Carole Douglas - Cat in a Red Hot Rage

“Now we can dare anything."

“Except for friends and neighbors and close relatives," he said with a laugh, lifting her hand to kiss the ring on it. "It's about time they knew. We'll get through it.”

She didn't say the thing she'd decided during the night when Matt had made her bed theirs.

Once Electra was cleared of murder charges, Templewanted a civil wedding ceremony in the Lovers' Knot Wedding Chapel downstairs, with all the soft-sculpture people and their Las Vegas friends present, in front of God, state, Elvis, and everybody.

And then they'd decide in which church in which city, and when, they'd do it all over again, to placate the parental demons. And because she really, really wanted to wear her Austrian crystal Stuart Weitzman Midnight Louie spikes with a wedding gown. On the red carpet to the altar. Catholic, Universalist Unitarian, or whatever their relatives would compromise on.

She wanted to meet Matt's mother. See her parents endorse their youngest child's adult choice.

Max had been way too big bad wolf, too alpha, for their cautious Midwestern conservatism. Matt still broadcast good boy gone diffidently successful. He would go down much better,if anybody would.

As her family's youngest child and sole daughter, she could only hope.

Chapter 23

Diamond Razzle Dazzle

The buses, vans, and taxis from McCarran airport rolled up to the red carpet the Crystal Phoenix had laid from lobby to porte cochere. Today, Wednesday, officially began the Red Hat Sisterhood convention, even though a couple thousand early arrivals had been in occupancy for a day.

Temple, irreverent PR flack that she was, wondered two things: if she and Matt should get married here instead, or if the Red HAT Sisterhood had ever considered the acronym, RHATS.

If six hundred Red Hat ladies had seemed overwhelming, five thousand seemed like a revolution, a mass of well-dressed, cheerful lemmings leaping off a cliff into all things Las Vegas.

Temple watched the onslaught with mixed feelings.

Several months before, the performance artist Domingo had arrived in Las Vegas to swath the Strip's iconic buildings with a million pink plastic lawn flamingos. The hot pink plumage had indeed been spectacular . . . until the searing Las Vegassun faded them all to pallid pink.

At first the project had seemed over-the-top for an over-thetop entertainment destination. Then the massed flamingos had attained an odd sort of dignity in numbers. Humble but universal. Colorful, eccentric, unashamed . . . everything Las Vegas. That was Domingo's point. Life is art. Art is life.

Today the Red Hat Sisterhood swarmed over the largerthan-life artfulness of Las Vegas, and conquered.

Red and purple outshone the Strip's neon. They were colors of vigor and assertion, yet available to one and all, if they only had the nerve.

Watching the rivers of crimson and purple flow into the Crystal Phoenix on that royal red welcoming carpet, Templedecided that she had lost her own nerve lately, but she was getting it back.

Matt's gorgeous diamond-and-ruby vintage ring blared from her left hand. She was engaged! With love, with life, with making sure everything in her purview went well. And that included freeing Electra from suspicion by nailing the person who'd strangled Oleta Lark.

Temple, now proud in pink, Joined the Red Hat Sisterhood river flowing into the Phoenix. In the lobby, the Fontana brothers, suited in tones of cappuccino, cream, ivory, bisque, and generally well-tailored, naturally tan Hunk, were out in full force, all nine of 'em.

They directed the red-and-purple tide to the check-in lines exclusive to their group. They bowed to kiss plump, beringed hands. Their guiding fingers paused ever so briefly but memorably on curvaceous midlife torsos, merely to direct, of course.

“ Whew," someone whispered in Temple's ear, under her wide hat brim. "If anybody had told me aging gracefully was this much fun I'd have skipped right over menopause to the good stuff.”

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.