Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A Leopard Spot

“Really?” Electra’s thinning gray eyebrows lifted as high as they were capable of.

“I want to make a trade.”

“Trade?”

“My Millennium Volkswagen Beetle for your Ford Probe.”

“Your silver Elvismobile for my old faded pink Probe?”

“Right.”

“But…I’ve loved Elvis since 1955, and he gave that car to you.”

“Exactly.”

“To you, not to me.”

“I don’t believe in Elvis. I’m sorry, Electra, but I just don’t. I believe in the Holy Ghost, but I don’t believe in Elvis. Maybe he just isn’t holy enough. So I can’t accept a car from someone I don’t believe in. It’s fitting that you have the Beetle. It means something to you. And…I could use a less high-profile car.”

“But your new VW is worth six times more than my old Probe.”

“That’s why I’d like you to throw in the Hesketh Vampire. You can keep occasional riding privileges, though. I’d hate to see you hang up your Speed Queen helmet for good.”

“I thought you loathed that motorcycle.”

“Did it show that much?”

“And how! This deal is saccharine sweet for me. But I hate taking advantage of you.”

“You’d be doing me a favor, but I’d probably get the Probe repainted.”

“Color it purple; see if I care.”

“I was thinking…white.”

“Oh.”

“Practical in this hot climate.”

“At my age, I don’t want practical and white unless it’s a private nurse. But suit yourself, dear boy. No doubt it’ll be a tropical-weight white linen one.”

“White may be practical in cars, but it’s murder on suits. Besides, I got used to black.”

Electra winked. “If you get too lonesome for black, you can slip on my justice of the peace robe and stand in for me.”

“I’m not qualified to perform civil ceremonies. Besides, I always hated doing weddings.”

“For goodness’ sake, why?”

“So many of them end in shreddings and sheddings. A lot of them start from a position of insanity and go on from there.”

“I guess I know that from experience.” Electra, obviously recalling one or all of her vaunted five husbands, stared at the soft-sculpture audience as if searching for answers.

“And,” Matt said quickly, before she was permanently lost on Moonlight Bay, “I need the Probe tonight, if that’s all right. We can take care of the title changes any day this week after that.”

“Borrow my car? Sure. I’ll bring the keys down to you this afternoon about four.”

“Great,” Matt said, relieved.

The first part of his self-defense plan was going so well he was beginning to feel optimistic.

Chapter 9

Heads or Tails?

As soon as the denizens of the Circle Ritz have finished their chitchat in the chapel and departed, I remove myself from where I am curled up next to the Lady in Black and decamp to the side of my old friend Elvis.

He is looking a little pasty-faced today and quite unlike himself in the bleached hair with which Miss Electra Lark has saddled him. It makes me wonder in what state I will be represented after my demise. Bald or bleached is definitely not my style.

I curl up by the King and thoughtfully knead my front shivs into his overstuffed knee, occasionally scratching my chin on one of the prong-set stones bedewing his stretch polyester. Of course, the real Elvis’s jumpsuits were fashioned from the finest Italian wool, but one cannot expect Miss Electra Lark to underwrite that level of authenticity.

I am quite pleased with myself, and for once that is for a reason. I sicced…er, sent Miss Midnight Louise to tail Mr. Max Kinsella and find out what he is up to while on the trail of the missing leopard. No doubt Mr. Max is sympathetic to the Cloaked Conjuror’s loss, as he himself worked with a black panther named Kahlúa during our Halloween caper. Actually, panther is a Miss Nomer. The beast in question is really a black leopard, so Kahlúa is a sister under the skin to Osiris.

Obviously, that is one big wild cat chase, as no one even knows where Mr. Max resides, except perhaps my Miss Temple, and she has been exceedingly canny about keeping even me in the dark as to his usual whereabouts.

Meanwhile, I have stuck to my base at the Circle Ritz, and have come up with a destination and a means of transportation without hardly batting a drowsing eye.

Of course, Mr. Matt is not on the trail of the cat, but he is up to something unsavory. I can tell by a certain air he wears when he feels guilty, which is frequently. I wish that they would bottle guilt and sell it as a unisex cologne. I can smell it from a hundred paces and following its trail never leads me astray.

So after lavishing my manicured attention on poor old Elvis for a while, I regretfully leave my cushy situation and hie out to the Circle Ritz parking lot to wait by Miss Electra Lark’s pink Probe. I am hoping that Mr. Matt’s appointment is after dark, so I can slip into the back seat as he enters the front without being detected.

Then we shall see where he goes and what happens there. I hope it is somewhere more exciting than an ex-priests’ meeting at Maternity of Mary in Henderson.

I am not the churchy type, and especially not the maternal one.

Chapter 10

Animal Instincts

“What was that masked thing?” Temple asked as the Maxima jolted over the dusty road taking her and Max away from the Animal Oasis.

“This?”

Max pulled a small object from his pocket that looked like a tiny camera, but wasn’t.

“It scans lines of type. Here. It’s on. Scroll down with the arrow until you come to an address on Redrock Mountain Road.”

“Wow. I’d never need a pen and notebook again. What’s at this address?”

“Someplace you’d never want Midnight Louie to go.”

“Really! What is it? The animal pound?”

“Worse. It’s Rancho Exotica, owned by one of the area’s biggest big game hunters. He’s rumored to run an ‘animal ranch’ for breeding and sale. I’ve heard of his operation. Very hush-hush.”

“What’s so hush-hush about another Animal Oasis?”

“Word is he provides canned hunts and trophy heads for high rollers.”

“Max! This is where you’re going to send me? I like being independent, but that doesn’t include suicide.”

“Last time I looked, you were still two-legged. Relax. Cyrus Van Burkleo is untouchable in this town. He bankrolls all the right fundraisers. Very smooth operator. Rumors can’t hurt him. If I went in there, he’d smell investigation. You…you’re just an eager-beaver PR gal doing some background research. I took the liberty of setting up an appointment for you.”

“Now, while I was wobbling around Animal Oasis with the gallant Mr. Granger? How?”

“I phoned.” Max produced his cell phone from his other jacket pocket.

“But how did you get an appointment on such short notice?”

“I said I was Van von Rhine’s personal assistant calling from the Crystal Phoenix. We were running up against deadline on opening our animal attraction and could Mr. Van Burkleo spare a few minutes with their ace project coordinator, who could use some expert tips for the Phoenix exotic petting zoo? Van Burkleo doesn’t turn major hotel-casinos down, especially one with a manager whose name so neatly mirrors his own.”

“The Phoenix isn’t so major compared to some of the T rexes in this town now that MGM Grand has bought out Steve Wynn.”

Max smiled tightly, never taking his eyes from the rutted road. “But Macho Mario Fontana is major muscle; this guy’d never irritate a Fontana operation.”

“The Phoenix has nothing to do with Nicky’s uncle Mario. I know that for a fact.”