Unknown - 19_Cat_In_A_Red_Hot_Rage

This was not a new feeling for her, but she had a new significant other now. Matt might not be as easy about that as Max had been, because he was tied to a job and couldn’t watch over her the way Max had.

The feeling of total responsibility for herself was heady. She’d sometimes resented Max’s omniscient ways in regard to her life and how she lived it. And risked it.

Yet she worried that Matt would be a lot less liberal than Max about the times her PR work turned into PI work. Still, he’d recognized her sleuthing tendency almost as soon as they’d met.

So if she was so liberated, why was she standing there dithering about what Matt or Max would think? She needed to know what she thought about the problem at hand.

There were many reasons someone might have killed Oleta Lark, none having anything to do with the Red Hat Sisterhood or Oleta’s skimpy relationship to Electra.

Temple strolled into the ballroom housing all the Red Hat shops. Oleta’s body was gone now, but the murder scene might not have been “released” yet.

As always in Las Vegas, any major Strip crime scene was quickly concealed. A uniformed Crystal Phoenix security guard in a tasteful black-and-tan uniform kept the public from wandering behind the freestanding screens. A pair of Fontana brothers cruised the area, easily drawing away the eyes of arriving Red Hat Sisters.

A third Fontana brother buttonholed Temple, recognizing her despite her new pink hat.

She didn’t think of Nicky Fontana as one of Fontana Inc. He was the youngest, cutest Fontana brother, but cast in the same winning mold of olive skin, black curly hair, deep brown eyes, and supernaturally white teeth that probably had inspired the rush to whiteners in the rest of the population.

He was also married and fixed in position as owner of the Crystal Phoenix, while his brothers still rambled the Strip and painted the town red hot nightly.

“You sure got literally undercover on the scene quick,” Nicky said. “Nice disguise. What was also nice was finally getting to meet your aunt. I can see where you get some of your spunk. But a little birdie rumor has it that that this relative of yours might be breaking up that old, brotherly gang of mine. Any truth to that rumor?”

For a moment, Temple didn’t get it. Then she nodded, forgetting that would set her wide hat brim atremor.

Nicky ducked getting nicked in the chin by the coiled organdy.

“Sorry,” she said. “I should renounce head gestures while wearing this getup. You must be referring to my aunt, Kit Carlson, and your eldest brother, Aldo. I might have introduced them. Sort of.”

“My uncle, Macho Mario, is hearing wedding bells. We haven’t had a wedding in the family since I married Van. I don’t know what got into Aldo, except seeing that red hair that you usually sport on your aunt. I hardly see him anymore.”

“Well, that’ll change, because Kit’s joining me here to infiltrate the Red Hat Sisterhood. It’s likelier that some out-oftowner killed the Pink Lady, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. It would suit us all better if that were the case. Your landlady doesn’t look like a crazed killer.”

“Neither do any of these attendees. That’s why I think someone used the cover of this convention to mask the criminal and the crime.”

“Great. Van will love that angle. Good for the hotel. We frown on homegrown homicidal maniacs. But a tourist … not our fault.”

Temple smiled. Nicky and Van made a great couple and better bosses, which was what Temple cared about. Nicky would always give her a long leash when needed. Van would always make her expectations precise.

“Let’s go see the bossy lady,” Nicky suggested, “and discuss this stuff in private.”

Temple had always liked the easy, affectionate way Nicky deferred to his wife on the job. It was Nicky’s vision but Van’s execution that had made the Crystal Phoenix Las Vegas’s classiesthotel, what would be called a boutique hotel anywhere else, but was just “classy” in Vegas.

But it did make Temple wonder about their sex life: fire and ice sounded good on paper, but in real life … Maybe she was dwelling on their sex life because hers had taken such a sudden, earth-shaking turn.

Back to business, Barr. Matt doesn’t get off of work until 2:00 A.M… . Tomorrow is another day. Oh, yeah.

She and Nicky whisked straight up to the fourteenth floor where Van had her ultra-modern office. She was on the phone when they arrived so they arrayed themselves on the Italian leather chairs in front of Van’s desk and waited for her to get free.

Only Van von Rhine would dare to have a glass desktop. Not a paper or a paper clip was out of place. Her pale straight blond hair was smoothed into a tiny French twist at her neck, but everything else about her was Italian. Furniture, clothes, shoes, purses.

Husband.

Temple didn’t know if Van had developed the design addiction after she’d met Nicky or just had always had good, expensive taste.

She waved a manicured hand at Temple, gave Nicky a cool, inciting glance, and wound up her call in twenty seconds flat.

“Temple, that hat is a bit much, but you’ve always been able to carry off a lot for such a petite woman. Are you going to nail our Pink Lady killer while fending off the press?”

That was Van, multitasking with a vengeance.

“I thought I’d start,” Temple said, “by finding out what the police told you.”

“Nicky, I think the male detective enjoyed interviewing you man to man. I suspect he has too many women on his tail already.”

Temple collapsed into laughter, freeing her impish self. “You must mean Detective Alch. A sweet guy and a good detective, but he does have a hell of a lady lieutenant to answer to.”

“God, she’s good, Nicky,” Van said, eyeing her husband. “That’s the guy. Tell us what we girls weren’t up to knowing.”

“Can I help it if I inspire police confidence?” Nicky said with a shrug, spreading his hands like Marlon Brando in The Godfather. “The victim was Oleta Lark from Reno.”

“A Nevadan?”

“According to her IDs. Forty-eight. Strangled with an official Red Hat Sisterhood scarf.”

“Wait,” Temple said. “The Pink Lady was strangled with a Red Hat scarf? So the killer is fifty or older?”

“That’s the assumption. But anybody can buy those scarves online or at all sorts of shops. That’s my observation, from watching Van’s shopping habits at the Strip malls and on eBay.”

“I do not shop on eBay, Nicky!”

“Just kidding, Duchess. Our credit cards alibi you on that one.”

“What are you going to do to keep the publicity on the upside?” Van asked Temple with a frown.

“Accent the positive. Female empowerment. This is a significant woman’s movement from a generation that was expected to shrivel up and go quietly on a diet of Maalox and calcium tablets. Instead, they are out there, having fun and making great role models for all of the younger women coming up who aren’t going to lose it because they turn thirty or forty or fifty or sixty or seventy or eighty or ninety or a hundred and twenty. There was a time when turning thirty was a day of mourning for women. Now they want to turn a hundred.”

“Most inspiring,” Nicky said, fanning himself at that fiery speech. “Whew. Put keeping us guys around on that to-do list, please.”

“Always,” Temple said. “Las Vegas wouldn’t be Vegas without the Fontana brothers, each and every one.”

“Agreed,” Van said, stroking Nicky’s ankle with the toe of her Jimmy Choo stiletto.

With a glass desk, you can see everything, Temple thought with a smile. That was Van von Rhine. Nothing to hide. She was an unofficial Red Hat lady already.