Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In An Alien X-Ray

“True. The Glory Hole Gang were holdup artists, not mob.”

“Whoever killed Cliff Effinger was probably mob,” Temple said. “Effinger was in on something. He knew something that got him killed. When Matt and I visited Chicago, someone was shaking down his mother for some old personal items Effinger had left behind.”

“Really? What kind of items?”

Temple was not going to reveal the strange history of the constellation Ophiuchus and secret magicians’ circle called the Synth. If Molina found the names of the outlet mall’s various areas “New Age,” she’d find all the Synth mumbo-jumbo, with bodies arranged in a constellation shape, too outré for the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.

“We don’t know,” Temple said, guilty about lying. “Just that there was a fireproof locked file box full of memorabilia, and somebody wanted it enough to threaten and stalk Matt’s mother—”

“Another stalking situation?” Molina’s squinting eyes reduced her electric blue irises to high-intensity narrow beams. “That’s … a coincidence too many.”

“Her apartment was broken into and Midnight Louie taken to force her to surrender the box and its contents. The Chicago police went to the warehouse Louie had escaped from and found two ‘minor crime figures’ with Italian surnames in somewhat shaky condition.”

“That’s ethnic profiling, Red.” Molina was sensitive about her half-Hispanic origins.

“Go to the mob museum if you want to see ethnic profiling spelled M-a-f-i-a. ”

Molina leaned back in the plastic chair, her meal and beverage dispensed with. And probably her patience. “I’ll look into the Farnum character’s company, but as far as we yet know, that dumped body was a murder in search of an unrelated site to be found in. The only prints around the location indicate the presence of rats. And cats,” she added with a forbidding frown.

Temple knew when to pull back. “You can’t have one without the other or else you get bubonic plague,” she pointed out.

“The victim hasn’t been identified, but I’d doubt he’d have mob connections. His hands were callused from heavy labor. I’d suspect the building trades.”

“Shovels. Pickaxes. Maybe he knew where other bodies were buried.”

“Will you get off this Jimmy Hoffa theme?” Molina was annoyed enough to make a speech. “With all the undreamed-of construction on the Strip in the past twenty years, any hidden bodies would have come to light. This is not a Big Crime case. It could be someone who welched on a bet at an illegal street gambling site. It could be someone who was bribed to use substandard building materials and was going to ‘squeal’ in the language of the gangster movies you favor.” Molina rose, ready to go.

Temple would love to know what the woman kept in her pockets; she never carried a purse. “I agree that this was man-on-man violence, not some old lady going crazy with the family revolver after fifty years of unhappy wedlock.” Temple gathered up her tote bag and stood as well.

“Stay put,” Molina ordered. “I’ll find my own way out. Maybe you should forget crime-solving, after all, and stick to what you know best. Shopping.”

Molina had gone too far too fast for Temple to think of a snappy comeback. While she picked up the lunch remnants and consigned them to the trash barrel, she considered that she’d at least learned the official police position on the dead body on Paradise.

And that Molina was behind the times. A woman could work both sides of the street these days: career seriousness and self-expression.

Just to prove it, Temple would not stop in at the Juicy Couture 80 percent off sale on the way out.

Chapter 19

Honeymooners

“You and Matt make such an adorable couple!” Aunt Kit pronounced that evening.

She linked Temple’s arm through hers and led her on a stroll through the lavish indoor tropical gardens and water features of the Crystal Court cocktail lounge. Although this was a private reception in honor of Kit and Aldo Fontana’s return from a Lake Como honeymoon in Italy, a big and festive crowd thronged the Crystal Phoenix Hotel’s bar area. The soaring spotlighted entry wall was frosted-crystal sheened by a thin veil of falling water. Very bridal.

A life-size wedding cake topper couple posed in the center of the space. “Living” statues as pure white as Carrara marble had been introduced at the Venetian Hotel. The specialty mimes looked frozen in place, but moved infinitesimally, disconcerting the unwary in a whimsical, charming way.

“Adorable couple, me and Matt,” Temple repeated her aunt’s comment. “Them too.” She nodded at the statues. “And … I could say the same about you and Aldo.”

Kit smiled like the Persian who’d lapped up the ice cream. “We Carlson girls are just the bee’s knees. Luckily the genes weren’t weakened by your father, Mr. Barr.”

“Leave my poor father out of it, Kit. I hear you ‘Carlson girls’ have been chatting about me behind my back. Have you even told Mom you’re married now?”

“Hell no. She’d make such a fuss. Have you told her you’re engaged?”

“As a matter of fact,” Temple said with a virtuous air she could seldom assume, “yes.”

Kit grabbed her hand and sat them down on a white patent leather tufted bench with Lucite legs. It felt more like floating than sitting. “How’d she take it?”

“She was dubious until she learned the happy fiancé wasn’t Max.”

“Your mother recognizes a dangerous man when she sees him.”

“Wait’ll she sees Aldo.”

“I hope to postpone that day until Aldo condescends to grow a respectable gray hair or two. These Italians are slow to turn distinguished.”

“I hope ‘that day’ is at my wedding.”

“Then you’re going to do the deed in Minnesota?”

Temple sighed. “Maybe. Or Chicago. Or maybe there’s someplace ecumenical in between.”

“Iowa?”

Temple laughed. “Why not Wyoming, while you’re at it?”

“Wherever it is,” Kit said with a hug, “you’ll make a beautiful bride.”

That made Temple tear up a tad. “I’d better not desert my bridegroom-to-be. It’s really great to dress up and go out in Vegas together at an event that’s not so late he’ll have to rush off to the radio station.”

Temple jumped up and fluffed the full skirt of her ’50s vintage dress, now so “in” again. She and Kit strolled back to the main mingling area.

“Ah, bella. ” Tall, dark, and handsome Aldo Fontana intercepted them and so equally offered his glance that it was impossible to tell which woman he’d called beautiful, presumably both.

That was the Fontana touch, diplomatic to the bone. Imagine the movie Godfather having ten nephews who were maître d’s at a five-star restaurant.

All the Fontana brothers were clichés: ridiculously tall, dark, and handsome. There were an incredible ten of them, here now mingling in suave social patterns to make guests feel welcome, whether it was steering a couple to the bar or kissing the ladies’ hands.

Matt, bearing a tall frosted glass, joined them. “A mini family reunion?” he asked, smiling at Kit.

“Don’t you look handsome,” Kit said, embracing him and brushing his cheek with a kiss. “Family privilege, right, Aldo?”

Aldo responded by kissing Temple’s left hand and winking at the engagement ring on it. “Family privilege, Matt.”

“You’ll all be pleased to know,” Temple said, “that Kit has informed my worried mother in Minnesota that I’m under the wing of a large Italian family while in Las Vegas. She was much relieved.”

“Then,” said Aldo with a brush of his palms that ended with a gentle clap, “my function in life has been more than met. May I sweep you away,” he asked Kit, “for a private family stroll among the camellias? I do have a lot of brothers.”