Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A Topaz Tango

“Those Barbie dolls found that way might be calling cards for a predatory killer of young girls, ma’am,” Larry said. “You couldn’t have done a better job than we would in setting your daughter up as a decoy.”

“Oh. Oh!”

Sou-Sou’s eyes were pie-plate round.

“Better get that outfit off of her pretty quick,” Molina told the mother. “These dirty tricks are no joke, and your daughter is already the victim of one.”

“You mean,” Mrs. Smith asked, “a killer could be loose?”

Before either Molina or Larry could answer, a strange metal trolling sound came into their midst.

Everyone glanced at the black-painted stage floor. A small metal canister with a red cap was wobbling among their circled feet. A large black cat had joined their circle, one paw still lifted like a golfer holding up his club while waiting to see his shot land on the distant green.

The cat was positioned next to an open scarlet purse that now lay on its side, the contents spilling out, Polaroid photos, lipstick tube, nail file.

Larry bent to bag the rolling tube. “Pepper spray, Mrs. Smith? From your purse? We think that was used to doctor Sou-Sou’s shoes the other night. Another creative idea?”

“Oh.”

“Moth-er!” her daughter accused with a screech. “That hurt! ”

“Lots of women carry pepper spray,” Mrs. Smith insisted, bending to stuff the items back into her purse.” She held out an imperious hand to Larry, open. Her fingers were trembling and Sou-Sou was standing, pouting rebelliously.

Molina nodded.

He slapped it into her waiting hand. “That was child endangerment, ma’am. I’ve got bigger game to track here but you try anything further like this and your daughter will be blackballed on the dance circuit. Now get her out of that Barbie outfit and burn it.”

The pair scuttled away, sounds of shrill recrimination echoing from the hall outside.

Molina looked around for the cat. It was gone. Of course.

“I’ve got to get back to the main event,” she told Larry. “Looks like this Barbie connection was just a coincidence.”

He nodded.

“I’m not certain your being here is one, though.”

“You mean where? Near the stage?” She was silent. “In the hotel, on this case? Yeah, I sorta assigned myself. I’m not useful?”

“Yes, you make yourself useful. Too useful. I’m not sure why and I’m thinking you don’t want me to know why. “

“You really don’t think a man would simply be attracted to you? You have lost yourself in your job, Carmen.”

“And you haven’t, undercover man?”

“I’m on leave from that.”

“Don’t fool me and you won’t fool yourself. You’re still working undercover and you’re using me to do it. I’m seeing things a lot more clearly now. Sometimes friends look like enemies and enemies like friends. Which one are you?”

He stepped close, his voice low and intense. “I’m your friend. Really I am. You don’t know how much.”

Was it a promise, or a threat? She didn’t know but she would, eventually.

“You showed up on the scene of the local Barbie doll killing, and here you are still today, pushing your way into my investigations. What? You want to make me or to make detective? Or something else?”

“You are so wrong.”

“Again? Is that the unsaid ending? I have been wrong and I may be wrong again, but right now I have a choice of dumping you or watching you, and I prefer the latter.”

Madness in His

Method Dancing

Twenty minutes later, Temple returned to the empty greenroom and picked up her tote bag, digging out her cell phone and dialing. Where was Louie, anyway? Not playing a purse pussy anymore, that’s for sure.

“Yes?” Molina barked into her ear.

“Ah, Zoe here.”

“If you’ve quieted the natives, get up here. Your M&Ms are missing you.”

Click. Gone.

She hefted the tote bag over her shoulder. It suddenly felt very heavy, even without Louie, and she headed, not for the high-roller suite, but into the deserted rehearsal areas. The backstage dressing and rehearsal rooms were eerily empty, but muffled voices had her heading for the men’s dressing room.

Sure enough, some light spilled into the dim hall and a group of men sat hovering around a camcorder, looking and listening.

She recognized Rafi Nadir and one of his uniformed security lieutenants, Hank Buck. Dirty Larry held the camcorder while Matt told him when to pause. A couple more security guys stood by, arms folded.

“She seemed fine here,” Matt was saying. “Only at the end did she falter, and then it was like she went out cold in two seconds. I was already holding her up for the leg slide, still trying to save the routine, not realizing anything more than a misstep was wrong.”

He’d swept off the head scarf and false black lovelocks. With his highlighted blond hair showing against the intensified spray tan, he now resembled a surfer dude instead of a matador. Not a bad look, either.

“Are they going to alert you on her condition soon?” Matt asked.

“Soon,” Rafi said, “but the EMTs reported from the ambulance that it looks like a common sedative OD. Could be something she took for nerves.”

“A pro wrestler at a dance contest?” Matt asked incredulously.

“Not likely,” Rafi admitted with a smile. “Police procedure avoids jumping to any conclusions. Given the other incidents on stage here, it’d be safe to guess it’s not voluntary. You all drink water?”

Matt looked around at the empty plastic water and energy drink bottles on the long makeup dresser tops. “Constantly. Even the makeup lights are hot, and we rehearse until we sweat like overhydrated pigs. Then there’s the stress of waiting for your performance results.”

“The police will test all the empties they find. Okay,” Rafi said, glancing at Temple in the mirror. “That crazy mixed-up kid you want to marry has come calling. I think you two can have some face-to-face time in the hall.”

Matt’s warm brown eyes seemed black in this artificial light as they met hers. He stood, knocking his chair back a little. After all the complicated dance-floor moves, he suddenly seemed awkward.

Having your partner pass out in your arms on live TV might be a bit disorienting, Temple thought, not to mention the uncertainty about Wandawoman’s condition.

They went down the hall far enough so they couldn’t hear the murmur of investigators, and the investigators probably couldn’t hear them.

“You all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine, and you heard Nadir say Wandawoman will be too. This competition is looking more ‘killer’ by the moment. What did you get me into?” he added mock ruefully.

“This major sexy costume,” she said, pasting herself against it and running her fingers down the deep front V of the transparent mesh shirt. “Pardon my pawing, but I’m standing in for all the women in the audience.”

“Yeah?” He smiled down at her. “You’re the only one I care about.”

“And aren’t I lucky? Matt, how did you manage that amazing transformation? Danny said you outmachoed José. It can’t be just Tatyana’s whip hand.”

“You know, this ‘acting’ stuff that you talk about, and that Tatyana is trying to drag out of me by hook or by crook, has given me some new insights. Is it supposed to work like that?”

“ Ye-es. Acting forces you to inhabit other people’s skins and that’s very enlightening. Sooo?”

Their embrace stayed close as he combined almost kissing her with a dutiful recital of his recent epiphany.

“I knew I had to commit totally to this competition, even the parts of it that made me uncomfortable. Tatyana loved my swimming physique, but, unlike fencing, it’s not a very passionate or romanticized sport and you don’t learn drama doing it. So I thought about the dance, the pasodoble. The love-hate aspects. Didn’t help me much. I’d been working on the ‘love thy fellow human’ part for years and even purged my hatred of my rotten stepfather once I found him here and saw what a pathetic weasel the bane of my childhood was.”