi gave Temple a Cheshire cat smirk. “It’s all about working together on that reality TV show. Bonds form fast.”

“You and a bunch of teenage girls. I may heave.”

“Not on the cables. That could be dangerous.”

She looked mad enough to spit on both of them, but shrugged and stalked ahead, her tailored loafers missing every sheaf of cable.

“Man, she is wired,” Rafi said.

When Temple laughed, he caught her eye.

“Appropriate choice of words, right here,” he said. “I don’t know whether her problem is concealed pain or . . . concealed something else.”

Temple was not an ex–marital counselor, like Matt, so she let that lie. “How do we go about investigating in this massive place? A determined killer could be running around in one of these work-man’s overalls.”

“I’m sure that’s where Carmen’s gone. She’s got undercover cops here. They’ll have checked lists of workmen, program personnel, waitstaff, anyone with business in the area. And they’ll continue checking. You think you could find an outfit more likely to scream, ‘Here I am, mob me or kill me’?”

Temple looked down at her black-lace leggings, racy red shoes, and short, full skirt. She waggled her fingers in the long spiderweb-pattern Goth gloves and hefted the orange patent leather tote bag holding Louie and little else higher on her shoulder.

“I have to be fashion-forward. The world expects that of Zoe Chloe. Golly, Rafi, how long do I have to lug Louie around as a purse pussycat? He weighs a ton!”

Louie’s large, cheeky tomcat face looked very Halloweenish peering over the pumpkin-colored tote bag.

“Cats aren’t supposed to like being carried around,” Temple complained further.

“He’s a good prop,” Rafi said, lifting the double tote straps off her right shoulder.

Before Temple could sigh her relief, Louie hissed at his new custodian and wriggled out of the bag onto the floor. In a few smooth darts, he threaded the workmen’s legs before they even noticed his presence and, like Molina before him, disappeared.

“That cat has a nose for trouble,” Rafi commented. “If Carmen wouldn’t have my head for leaving you, I’d follow him.”

“Let’s both do it. Louie thinks best on his feet.”

So they tripped the cables fantastic until they arrived at the backstage area where floor directors, the producer, the music director, and press agents were milling around.

“Miss Ozone!” exclaimed a jovial man shaped like a bottom-heavy wine bottle that comes in a basket wrap. He waddled over, operating a cell phone camera. “Fab to have you here. You look fab. The show will be fab with you emceeing our junior division and bringing all your online fans along for the ride, not to mention making new fans through your appearances here. And this gentlemen is?”