Carole Douglas - Cat in a Red Hot Rage

No dog crosses Midnight Louie's path unpunished, even if it is the size of an English muffin and dyed pink.

My step is firm and my heart is high, for I have seen the Ashleigh sisters all togged out in felt and feathers and buttons and bows and know that I can pursue both this case and my personal interests.

Right now these interests are invested in the Delightful Solange, she of the honey-blond hair. Since her sister, formerly the Divine Yvette, now busted down–in my book–to the Supine Yvette, snubbed me for being common and possibly having an alley cat for an ancestor and a daughter, I have reconsideredmy preference for the shaded silver over the shaded golden Persian.

Solange is sweet and affable where Yvette is sour and demanding.

I will always choose sweet over sour.

I am making my way to my former office, the canna lily stand by the koi pond, when a bolt of cold black lightning knocks me over near the hotel service entrance.

Bolt lightning may be cold, but this particular edition is hot, and bothered.

“Traitor!" it says, hissing and spitting and thoroughly dampening my impeccable shirtfront. "Lazy, self-serving, koi-sucking, no-good, overweight layabout, poor excuse for a partner, tail-chasing son of a–”

This is getting serious and I raise my dukes. Also my mitts. And my tail.

“Nobody disses my esteemed dam, Ma Barker."

“I was about to say 'lazy, self-serving, koi-sucking, no-good son of an overweight layabout' at Lake Mead.”

I let my guard down. "When did you hear about my old man, Three O'clock Louie?"

“When I had a little heart-to-heart with your old lady, Ma Barker.”

I sit down and restore an eyebrow to its usual pasted-down suave state. "Louise, Louise, Louise. You have got to do something about that hot temper of yours."

“I am hot? When you're easing on through to take over my spot at the rear of the Crystal Phoenix? I am the house muscle here now."

“Your spot was my spot once. I am merely taking the opportunity to survey my old stomping grounds."

“Well, prepare to get stomped. I thought you were going to help me nail whoever engineered Mr. Max's fatal fall at the Neon Nightmare. I guess you do not care that your so-called MissTemple is missing one major boyfriend in action."

“My MissTemple has plenty of action to handle these days. Our esteemed landlady, Miss Electra Lark, is suspected of murder one in this very hotel on this very day.”

This news forces Miss Midnight Louise to sit on her highly haired tail to think things over for a change.

“So that is why you are here. Hmm, two disasters in two days, both connected to the Circle Ritz. You might want to think about relocating, Pop."

“Just when I have gotten Ma Barker and her street gang moved to the CR for some TLC of a human sort? No way."

“Speaking of 'CR,' is Miss Lieutenant C. R. Molina on this new murder case? And what is with all the dames in purple wall-to-wallow T-shirts and scarlet wide-brims. You would think this was a vintage car convention."

“It is a vintage person convention," I tell Louise, "and there has already been a murder. I did intend to concentrate on Mr. Max's sudden fail from grace, quite literally, but I have had my mitts full on this end.”

Oddly enough, Miss Midnight Louise does not jump down my throat for once.

“I have been over the Neon Nightmare for the past day and a half like a spider on a web, and that turns out to be an apt figure of speech. The place is riddled with secret rooms and passages."

“I am not surprised, Louise, having already explored that territory. The building is designed as a pyramid and you know what mazes of treasures and dead bodies lay hidden inside those for centuries."

“That is exactly it, Daddikins.”

I cringe at her latest sarcastic endearment for me, but I listen to her report.

“Mr. Max's gear and illusions are housed up under the pointed inner roof, but the angled walls have all sorts of rooms, visited by all sorts of persons."

“Such as?" I have some insight into the inner workings of the Neon Nightmare but want to see what the chit has discovered on her own.

She leans close and whispers in my ear. Too bad she is not an Ashleigh sister. "Other magicians. Some of them had seen him fall and they are not alarmed."

“How so?""They think it was a ruse, that he is not dead."

“Glory, hallelujah. The newspaper item reported he had died, but perhaps the press rushed to judgment. You cannot believe everything you read in the press. Sometimes you cannot believe anything?"

“ If the Synth is right. They also think Mr. Max was the Phantom Mage. That he robbed the exhibition of the Czar's Scepter, and then vanished to avoid the pursuit of the law."

“Makes sense in the usual devious Mr. Max manner."

“They think he will return in time, to join them in their aims.”

“Which are?"

“Do not ask me. They were not about to lay them out for whoever might be eavesdropping. There are aims, and these people have them. Mr. Max was supposed to be part of all this and they still hope that he is merely a clever criminal who will return to their treacherous bosoms."

“And you think, Louise? That he is still alive and will return?"

“I think the jury is out on that one, but if he is dead and anyone is to blame, it is one or more of those so-called magicians who own, operate, and haunt Neon Nightmare and may have secret plans of their very own.”

Chapter 10

Mad Hattery

Temple was still super pleased with herself for having aced Electra out of the Lalique Suite without any charges being levied.

When they rendezvoused again by the registration area, Electra cooed over the dainty charms of Temple's new pink hat.

“Enough girly noises," Temple said. "We've got to sit down and hammer out this murder situation. The police may be playing hands-off at the moment, but you're still their most viable suspect. The woman was your long-ago rival, after all.”

Electra grimaced. "As I said, I didn't know who she was until I saw the name tag and then I did feel like decking her. You notice that I said 'decked,' not 'killed.' "

“How reassuring.""Are you mad at me, Temple?"

“No. I'm mad at the cops. I thought Alch knew better. Su is always ready to roll at any hint of guilt, but I always thought of Morrie Alch as a favorite uncle—"

“I am not interested in your favorite uncle, dear girl! I need an alibi. I need a sharp defense lawyer." Electra took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm frazzled down to my purple roots. What now, Pink Pussycat?" she asked.

“We go home and you tell me even more about your third husband and his second wife. In fact, it wouldn't hurt if you told me about all your husbands and any other wives in common you might have out there.

“Then we discuss every second of your involvement in this convention and the Red Hat Sisterhood."

“Oh, my, just those two subjects are a book and a half.”

“Then we need to figure out how the cops found out the victim was your ex's wife so fast."

“Oh! That's right. Someone must have squealed on me.”

“We say 'prejudiced the authorities against you.' `Squealed' went out with Edward J. Robinson and Jimmy Cagney.”

“Well, those boys may be dead, but I'm not. We dames out- live 'em."

“Sad but true," Temple said, "and very interesting.”

“How so?"

“Maybe your ex died and something's at stake, like his estate?' "I wouldn't have any interest in that."

“No, but maybe your successor did."

“Oh! Elmore always was a hustler. Maybe he hustled himself into something lucrative and she inherited."

“Who would stand to gain by her death?”

Electra's skin took on a lavender hue to match her purple hair. "That would be Elmore's and my only son, Curtiss.”