Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

“I can’t keep you out of mine, though, can I?”

“I just want to meet my daughter. Spend some time with her. What you did put me in a tailspin, Carmen. I blew everything. Yeah, I did that, but did you ever stop to think what disappearing like that without explanation did to me? I followed up on every unidentified female body around L.A. for years. I didn’t dare report it, because you took your stuff, but I couldn’t believe you’d leave me without a reason.”

“I had one.”

“A freaking fairy tale.” He looked up at her, hard. “I’m not letting you off the hook. I have parental rights, and I want them. I’ll keep it quiet, if you will. I didn’t deserve what you did to me.”

“Maybe . . . not.”

“You can be lukewarm about it, but it’s almost fifteen wasted years of my life. I’ve got some friends now. I don’t have to fall back on the freaky edge of being a bitter ex-cop. I’ve got a new job and I’m pretty good at it. Private cops get better pay and more respect. There’s no reason you shouldn’t let me have a small part in my daughter’s life.”

“No.”

“No? You’re not fighting me on this?”

“No.”

“Something’s happened.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not going to tell me. Someone pressuring you to let me into Mariah’s life?”

“Only you.”

“A thrown pop can isn’t much pressure, Carmen.”

She managed a small smile. “It wasn’t much of a temper tantrum, either. No, I’ve reconsidered, realized that I might have been wrong. I have no reason not to believe your version of events, unless you give it to me.”

He laughed again. “ ‘Version of events.’ Cop talk is not the only way to communicate, you know.”

“I know. But I need some time.”

“Time! I’ve wasted almost fifteen years.”

“A little time. There are a couple of loose ends I have to tie up, at work and at home. Then we’ll . . . arrange something. Since Mariah met you while you were on guard duty, it might be best to build on that, not tell her right away. She’ll be mad, but you said you bonded a little at the reality TV house. That’ll win her over. She’s crazy about a TV singing career.”

“She’s got some pipes. Next she’ll be going for American Idol .”

“So she says.”

“Kinda like you. Determined. You got determined in the wrong direction about me.”

She pushed herself upright, sighing. He never suspected she was in pain.

“I guess.”

“We need to talk more about that. It’s important.”

She looked at him for the first time. The man she’d been in like with, at least. Maybe not right for her for the long haul, but worth something then, or they’d have never gotten together.

“You’re looking good, Rafi.” She smiled as his wary facial tension collapsed with utter surprise. “That hotel security job sounds like a new start. That’s what Vegas is for. The gambler.”

He came around the barrier to see her to the door.

“You’re way different from what I thought.”

She turned on the threshold. “Maybe you are too.”

He was still gaping after her when she left, a little giddy on inner and outer pain, pain pills, and revised attitudes.

Ex Marks the Spot

Time was flying and Temple was getting desperate.

She found it mildly suspicious that Ralph set up the bachelor party and it was his girlfriend who bribed the driver to turn the limo over to her. But Asiah had been pretty open about the bribe and also about her lack of interest in roping a Fontana brother into matrimony.

Temple meandered back into the kitchen, sensing the tension in the parlor and bar areas as she passed through. The police would have to be called soon. Then, at least, some of the suspects could be cleared enough to be sent home.

Matt had stood as she’d passed through the bar, his face tense. It was now almost noon on Tuesday. He had to be on the air, live, by midnight.

She needed a sign, something to put her on the trail of a disloyal or maybe just royally misguided girlfriend. They were listlessly hanging out around the large homey kitchen table and sitting on the quartet of stools at the eating bar. The radio was playing country and western plaints. The girls looked tired, bored, and rebellious.

One of them must have gone very wrong, but which one?

Life coach Meredith; Wanda, the honey-blond massage therapist; raven-haired Judith, the runway model; white-blond Jill, a pharmacist; the mahogany redhead who trained horses, but maybe hoped to control her Fontana brother, Alexia; Tracee, the superfit Pilates instructor; Evita, a ventriloquist who could certainly call in sick for a missing chauffeur, or Asiah, right Jill-on-the-spot to drive the huge silver boat and its unknowing cargo to a totally wrong location.

But Temple didn’t think it would take a ventriloquist to ensure that a driver call in sick. All the women had probably shown up at Gangsters to hook up with their guys a time or two. All would be familiar with the operation, even with the drivers.

The women eyed her with weary disinterest. Wanda yawned.

Eeny, meeny, miney . . .

All at once, Temple’s glance was drawn by a motion on the carpet. A fat black tail extended from under the kitchen table. Two feet away, so did a fluffy one. And another narrow one and a fluffy one. Her first glimpse of Louie, showed him in cat cahoots with Midnight Louise and cathouse mascot Baby Blue, but whose was the fourth tail?

The tips were twitching ever so slightly. In time. If the radio hadn’t been playing, Temple could have heard the tap, tap, tap of feline impatience.

Not impatience, signaling!

Because every tail pointed in one direction: to the breakfast stool on which one Fontana girlfriend in particular sat slumped and unhappy.

“Come with me,” Temple said. She knew better than to ignore a four-feline Ouija board reading. “You might be able to answer a few questions.”

Temple wasn’t sure what ethnic gene occasionally produced blinding white hair in children that lasts into adulthood. She’d seen a few only in Minnesota, so it was no wonder that Jill’s last name was—”

“Johanssen, right?” Temple asked, spelling it out.

“That’s right!” Jill sat up a bit straighter. “That’s amazing. No one gets the double s and the en ending.”

“That’s because I’m such an ace detective,” Temple said, dead serious.

Jill began fidgeting with her nails, which were filed short and square, not typical for a Fontana brother girlfriend. Nor was her petite frame. Or her profession of pharmacist. Jill was striking but not sensational.

“I hear Giuseppe is crazy about you.”

Jill laughed uneasily. “So they say.”

“Don’t you know?”

“What girl does? Especially with those guys? I mean, they have all these glamorous girlfriends.”

“Including you.”

“I’m not glamorous. The others, sure. I’m the odd woman out.” Jill glanced at Temple’s platform mules. “You know what I mean. You’re a shrimp too, and they’re all sailfish.”

Temple narrowed her eyes. “I know you did it.”

“I didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?”

“What you think.”

“Which is?”

“Whatever you think.”

This was getting nowhere. Temple’s interrogation skills were nil. Of course, she had no authority.

“Listen, Jill, the police are going to regard every man and woman in this bordello as a murder suspect. Lives and reputations will be wrecked, including yours. Maybe it started as a prank, but it’s a matter of life and death now.”

Temple leaned closer. “Come on, Jill, I know you did it. The police will figure it out a lot faster, given your profession.”