Cat In A White Tie And Tails

So she was returning her Chicago-stressed mind to all things Las Vegas, which was mostly show openings and bad economy news, when she ran across a familiar but obscure name in print.

WOMAN’S DEATH STILL A MYSTERY

Unfortunately, that was not a startling headline in any U.S. city, but the name in the article’s first sentence was a shock.

“Gloria Fuentes,” Temple exclaimed aloud, disturbing Midnight Louie at his tongue bath in a large square of sunlight on the parquet floor. He regarded her with the long measuring gaze of a cat minding his own business and wondering why she was not minding hers and refraining from disturbing his grooming session. Then the lazy gaze narrowed to green slits and he bounded over to sit doglike by her feet.

Surely Louie had no interest in the name, just her sudden animation.

Temple examined the below-the-fold snippet more carefully. Newspapers nowadays were like trendy tapa appetizers: a palate-teasing dozen or so small stories arranged on the front page to intrigue a range of readers … if anybody read cold type anymore besides Temple.

Her fingers were tense as she paged to the “jump” on page six. What jumped out at her first was a logo reading, CCF: VEGAS, THE COLD CASE FILES.

This was a running feature she hadn’t noticed before, and a clever play on the venerable CSI: Vegas TV series.

“Louise Deitz.” She muttered the reporter’s byline to herself, giving Louie a glance in case he was interested in more than the rattling newsprint. His ears perked up over the still-slitty eyes. Perhaps he’d been reminded of the Crystal Phoenix cat named Midnight Louise after him.

Temple hoped being married would stop her habit of talking to Midnight Louie. Folks who lived alone tended to get into monologues with their pets. It did help her cogitation system to think aloud.

She scanned the short paragraphs that ended with a request for fresh information from anyone having it.

The facts were correct. “Yes, strangled in a church parking lot. Yes, professional magician’s assistant.” Gandolph didn’t merit a mention as Gloria’s former employer. Born in Chula Vista, California. Single and never married, an “attractive” forty-eight years old, with no known relationships outside her job. No known exes.

Temple digested some new information. A head shot accompanying the article reminded Temple of performer Chita Rivera. Muy attractive. And never married? A mystery. Temple remembered an even greater one about Gloria’s death. The fact that the words “she left” had appeared on the body at the coroner’s like a nightclub’s light-sensitive tattoo.

She turned back to the front page to read the byline. “Louise Dietz. Not familiar, but she soon can be.”

Temple lowered the newspaper to the coffee table top, thinking. Then she picked up her cell phone.

It rang before she could make a call. Matt on the line.

“Matt. I may have a lead on Gandolph’s assistant.”

“That’s great. What I’ve got a lead on is that crazy situation up in Chicago. I’m going to have to fly up. So, sorry, no amateur detecting for the immediate future. I’ll fly out after tonight’s show, really early Friday morning, getting back just before Friday’s midnight show. So you’ll never miss me.”

“Not possible. I always miss you. What’s up?”

“Mom’s agreed to see Philip finally, but only if I referee.”

“Gosh, the airfare on a one-nighter will be—”

“Steep, but well worth it if I can break this impasse.”

“I hate to think of you all alone up there with that barracuda cousin, Krys.”

“I hate to leave you all alone down there with that walking sympathy-sponge, Max.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to trust each other.”

“Exactly what I’m going to tell those crazy middle-aged kids in Chicago.”

“‘Love is all you need,’” she quoted the Beatles.

“You’ve got it, love.”

“Mine, too. Good luck.”

Temple sat for a few moments after the call ended, wondering if Matt could pull off a miracle reconciliation.

Meanwhile, she had a murder to look into.

Chapter 40

Brassy and Breezy

So you think I would get an invite to accompany my Miss Temple to the local rag offices to interview the reporter known as Miss Louise Dietz? No such courtesy. And here I had acted as obnoxiously alert about the article as, say, your average hyperactive Chihuahua.