Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“We need to discuss this new wrinkle in person. Maybe we can grab a bite.” He got inspired. “At the Blue Dahlia, say.”

“That’s more than ‘grabbing a bite.’”

“So who says you don’t deserve a quiet dinner out? And I hear the band is good. Where’s Mariah now?”

“Grounded.”

“You have a handy watchdog for her, right? Being you’re on call.”

“A couple live in the neighborhood. I could check. I’m not sure I’m—”

“Ready to go out on short notice? You never wore much makeup. Didn’t need it.”

“Not ready to see you in a social setting.”

“Oh, come on. I helped out on that last case, didn’t I? And we have a big something in common to discuss.”

“Apparently you’re primed to do the town since you got that Oasis assistant security chief job.”

The comment was out of left field and a bit catty for Molina, but Rafi shrugged it off. “I’ll be by in half an hour, okay?”

Another pause. “Angela is off today. I saw her working in her yard when I got home.”

“Done deal.” His thumb ended the call before she could change her mind.

He ran the YouTube song again with the sound higher. The kid had perfect pitch and decent pipes, and she was smart enough not to cover copyrighted songs. Lyrics and melody were not there. She needed to study her mother’s songbook, get some classic underpinnings.

He remained slouching on his secondhand couch, thinking.

*   *   *

Molina was already regretting her decision. She was glad Mariah was staying in her room while her mother was bumbling around her own bedroom, hunting up nonwork clothes that looked good enough for more than kicking around on errands.

She ended up recycling Dirty Larry odds and ends, like the dressy top she wore to Mariah’s performance at the Teen Queen reality TV show and the side-studded jeggings and … she paused in casing her selection of low-heeled boots, loafers, and moccasins on the floor of her closet. There were those kitten-heeled electric-blue pumps Temple Barr had nagged her into getting, on sale, when they were shopping for undercover clothes for Zoe Chloe Ozone and Mariah for that same show.

She got on her knees to pat down the dark at the back of her closet until she dragged them out. She’d never worn them, needing to minimize her five-foot-eleven height. Tonight … let Rafi stretch his spine a little, kinda like on the medieval rack. She was not kowtowing to male insecurity with him.

“You look nice,” Angela said when she arrived to house-sit and Molina opened the door, sounding too surprised and then looking dismayed.

The twenty-something cop needed to master noncommittal demeanor. And not insulting her superiors. Not too nice, Molina hoped. So clever of Rafi to invite her to the Blue Dahlia, her sometimes singing venue. She had an image to uphold with the management there even when she wasn’t appearing as the chanteuse “Carmen.”

Mariah had finally learned about her mother’s hidden hobby and occasional gigs there. That didn’t help matters either. Molina had plenty more reason to carp at Rafi.

She slipped out of the house before his car arrived to avoid inconvenient introductions, and slid into the front passenger seat as soon as it did.

“I need to make an early evening of it,” she warned.

His cursory glance was as noncommittal as Angela’s wasn’t. “You’ve worked there; we should get fast service.”

“I’m not sure what you want.”

“Neither am I, besides the obvious.”

She didn’t want to put Mariah’s name on the table until they were seated at a dinner table masquerading as a bargaining table. Meanwhile, she should keep things pleasant.

“How’s the Oasis job going?”

“Good. The head security guy is leaving and I’m up for the slot.”

“Already? That’s a suit-coat job.” She eyed his black denim jeans and the Bob Seger screaming eagle graphic T-shirt worn under a black linen blazer.

“Yeah, like a detective,” he agreed.

“How’d you get the major hotel-casino gig, anyway?”

“A well-connected friend gave me a rave review.”

“A friend? Here in Vegas?”

“Not anymore.”

She saw his jaw tighten. Had to be a bruising backstory there. Rafi knew how not to give away emotions, but that had failed him for just a moment. Interesting.

They kept silent the rest of the way. Not delving into cherished old misunderstandings made conversation harder. Recriminations come easy, Molina mused, regretting she’d imploded when she discovered Mariah’s YouTube adventure.

She exited the car as soon as it was in Park and headed for the club’s entrance. Rafi and the jingle of his car keys being pocketed caught up with her just outside.

“Classy joint,” he commented.

“A contradiction in terms.” She stopped to take in the blue-and-magenta blossom of neon sign shining down on them and smiled. “But I’d forgotten. It is indeed a classy place.”

Rafi had reservations. Nancy, the sixtyish hostess, showed them to a fringe table with a good view of the band.