Carole Douglas - Cat in a Red Hot Rage

“K-Kit?"

“Coming out," someone shouted with such authority that the babbling mob fell back.

Ernesto swept Temple out of the way, holding her close to some really great Italian tailoring covering a body of steel. Aldo raced past, carrying Kit swagged in his arms like a doll, her arms swinging with the motion, her soft strawberry-red hair bare.

“You won't want to be a Pink Lady anymore," Ernesto muttered.

“She's—?"

“Alive, but someone sure tried to change that.”

Armando raced past, carrying a pink hat and purple scarf with red flowers on it.

“That scarf design sold out," Temple told the Fontana brother who was providing her spine at the moment, choking on the words. "They were all gone. I got the last one. I'm storing it in the conference room."

“We'll see if you still have it there," Ernesto suggested ominously. "But first, we've got a hospital run to make.”

Temple was swept out of there almost as limply as Kit, thrown into the front seat of a black Viper, just one in a train of the powerful sport cars.

With a roar like an Indy 500 race, a cortege of Vipers shot out from under the Crystal Phoenix porte cochere.

They caught up to the ambulance in no time, but Temple was too woozy and worried to notice how'd they'd managed to weave through the clogged Strip traffic at 4:00 P.M.

All she could think was Kit . . . Kit . . . Kit like a pulse pounding in her forehead, interrupted by a my fault . . . my fault . . . my fault. For who'd want to kill Kit? But killing a nosy ex-TV-reporter turned PR person was another matter.

The Fontana brother driving—Giuseppe, she thought—had her left hand in tight custody and was rotating the steering wheel one-handed. The brakes pushed them almost into the windshield when the car stopped under another, smaller, plainer porte cochere.

Ernesto opened the passenger door and pulled Temple out. With a conjoined roar, the black Vipers growled away to the parking lot.

Temple's ankles were wobbling on her Choos, but Ernesto took her arm and rushed her inside. Aldo was slumped in one of the plastic shell waiting-room chairs.

Temple had never seen a Fontana brother slump before.

The pink hat was turning in his flaccid hands, around and around. Ernesto left her standing beside him and rushed to the desk.

“We have a relative here now, yes," he was saying. "Niece.”

“Aldo," Temple asked, gasped, "what happened?”

“They won't let me see her. Not related."

“What happened at the hotel?”

He still stared into the distance, turning the frivolous hat through his hands.

“I did CPR. Got her breathing again."

“Again! Who—?"

“Disappeared into that mob. No one realized what had happened at first." He pulled the scarf from his side coat pocket to show her a tight knot with a slashed end. "No one had a pocketknife to cut the garrote until I got there. I don't know how long—"

“Oh, God. And that's the scarf I got with Oleta's hatbox. Someone snatched it to do this." Temple wanted to sink down on the chair next to him, but she was afraid to bend her knees for fear she'd never stand up again.

A hand caught her elbow. "You can go in," Ernesto said. "The doctor will see you.”

Aldo was still brooding over the murder weapon. The attempted murder weapon, God willing. He knew a nonrelative couldn't see Kit.

Temple put a hand to her mouth to push back any emotions and let Ernesto lead her to a closed door, where a nurse on the other side said, "Come in, miss. It's only a few steps.”

A few steps were about all she could manage. She was led through another door into an office, and given a clipboard of papers.

“How is she?"

“The doctor will tell you. First, you need to fill these out.”

Temple tried to focus on the questions, half of which she didn't know answers to. Kit was her New York City aunt she'd only seen again in the last year. She didn't know her exact street address, so she put in her own at the Circle Ritz. She didn't know her health history or her doctor. Not even her age! Not exactly.

The nurse came to collect the sheet.

“I don't know. So much. She's visiting from out of town." The nurse's eyes flicked over all the empty lines. "Doctor will be right in."

“Doctor" was never right in. It was always an eternity later. Temple jumped at the sound of passing footsteps in the hall, however muffled. Her door remained shut, until she wanted to leap up, open it, and gaze rudely up and down the hall. But her role was to wait until called upon.

And poor Aldo in the waiting room outside had no role at all.

Temple ran her fingers into her hair and let loose a mental scream. What would she tell her mother? What could she tell her mother? Kit was single and lived in the country's biggest city. She must have dozens of New York friends, and no significant other there. No one but Aldo here, and he was a sudden fling. New, unexpected. Likely not permanent. Temple was the only permanent next of kin available.

The door cracked open so suddenly she twitched. Could a thirty-year-old have a heart attack?

The doctor was an Indian woman. A woman of Indian extraction. She wore glasses and a warm expression.

“This is your aunt?"

“Kit. Yes. Um, Ursula's her formal first name. Carlson the surname. Kit's the nickname. Kit Carlson.”

The woman in the white coat smiled and consulted the clipboard she carried.

“We are missing much data, but that is not critical. Nor is your aunt's condition. She lost her consciousness, but it was restored in time. She will be weak. Her voice will be . . . rough. She may have forgotten the incident that led to this condition. But she will recover. Would you like to see her?"

“I would. God, yes, I would. And so would the man who gave her CPR."

“A quick thinker. Certainly. Remember, she will not recall what you think that she should just yet. And I'll keep her overnight here for observation. Merely a precaution." Temple could hardly keep from jumping up and down.

“Yes. I understand. Can I get Aldo now?""Aldo?"

“Her . . . significant other.”

The doctor smiled. "A very good idea at such a time." She turned to leave, then turned back. "This was an attack. The police have been notified. I don't know if they will assign her a guard.”

“I can assign her a guard."

“You?"

“Aldo. If you'll permit him to stay overnight."

“He is too involved, perhaps. And someone with law enforcement experience is needed."

“He has that. He's a member of the Fontana Family.”

The doctor's eyebrows lofted high above her upper glasses rims. "Oh. I see. I suppose there is no choice in this matter, then?"

“He would be solo."

“And you?"

“I'm going to go home and have a nervous breakdown."

“Excellent idea." The doctor smiled. "You and Mr. Fontana may join me in Miss Carlson's room. If I decide your plan is suitable and will not interfere with operations, Mr. Fontana may occupy a chair outside her door for the night.”

Temple didn't mention that her idea of a nervous breakdown was reviewing all footage taken by both of Natalie Newman's cameras, then reading Oleta's memoir and laying out every page of the Red Hat Sisterhood convention material.

Then she would grill her brain for anything she might have done that could have led a murderer to believe that she was almost ready to name a killer.

Chapter 53

Drop-Dead Red

Late that evening at the Circle Ritz, Temple determined to go back to the convention first thing tomorrow, Fontana brothers be darned!

She would, however, ditch wearing the pink hat on advice of counsel. She'd return in a hot red hat from her vintage collection even though that was "illegal." At least it would help disguise her from the convention strangler. And she wouldn't leave until she'd fingered a killer and an attempted killer.