Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

“But what a way to go,” Temple said as he followed her upstairs, kissing her fingers to the air like a chef. “Pasta, olive oil, and lots of sauce.”

“We may find all those ingredients in the Victorian Room upstairs.” While Temple tried not to blush—racking her brains for any uses of pasta in kinky sex—although the olive oil and sauce she got, Aldo went on. “Why the Victorian Room?”

“I figured it wouldn’t be wired. None of them are supposed to be, but you never know. Recording would ruin the illusion. But I’m counting on you to check it out first.”

“Right. Wait here.”

Aldo slipping into the room’s saccharine pale blue décor resembled a white-clad black panther invading a froufrou shop. It took more than ten minutes, but he examined everything from four-poster canopy to carpet to furniture to walls and ceiling.

He stepped out into the hall to report.

“All is as ersatz, authentic Victorian as could be desired. No wires, no peepholes. So.” He folded his arms and eyed her with an arched eyebrow. “What did you really have in mind here?”

Temple grabbed his arm, ducked inside, and shut the door on them.

Aldo did not look worried. Nor did he look hopeful.

He didn’t have to. She would never even flirt with her aunt Kit’s guy.

“You’re right,” she said. “The police will tear this charade to pieces, making all of us look guilty and no doubt dragging every one of our names through the media. After my first round of interviews it’s becoming evident that, while there are a ton of suspects on the premises, there’s also plenty of room for outside skullduggery.”

“Outside as how? Sapphire Slipper employees?”

“First and foremost, yes. The place had to be reserved; that was a forewarning. The girlfriends think they were clever and that their designated caller sounded like an executive secretary making arrangements for a bunch of businessmen on a company-paid rampage, but it might well have sounded suspicious to the staff here. Then there’s the question of how these babes in the woods managed to subvert your regular Gangsters’ driver and take over.”

“That is odd.” Aldo pulled out his cell phone. Although it was as loath to connect up here as anybody’s, he could still examine his call lists and other information. “Ah. A new hiree was on last night. Marlon Gherken.”

“Could he have been planted?”

“Sure. The Gangsters’ manager runs the daily operation, not us. She’ll be the first person I talk to when we get back to Vegas.”

“ She ’ll?”

“Gangsters is an equal-opportunity employer,” Aldo said piously.

“Could she be a pal of one of these girlfriends?”

“All my brothers’ girls live and work in Vegas, some in the entertainment industry. That means they know a lot of the workforce here, casually or closely. Yeah. She could be related somehow. But why such an elaborate setup for one murder? I’d have to say that it was something on this end, the bordello, that made this murder happen here and now.”

Temple heaved a sigh and sat on the edge of the frilly feather bed. She fell backward into the linens like Alice in Wonderland into a flower soufflé. After Aldo hauled her upright again, she spit out an errant down feather.

“That’s what this scenario is,” she said, “feathers in the wind. We’re drowning in a miasma of details, and a pile of personalities, half of them strangers, and I can’t pin any one of them down.”

“Sit on this toy rocking horse here, you won’t sink into that.”

Temple followed Aldo’s advice, after removing a small black leather riding crop from the saddle. “Ick! I can’t stand cruelty to rocking horses. Aldo, I was crazy to think I could come out here to get Matt and Nicky off the hook. This case is going to rest on forensic evidence, and we just have to hope that killer left some.”

“Besides Matt and Nicky doing such a good job of that? CPR in a whorehouse. Way to go.”

“Aldo! The murder weapon was an article of clothing as common as cinnamon buns in a bakery to this scene. A fishnet stocking. Please!”

“That’s a little too pat,” he said. “You know it screams kinky sex crime.”

“You don’t think this was a sex crime, half-naked woman and all?”

“They’re all half-naked here. The guy clients too. Nah. I don’t like it. Why, I can’t say. That’s your job, Toots.”

“ ‘Toot, Toot, Tootsie, Good-bye,’ “ Temple quoted the title of the ragtime song. “Go back to the guys’ barroom and ask your brothers about the hiring of this Marlon Gherken. Who, when, and why. And have Electra send up the girlfriend who cops to setting up this event with the Sapphire Slipper and Gangsters. All I can do is follow the trail of the arrangements that made this Murder in Shades of Blue possible.”

He stood, shooting his sleeves again. No wonder the Fontana brothers’ clothing always looked smooth and sharp. They shook their coats like Big Cats shrugging off a nap. Temple admired the effect, but thought that being married to such an unselfconsciously self-conscious man would be tiring. Matt looked better ruffled, especially if she did it.

She sat back on the hard settee, curious to discover which insecure little witch would appear.

It was the endlessly upbeat Meredith Bell, lifestyle coach.

“Aren’t these rooms a hoot?” she asked on entering. “I mean, talk about cheesy fantasies.”

“Is that why you booked the place?”

“No. I booked the place because most of the legalized brothels are farther north, upstate. Lots of freelance ladies work Vegas, which has zillions of available hotel rooms for hanky-panky right on the Strip. Nobody needs to drive to a double-wide in the boonies to get his pathetic rocks off.”

“Apparently you thought the Fontana brothers did.”

“Did not! That was the fun part, taking the Romeos of Las Vegas Boulevard someplace tacky. It might remind them of what they were treating us like: modern conveniences, but not worth committing to. Guys today! With the sexual revolution, they have it all: women who love them and let them walk all over them.”

“Girls today seem to want their freedom too.”

“ ‘Seem to.’ Most women don’t do casual sex well, no matter what face they put on it. Who wants a come-and-go alley cat that can pick up all sorts of diseases, not to mention never show up again some day, when you can have a responsible resident house cat.”

Temple wasn’t going to delve into that one, with this woman or with Midnight Louie. “So why were you elected to call the brothel?”

“I deal with all sorts of people in my job. I’m good on phones, or in person. I’m . . . just convincing, I guess.”

Horrifyingly so, Temple thought. Why is it that people who guided other people were always so infuriatingly self-certain? Except for Matt, which was what made him the brilliant counselor he was. His own uncertainties showed through.

“How did the scam go?” Temple asked, settling into her uncomfortable corner of the settee.

Meredith, a woman who looked like she did daily yoga routines, didn’t even notice the harsh seating.

“Perfectly,” she said. “None of us know more about brothels than we could find on the Web, but I knew this place encouraged large parties and accepted exclusive reservations.”

“When did you make the reservation?”

“Ten days ago. I had to be sure to get the whole place to ourselves. Luckily a lot of their business is impromptu and Monday is a dead day and night. I just put on my executive assistant voice, gave ‘em the credit card number, and we were set. The Sapphire Slipper, and the Fontana brothers, were all ours for twenty-four delicious hours.”