Carole Douglas - Cat in a Red Hot Rage

Don't believe it! Temple told herself. The whole point of this organization was that midlife and beyond women weren't inactive, weren't invisible, and weren't the harmless biddies some people liked to think and say they were.

“Yes," Temple repeated. "I used to be a natural redhead, and soon hope to be one again. At least my current blond hair doesn't clash with the convention reds. How did Electra get the word out to you all so fast?”

Starla, who resembled an aging chorus girl (in other words, she would look sexy at any age), hoisted a—what else?—purple cell phone.

“We're all wired, inspired, and ready to kick criminal butt. I used to be a bounty hunter in my younger days.”

Phyllis did not look hot, but she did look like the world's most efficient librarian with her gray hair in a bun under her scarlet marabou-edged bridesmaid hat. She pulled a P and R folder from her P and R tote bag.

“And I was a dispatcher for the police department whilegetting my library degree. I copied the registrants and guest list from the computer at convention central and copied it for everyone. Here also are copies of the various official badges, in case you spot any phonies wandering around. I have everyone's cell phone number but yours, Miss Barr, including my old pal Morrie Alch's. If you'll give us yours now—”

Temple watched five red ballpoint pens topped with long purple ostrich plumes drawn from Red Hat Sisterhood tote bags in unison like Musketeer dueling swords.

She stuttered her phone number and it was duly copied down on the various sheets. Phyllis handed her a set, with her own cell number added.

“Judy and I have already fanned out and gathered info about the vic and her chapter.”

Temple eyed Phyll and Judy, a feminine version of Mutt and Jeff: Judy was a tall, thin woman in drapey red ankle-length gown and vest. Some might call her homely and others dignified; Phyll was gray-haired and brisk. On the other hand, Mary Lou was a rhinestone cowgirl: short, curvy, and all fake fingernails (R and P, of course), tight purple jeans, and red jeans jacket, slathered with appropriately colored rhinestones.

“We'd better talk in private," Temple decided, hustling them to the first-floor conference room Nicky had assigned to her during the conference.

A Fontana brother, probably . . . Emilio, stood guard, a single gold ear stud the only visible metal on his person, although the concealed Beretta elsewhere was what would alert a metal detector. There weren't any of those here . . . yet.

“Ladies," he said with an appreciative bow, opening the door to usher them all inside.

And didn't they love that! As a matter of fact, Temple did too. There was no resisting a Fontana brother with his hot young GQ looks and his elaborate Old World ways.

“Love the hair," he whispered under Temple's hat. "And the lid.”

She was last in the room and the women were still cooing over Emilio.

“Do you know him?" Starla asked.

“He's a brother of the hotel owner. They sometimes work security here."

“A boyfriend?" buxom Mary Lou asked coyly, all her rhinestones twinkling like a flutter of winks.

“Not mine." Max flashed through her mind. Not a boyfriend anymore. An ex. Don't waffle. Move on.

“I'm . . . I'm engaged.”

She heard her own words with an inner gasp. She was engaged. To a man who would marry her at the drop of a red hat at any Vegas chapel. The thought took her breath away.

Her announcement brought a half-dozen murmurs of congratulations and as many surreptitious glances at her left hand.

“I'm not wearing my ring here. I don't want to attract any attention."

“That big a ring, huh?" Starla's purple-shaded eyelids lifted.

“Not that," she said, although it was that. Partly. "Nobody knows yet, not even Electra. I wanted to surprise her, now—"

“Now," said Phyll, sitting at the conference table and whipping out a notebook, "we need to make sure our founder isn't facing a murder one rap."

“Electra is your founder?"

“Right," Judy said, sitting and still looking as tall as a stork. "Electra brought us together for our love of mysteries, but the fact was, we were all retired or semiretired and lacking things to do. Many of us don't have husbands or adult children in the area. The Red Hat Sisterhood is our support group. Now Electra needs our support and she's going to get it."

“Amen," said Phyll. "You're the shamus here. Electra's told us all about your cases, every one. Just tell us what to do.”

In no time, Temple was gazing at a conference table ringed by very silly hats with very serious women under them.

Talk about undercover operatives!

“ All right," she said. "First, I want to know about the, er, vic." These dames were more up on crime TV slang than she was.

Judy flipped back about twenty notebook pages. The Red-Hatted League had been busy.

“Oleta Lark. Member of the Reno Scarlet Women chapter for six years. Ex-wife of Elmore, 'the rotten dickhead.' “

Temple almost choked on the news. Oleta was an ex herself? This put things on a whole new level. Judy was so tall and ethereal-looking to be laying down such blunt terms. "Um, ladies, ah, Judy. Who said that?"

“All her chapter members reported she said that, all the time."

“Is he living?"

“If you could call a rented room by the week at the Araby Motel living."

“The Araby Motel? In town here? How'd you find that out?"

“Oleta's hateful remarks about Elmore got us curious," Phyll said. "Never get a librarian on your tail. We easily got an address in Reno, but I decided to check every hotel/motel along the Strip, starting at the bottom. Saved me a lot of checking. He's been in town for a week."

“So he's essentially a recent Las Vegas resident?" Darla asked.

“He's also Electra's ex-husband," Temple announced.

“No!" Alice started scribbling furiously in her notebook. "One of us had better check out the Araby Motel and Mr. Double X in person."

“Two of you," Temple cautioned. "And take a Fontana brother with you. Pick one you like the looks of and go.”

This caused a ripple of anticipation among the feathered hat brims.

“There are more Fontana brothers?" Starla batted metallic purple false eyelashes.

“Several," Temple admitted. "Just ask Emilio outside for a name. Tell him where you're going, and why, and that I said you need an escort. Alice and Mary Lou, you'd better do that.”

There were pouts all around the table, but not on Alice and Mary Lou.

“Meanwhile," Temple said, "what else do we know about the victim?"

“Well—" Phyll leaned forward. Her tone was the familiar one of a woman letting her hair, or hat, down to give the real story.

“Oleta Lark had written a memoir, her local chapter tells me. About her lousy life, before and after Elmore Lark. A New York publisher was willing to pay big bucks, she said, but it was going to investigate her, now that everybody knows people make up things about their lives, as why wouldn't we? Given how boring things can be?"

“Any copies of this memoir?" Temple asked.

“Large chunks of it on e-mail, to assorted Red Hat Sisterhood members. Nobody knows who all was on the list, but there were a lot of them."

“I suppose her friends were encouraging her."

“Right. And she was leading them on with juicy detail after juicy detail."

“Like what?" Temple said.

“This isn't good for Electra."

“Like what?" Temple said in a sterner tone. "We have to investigate, whoever it hurts. Or seems to. The truth is like the Lone Ranger. It's always out there, it's often masked, and it always sets you free."

“Oh, that's deep," Starla breathed.