Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In An Alien X-Ray

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.…

Temple’s PR concerns could make her into a human security camera, and her last visual sweep of the area netted her a new idea. Sometimes the most obvious was the most concealed.

She eyed the slightly thinning crowd. Max had vanished. Tony Valentine had left. Even the Fontana brothers were down to a mere half dozen, including Nicky.…

In fact … Temple noticed that those two “living statues” powdered the solid white of marble were poised near Matt. The “groom” was apparently still at the moment, but the “bride” had edged over to … Max and Revienne, standing near the Crystal Phoenix movers and shakers.

How ironic if the “bride” were Kitty the Cutter, Max’s teenage conquest in Northern Ireland, already then a human time bomb of hate and vengeance. Temple turned and stalked toward the motionless-yet-now-sinister bride, planning to step on her trailing train and jerk off the veil.

She was about to commit a huge public debacle, but her instincts screamed she had spotted a maybe suicide bomber in their midst. Kathleen O’Connor could take out all her favorite targets and a lot of innocents right here and now.

Temple headed toward her prey.

Only she was about four feet and six seconds too late.

Chapter 20

The French Connection

“They are so adorable,” Revienne said.

“What?” Max asked. He’d been trying to overhear what Van von Rhine was telling her husband, Nicky Fontana, about … Revienne.

“Switzerland” had been the word in their conversation that had gotten his attention. He’d been astounded to learn during the introductions that Van von Rhine had gone to an exclusive boarding school with Revienne in Lucerne.

Small world. Or too small for comfort and credibility?

Max reflected that his spy instinct was obviously dominant.

“Max?”

“Sorry.” He smiled with a shrug. “I was wondering whether my memory led me astray or not during my business conversation with Nicky Fontana. I hope that was Nicky. There are more Fontana brothers here than I would remember even without amnesia.”

“You were fine, and I still say they are adorable.”

“The Fontana brothers?”

Revienne laughed. “They as well, but I meant the honored couple. The handsome blond man and the lively little redhead. She’ll age as well as her mother.”

“Yes,” Max said, a bit shocked. “That pair do make a handsome couple. But … ah, the older woman is Temple’s aunt Kit, not her mother. And the honored newlyweds are the aunt and her recent bridegroom, the eldest Fontana brother. Aldo is over there by the bar.”

“Ah, I see,” Revienne said. “How European. I didn’t know American women were enterprising enough to marry younger men. And the other couple?”

“Engaged.”

“Friends of yours?”

“As of my return to Vegas, yes. And before.”

“Poor man.” Revienne took his arm. “It must be like walking on ice, living again in a city filled with people you don’t remember. Not knowing who’s a friend, or an enemy.”

“Oh, I think I was used to that,” Max answered, again surveying the people they’d been discussing. But their positions in the room had changed.

As he turned, he almost brushed the extravagant bouffant veil of the living-statue bride.

This concept had been charming when introduced but was getting to be annoying, he thought.

“What the—?” He moved Revienne so quickly aside that the champagne flute in her right hand spilled.

Temple was bearing down on them at a fast, determined clip.

“Oh,” Revienne objected.

“Max, watch out!” Temple shouted.

Chapter 21

Let Them Eat Crow

I have been the perfect party guest. Unseen.

The copious greenery and potted plants make a perfect cover for the jungle-stalking kind, so I have observed this fancy social gavotte at the Crystal Court lounge from the cover of massive canna lily leaves.

My favorite humans are delightfully nimble, if predictable, at the cocktail game. If the soles of their shoes left fluorescent imprints on the pale marble floor, you would have a pattern showing enough to-and-fro traffic to emulate Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

I, however, am not fooled by the usual ins and outs of the usual cocktail party. Like my Miss Temple, I am here to sniff out danger among the daiquiris.

“Hah!” comes an unwelcome greeting from the rear that has my tail hair as stiff and splayed as a radiator brush.

“Hanging about your old haunt, hoping for a job offer?” Miss Midnight Louise speculates. “I could use a pool boy.”

I shudder as my flagship member settles back into its usual sleek condition. “Water is not my medium, Louise, especially chlorinated water. It is hard on the eyes and coat.”

“Just saying. Your old spot by the canna lilies bordering the hotel pool is vacant, and the fishpond is teeming with fat, out-of-condition koi.”

Of course, she knows just how to evoke my sentimental side … schooling fishies glittering in the sun, high-heel-sandaled bathing beauty feet passing to and fro. Bronzed bodies baking in the sun, and scaled golden torsos swaying just below the water level, plump and tasty …

“I no longer crave the swim-spa experience, Louise,” I tell her. “I am on guard duty. If you had your ears perked right, you would know that the most dangerous female in Las Vegas could very well be within eyesight.”

“I spot several suspicious females, including your roommate. She is dangerous to be around. Dead bodies have a habit of suddenly appearing.”

“She is just curious. It is a characteristic of the human breed—only my Miss Temple has a double dose of that personality trait. Which other suspicious female has your hackles twitching?”

“There is that smooth blond foreign number.”

“Are you talking sports cars or human beings? Miss Van von Rhine has not lived abroad since she came to Vegas after her father died and she met and married Nicky Fontana.”

Miss Louise gives my whiskers a slightly exasperated boxing. “I know who the Crystal Phoenix boss lady is. I have been unofficial house detective here longer than you ever were before you decamped with Miss Temple Barr to the Circle Ritz.”

“ Oho. We are going into past history and ‘he said/she said,’ are we?”

“We are going into ‘I am the law of the paw around here now.’ And I say Mr. Max Kinsella’s new girlfriend looks like the calico that ate the cream cheese.”

“Mr. Max has not already transferred his affections from my Miss Temple?” I feel indignant hairs stiffening all over my body. “The cad!”