Unknown - 19_Cat_In_A_Red_Hot_Rage

Only one person was capable of whispering under Temple’shat brim. Well, two. But she didn’t think petite Detective Merry Su was up to such an incisive summary of this scene, even had she been here.

“Kit. My elusive ex-roommate! Come to think of it, I don’t see Aldo among the Brothers Nine.”

“Brothers Eight. Counting was never your strong suit in kindergarten. And you won’t see Aldo. He’s been forbidden to minister to any midlife needs but mine.”

Temple laughed.

Kit went on. “You’re looking in the pink, girl, even aside from the hat. Any unauthorized hanky-panky happen while I’ve been AWOL that I should know about?”

Temple flashed her left hand, feeling as shallow as a sorority candidate.

“NO!” Kit shrieked like a Teen Queen. “Major commitment. Fabulous taste. I want him. Whoever he is.”

“Et tu, Auntie?”

Kit’s eyes drilled into Temple’s. “He’s not my darling Max?”

“He’s my darling Matt.”

“Oh. Well, he’s the bee’s knees and wings and striped jail-house suit and stinger too.”

Temple felt a laugh gurgle up from between her extravagantly shod toes to her hot pink hat. It was such a relief to know that there was Life Galore After Fifty. Or Sixty. Or Seventy.

Or even Thirty.

“Are these ladies cool, or what?” she asked her aunt.

“The cat’s pajamas,” Kit said. “Speaking of which, I’m see-ing black cats … double.”

“Louie’s here, and he has a little friend.”

“Don’t tell me he’s gone and gotten monogamous. Some things don’t need to change.”

“All I know is that he’s incapable of putting a female in a fix now. I had to go head-to-head with Savannah Ashleigh to clear him of an ‘unwanted littering’ charge.”

“That woman. Somehow I’m going to out her as a Red Hat-ter at this convention.”

“You’re also pretty in pink, but an illegal,” Temple pointed out ungenerously.

“Aldo likes me in pink,” Kit said, “and what Aldo likes, Aldo gets. A lot of. Lately.”

Temple eyed her ring finger. Under these hothouse hotel lobby lights the diamonds shot out serious wattage.

“I’d watch that,” said a male voice that had sidled up.

She turned to find Morrie Alch looking at her with a decidedly paternal twinkle. It was the second-nicest thing that had happened to her in twenty-four hours.

The old folks at home in Minnesota were more likely to narrow their eyes in suspicion at any such maJor alteration on their overprotected only daughter’s anatomy. And its worth would only be another dire danger sign to them.

Alch was chuckling. “Did Molina’s favorite magician finally spring the big question?”

It was a natural question and Temple knew she’d be getting it a lot. She’d better have a pat answer ready.

“Magicians never do the predictable,” she said. Airily. “No. You’ve met him, though.”

Alch was looking abashed for his faux pas.

“Matt,” she said, and watched his paternal beam return to high intensity.

“Good for you! Him, rather. Swell guy. If my own daughter had brought home someone that superfine I’d have done the first Highland fling of my sadly ground-bound life.”

“Thanks.” Temple eyed him slyly. “Is this gonna frost Molina’s cornflakes?”

“Just a teensy bit,” Alch responded. “Don’t you tell her.”

“Staple-gun torture couldn’t squeeze it outta me.” Alch sobered. “But I do need to talk business to you for a moment.”

“Come into my ‘alternate interrogation room,’ aka ‘parlor.’ ” Temple waved good-bye to her aunt as she and Alch headed toward the conference room.

“Sorry about Su. She gets a little gung ho.” He opened the door to let Temple enter first.

Some woman was missing a good bet in Morrie Alch. Temple had a hunch it might be Molina.

Inside the room, Alch sat on the table end while Templetook one of the chairs and twirled around in it just because she could. The diamonds and rubies sparkled like state fair glitz while she did it.

Alch chuckled again. “I hate to rain on your parade, but the police have a problem here.”

Temple stilled herself and listened.

“Elmore Lark is a tin-plated asshole, but he has an iron-clad alibi for the late morning, the time Oleta was killed. Was meeting some buddies who all swear to it. Background checks don’t find anyone else with a motive, except your landlady. The only thing keeping Electra Lark from being taken into custody is Molina.”

“Molina?”

“She’s with you. Thinks the setup is too pat. My hands are tied. I no more think Electra killed Oleta than she ran the half mile in sixty seconds flat. Su is eager to wrap this up. Over-eager. She doesn’t want to give you an inch.”

“Because she thinks she should have gone undercover for Molina last time out.”

“Maybe. She’s a sharp young lady, but she gets all that impressive forward motion from wearing blinders. No side vision. In my experience, crime, and particularly murder, is an oblique sort of thing. It slips in at an angle, does its damage, and slithers away at an angle. Like a sidewinder snake.”

Temple thought about it. Alch was right. Murder was not a straightforward act. It probably sneaked up on the murderer too. A bit of natural fury mixed with what seemed a reasonable sense of loss or betrayal. Human nature operating as usual. And then the same old ingredients that had resulted in a little flurry of aggravation suddenly escalated to an unthinkable act.

“What are you saying?” she asked Alch, right out.

He told her, right out.

“I’m saying our real Las Vegas CSIs didn’t find any DNA evidence on the body but Electra’s.”

“She found Oleta. She tried to undo the scarf.”

“Perfectly natural. Perfectly suitable for framing. No one needs to look further. They had the same husband, for God’s sake. No one else remotely comes to mind for the crime, much less has any evidential link to it.”

“You’re saying that’s all that Las Vegas’s finest can come up with.”

“Yeah. Unless you can provide some evidence that changes our minds.”

“Me? That’s your job.”

“Our job is done, says procedure and history and everything we go by, which is hard evidence.”

“Electra would never—”

“You believe that. I believe that. You prove it.”

Temple took a deep breath. “I’ve just … gotten lucky around some previous crime scenes. I’m not a professional.”

“That’s what Electra Lark needs now. A professional. It ain’t the police.” He took her left hand in his. “Sorry to rain on your parade, Princess.”

“No. Thanks for telling me. Su sure wouldn’t.”

Alch narrowed his eyes. “I like Su and I respect her, but she’s still young and needs a lesson. You give it to her, Red.”

“I’m a blonde nowadays, haven’t you noticed?”

Alch shook his head. “A woman can change her hair color like she can her nail polish these days. But not her heart. You’ve always had that redhead rage for truth, justice, and the American way. My money’s on you, kid. Don’t let me down.”

His words made her smile long after he walked away.

Not much was expected of her in her family except staying way too safe.

Maybe that’s why she stuck her nose into crimes on her turf: she had something to prove. Just because her frame was slight, she wasn’t short-sheeted in the brain or heart department.

Even Molina had tacitly admitted she had a gift for detection. That’s why Su was annoyed with her. And why Alch was rooting for her to clear Electra for good and all by finding a better candidate.

And that’s why her parents and older brothers had been a teensy bit right to worry about her.