Carole Douglas - Cat in a Zebra Zoot Suit

“She’s not ‘my’ anything but a pain, and she specifically mentioned me?”

“They had to ask me specific questions.” Electra’s voice started to break. “So I know Jay was found hanging from that giant chandelier in the future Lust ‘n’ Lace building. It’s not a way I’d want to see him go.”

“Oh, my God. Why suspect you, then? It could have been suicide. Anyway, you couldn’t haul a man up a ladder and hang him.”

“They think I could have made him hang himself at gunpoint. They think I was mad enough to kill him. And I sorta was.”

“Still bizarre.”

“There’s some evidence more than one person was involved.”

“I see. You’d need a man to help you hang him. Who’d you get to do that? Matt? Or, holy moly Molina! She might be thinking Max would help you. She wouldn’t know he’s left Vegas. If he has. I hope so. You know what this murder method reminds me of?”

“Nothing good, I’m sure. What?”

The death of Matt’s wicked stepfather, Clifford Effinger.”

“ Euww , that ship thing.”

“Another elaborate killing. It’s like someone is sending someone else a message.”

Louie leaped up beside Temple on the couch and rubbed his chin against hers. “Louie! Your whiskers tickle.”

She pulled her face away, still thinking despite the distraction. “It’s like that darn building is attracting a nexus of evil.” Louie began kneading his paws on her lap. “ Ouch , Louie. That pricks.” She tried to push him away. “I swear. You could almost film a horror movie there.”

“Temple, it’s creepy enough now as a murder site. You’re right, though, a lot of ghosts of previous business incarnations haunt that place. I wonder if anyone associated with it lived at the Circle Ritz?”

“Maybe there is a connection. I’m going to investigate the place’s history. It might have more than face value,” Temple decided.

Louie stopped needling her lap and leaned up to nudge his furry face against her forehead and began purring up a storm.

“He’s certainly gotten awfully affectionate all of a sudden,” she told Electra.

“You can see from my marital history that a good man is hard to find,” Electra said, stroking Louie’s long black tail, “but a great cat will never let you down.”

28

Laid Off

Appropriately for a man hung from a giant dusty crystal chandelier, Jay Edgar Dyson’s funeral parlor reception room boasted a much more tasteful and petite and sparkling chandelier.

Ironically, the mysterious fiancée had chosen Sam’s Funeral Parlor, with its white-pillared Tara façade, where Matt’s stepfather had been “laid out”. She had also sprung for a funeral announcement in the paper.

Temple studied the sparse group of people who’d signed the book and entered. Most were male senior citizens with bald or very low thread-count heads. Not likely mob-related. Gambling buddies, probably.

In fact, a short spry guy with black still streaking his gray hair approached her. She was mystified until she realized he always wore a snappy fedora around town, but had doffed it in respect for the place and occasion.

“Nostradamus,” she greeted him. “Did you know Mr. Dyson?”

“Only to see and nod in passing. Or spend some time just gassing.”

Yup, it was the rhyming bookie, all right.

“Is his death a surprise to you?”

“Rumor is it wasn’t quite kosher. Me…” He shrugged. “I know better than to look for closure. There still are elements in this town that would bring an okay guy down.”

Temple nodded. “Thanks.”

He leaned close and lowered his voice. “If you’re still doing the Nancy Drew act, you’ll need someone to watch your back.”

“I have someone to watch over me.”

“More than one, I bet, at that. Say hello to my pal, the lucky black cat.” Nostradamus winked at her and moved on to gaze into the casket.

Nostradamus knew everybody in town, and apparently, everything. And he suspected murder, even though it hadn’t made the paper.

Temple sighed and looked around again. She hadn’t realized until now that funeral parlors she had visited were so similar to Las Vegas wedding chapels. There was the same, hushed ceremonial air enhanced by thick carpets and banks of flowers. There was the fact of knowing it wasn’t holy ground, yet that an event of great solemnity was underway in this over-luxurious setting.

And it was a setting the late pianist Liberace, the swami of glitter, would have loved. The soft, lavish upholstery of the coffin lid was propped as showily ajar as a Steinway grand piano’s top board…the corpse’s face looked as slightly painted as a stage actor’s…or a mannequin’s.

Seeing Electra here not wearing her Justice of the Peace robes seemed strange. She had added an artificial silver sheen to her white hair and wore dignified navy blue. Standing next to her was a tall, thin blonde woman of sixty-something wearing snazzy red glass frames. Definitely Diane, not the mystery fiancée.

Temple joined them, deciding she didn’t need to gaze upon the not-so-dear departed ever again.

She was not surprised to see Detective Su present. Her usual, darkly sober mini-Molina pantsuit was funeral-appropriate. Temple lifted one eyebrow at Su in greeting, which was not returned.

After Electra introduced Temple to Diane, she murmured, “We were saying that an urn and a photograph would have done for us.”

“At least the surprise fiancée, and not the estate, is paying for this,” Diane said. “I’m here to eyeball the supposed fiancée, frankly.”

“Me, too,” Temple said with feeling. Everything about the murder reeked of a setup. “I bet the police are interested in her too. Is there a reading of the will?”

Electra nodded. “Temple, you can come with us when we leave. The police found the lawyer and he transferred that duty to an attorney here in town.”

“Another waste of estate money.”

“Diane,” Electra warned. “The man was murdered. We don’t want to sound like gold-diggers.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m a retired clerk with a tiny pension. I’m sorry Jay died ahead of his time, but you and I earned some recompense for time put in.”

“At least you were out of town when it happened,” Electra said. “I’m still a ‘person of interest’.”

“Hey. That’s actually a good thing for women our age,” Diane said with a wry smile.

“When did you get to Vegas?” Temple asked.

“Not until this morning, and I have the plane ticket to prove it.” Diane narrowed her eyes. “Electra has mentioned her ‘famous’ tenants in the past, and I know you’re an amateur detective.”

“Well, not really. Not officially.”

“Don’t be modest. I’m sure you won’t get anything on me. Just show me the hussy and the will, and I’m on the next plane home.”

“Hussy at six o’clock high,” Electra trilled under her breath, looking to the gold velvet curtains at the entry archway.

A tall, thin woman in black paused for an entrance moment. She was a walking cliché wearing a close-fitted suit with a pencil skirt, sheer black hose, and a brimmed black hat with a matching veil.

“ The Bride Wore Black ,” Temple muttered, referencing a title by that very dark noir novelist, Cornell Woolrich. “She’s like out of a really bad Movie of the Week . And I know her!” she added in surprise.

“You do?” Electra was shocked.

“You do, too,” Temple answered.

“No.…”