Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A Crimson Haze

Their identical expressions of concern took a comical turn toward other emotions as they eyed Temple's mode of transportation- Dark, dashing Nicky Fontana did not make a low profile chauffeur, either. Electra's gray eyes glimmered with speculation; Matt's looked wary.

Had Matt's troubles not been so much more serious than hers. Temple might have enjoyed his shock.

Nicky vaulted over the driver's side door without opening it--apparently he was as light on his feet as Danny Dove--and came around to release Temple via the passenger door.

Electra was poised on the curb, tsking constantly in manic Mother Hen style, to take Temple's tote bag. Nicky helped Temple exit the low-slung car, but Matt was quick to support her once she was on her stocking feet.

Being the centerpiece of such intense concern might comfort some; it might even flatter some women, since two of the solacing trio were attractive men.

To Temple it was sheer hell. She wished she could shake off their quite literal support, but her shoes were in her tote bag and her aching ankle was too quirky to rely on.

Had her current state resulted from an outright assault, it might hold a certain tawdry glamour, as it had the last time. But, no. This time she was just someone who had creamed herself while walking up the stairs--badly. A clumsy klutz. The self-description particularly stung: trotting about on her trademark three-inch-high heels had been Temple's personal declaration of independence since she was fifteen.

"Really, I'm fine," Temple insisted gamely through the throb, as she had been doing since succored by the amazingly adept Danny Dove.

As everyone had been doing since her fall, they turned a deaf ear.

She glanced at the nearest unheeding orifice, Nicky Fontana's, as it happened. Temple decided that the social necessities would remove the focus from her unreliable foot.

Introductions were in order.

"This is my landlady, Electra Lark," she said with a wave of her only free hand. **Matt Devine is a neighbor and . . . my martial arts instructor."

"And I know that ole boy from way back." Nicky nodded toward the Circle Ritz entrance. A black cat sat in the shade.

"Louie!" Temple was touched. Even the cat, watching them, looked almost solicitous.

''How do you know Temple's cat?" Matt asked.

She hastened to finish the introductions before Matt reached erroneous conclusions of his own. "Nicky Fontana owns the Crystal Phoenix, where I had my . . . mishap. That's where Midnight Louie used to hang his collar, if he ever had one. Then one day he moseyed up to the Convention Center and found a dead body and caught my eye. He's been with me ever since.

Now I'm working at the Phoenix, when I'm not falling flat on my face, and Nicky was kind enough to insist on driving me home."

Nicky nodded at Temple's friends, unintimidated by Electra's punkish hairdo or Matt's martial arts expertise. He was also unaffected by Temple's tendency to pooh-pooh her injury.

''You didn't fall on your face; you fell on your foot. A bad ankle sprain," he announced in the tone of a doctor transferring a patient's care to a new team. ''Our choreographer, Danny Dove, has seen dozens of dance injuries. He prescribed elevation and ice packs. And"--Nicky smiled at Temple with stern charm--"it was no trouble bringing Temple home. She's doing a lot for the Phoenix. Plus, I don't want any personal injury suits."

"I'd never--"

Nicky's smile had faded into a frown. "Van would have my head on a shish-kebab stick for saying this, but I doubt that your 'accident' was one. Those screws were deliberately loosened."

"How would anyone know when I would walk up those particular stairs--or that I'd take them instead of the elevator?"

"They wouldn't. I don't mean that someone meant to injure you, only that you happened into a trap planned to injure a cast of thousands . . . well, dozens anyway--and the Crystal Phoenix Hotel and Casino itself."

"What exactly do you mean?" Matt asked.

Nicky nonchalantly twirled his key chain around his forefinger. "People have tried to put the Crystal Phoenix out of business even before we reopened. They attempted this sort of sabotage before they came right out in the open and tried to trash Van's remodeling." He glanced at Temple. "If you weren't so busy feeling foolish about something that wasn't your fault, you'd realize that those rail brackets were loosened with intent to cause bodily harm. Your body was moot."

"But why?" Temple wondered. "Why then, and why now?"

"I don't know. We never pinned the last round on anybody specific. But this time the stakes have escalated: we ended up with a dead body on the premises." He pointed at Temple, keys jangling. "So get plenty of rest before you come back, and be ready for more fires to put out.

Obviously, just the whisper of trouble at the Phoenix is enough to eat into our operation. In the meantime, I'll have my brothers look into it."

Temple must have looked less than impressed. Nicky abruptly ran a hand through his dark hair, then cleared his throat. ''And ... I, uh, might lean on my Uncle Mario for some backup too.

So not to worry."

''Don't you worry, either," Matt said pointedly to Nicky, sounding flatteringly possessive.

"We've got her now."

Nicky's seasoned glance dropped from Matt's face to his arm at Temple's waist, holding her weight off her feet.

"So you have," Nicky agreed. He nodded at Electra. "My big brother would kill for that earring. Really radical."

Then he was again vaulting into the low car without benefit of door. The engine thrummed as if uttering a challenge to the bridled Hesketh Vampire motorcycle shut up in its storage shed.

The next instant the Corvette was a smooth silver streak peeling around the corner without so much as a squeal.

"What a nice young man," Electra observed in tones that were hardly maternal, her forefinger giving the Harley Hog earring in her right ear a swing.

"He's married," Temple said, as much for Matt's benefit as Electra's. "Ouch."

Apparently that was Matt's cue to scoop up Temple and head for the bunker like bulk of the Circle Ritz. She was always getting into these post-bridal positions with Matt, Temple reflected, at least as far as crossing thresholds went, without benefit of any engagement, not to mention foreplay.

In the sleekly bare lobby, Electra deposited the tote bag on Temple's elevated lap with an apologetic smile. Louie twined himself among the legs still touching the floor, which did not include Temple's.

"I've got a wedding at three---two soap opera stars," Electra said with zest. "Guess who?

Lorelei from 'Heaven's Heights' and Brando, the hunk from 'All My Sins,' are getting married! I mean, the actors who play them, whoever they are, are getting married, not the characters. I don't want to start any irresponsible rumors. I'm going to surround the bridal arch with

'champagne bubbles' of clear balloons. It will be soooo cute, I'll check on you later, dear." She glanced at Matt. ''Much later, of course."

Temple shook her head as she watched Electra glide away in the usual eye-dazzling muumuu. ''Aren't you playing the organ for the ceremony?" she asked Matt.

His answer came disconcertingly close to her ear, which was unblessed by any radical earrings.

"Soap opera isn't in my musical repertoire." He paused by the elevators while Temple did her part and pressed the call button. " 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles' doesn't lend itself to a wedding march, not even on an instrument as ponderous as an organ, I suppose I could play

'Whispering Hope.' "

" 'Whispering Hope,' " Temple repeated nostalgically. "I didn't know people even remembered those old songs, like 'Silver Threads Among the Gold' and 'Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair.' They were rather obsessive about hair color then, weren't they?"