Cat In An Alien X-Ray

“What else is new? Kit. Tell me!”

“Nicky Fontana was talking with Max.”

“I didn’t notice, but I’m sure Van has filled her husband in on the fact that I’m with Matt Devine now, and Max Kinsella is firmly in my past.”

“Maybe. But Nicky wants Max to work up a magic show for the Crystal Phoenix.”

“He can’t.” Temple was stunned.

“Who can’t what? Nicky can’t commission Max to do a magic show?”

“Sure, Nicky can do that, but Max. His memory. How can he remember all his old illusions?”

“I’m sure he’s got new illusions up his sleeve,” Kit said dryly. “We all do. I can tell you, as an actress, that Max is very, very good at covering up his memory deficit. Don’t you want him to recover and get back to work again?”

“Sure, but not at the Phoenix, my account.” Temple searched the busy lounge area until she saw Matt chatting with a tall man distinguished by a poll of ice white hair. “It’s such a good thing Matt has a hot job waiting in Chicago.”

“We’ll all miss you,” Kit said, her lips turning down into a mime’s moue. Even when she made a sad face, she was charming. “I hope you two can commute to see us here. People live in the same city as their exes all over the world, and it’s not the end of it.”

“No, but—” But Max is making it so obvious that he is back on the Vegas scene. Does he want to draw the attention of Kitty the Cutter?

Temple started thinking about Max’s almost-lifelong enemy, studying the cocktail waitresses, the female guests, looking for Kathleen O’Connor in another guise. That witch was so sneaky that Temple could almost believe Revienne Schneider was another incarnation of her.

Matt seemed totally occupied by a knot of female groupies, bless his humble heart, so Temple eased over to Max and the Mysterious Man. For one thing, she was dying to know more about how he’d hooked up with Revienne.

The men turned at the heel clicks of her approach, but it was the Mysterious Stranger who greeted her first. “Ah, Miss Barr, isn’t it? I know your agile PR fingerprints are all over every successful event in this hyperactive city of ours, not to mention on the occasional crime scene. That Zoe Chloe Ozone persona of yours really hit with the teen crowd. And now I hear you’ve impressed some media folk in the Big Town.”

Temple stood there, shell-shocked. Out of the corner of her eye, Max looked equally taken aback.

The man extended a veined but elegant hand and gave hers a waft past his lips. “Tony Valentine,” he said. “I represent those close to you and hope for an even closer connection in the future.”

Almost no one rendered Temple speechless. She saw that Max was in the same gobsmacked state and felt infinitely better.

“Adieu, Mr. Kinsella,” Valentine said with almost a parting heel click. “Please think over our cocktail chitchat and call me at teatime tomorrow for a true business conversation.”

Temple had to stand on tippytoes to watch his majestic white head glide away through a crowd that parted like the Red Sea for Moses.

“Tony Valentine,” she finally repeated. “He’s Matt’s agent. How did he know about my adventures in crime and punishment?”

“Probably from your concerned fiancé,” Max said. “A good agent knows everything.”

“Then I should ask him about the hot blond French babe you’re suddenly escorting.”

Max’s laughter was so infectious, she rightly felt foolish.

“She’s French-German,” he corrected her.

“A quibble. You know she’s as French as a Victoria’s Secret Miracle Bra.”

Max paused. Thought. “Actually, the French don’t go in for artificial implementation. Au naturel, you know.”

“So I noticed. Okay. What are you doing, exposing yourself all over town? You know it’s not safe.”

“I know ‘safe’ isn’t the way we’re going to smoke out Kathleen O’Connor.” Max gazed over her head at someone. He took a deep breath. “You realize her pattern is to torment next of kin, significant others, everyone but the true target of her rage.”

“So you aim to make yourself Mr. Prime Target, against the odds she even cares to torment you further at this point.”

Max nodded solemnly. “Why wouldn’t she? You do.”

Temple wanted to sputter that she didn’t. But couldn’t.

“If I were you,” he told her, “I’d keep an eye on the present, not the past.”

“What are you saying?”

“Just a word to the sage.”

Temple was frowning as he moved away.

Kathleen O’Connor was back. She’d never left, despite being mistaken for dead often enough to set a world record. Temple looked around. All the woman’s favorite victims were gathered here. She tended to fixate on men. Matt. Max. Maybe she’d even dazzled the Cloaked Conjuror when she masqueraded as his partner, the Asian magician, Shangri-La. Supposedly Shangri-La had fallen to her death. Or a body double had.

For sure, Kitty the Cutter was a mistress of disguise.…