Carole Douglas - Cat in a Red Hot Rage

“I have no idea. Whoever it is was determined to lay hands on the manuscript of Oleta Lark's autobiography. I salted the dead woman's booth with a fake version. I figured that would draw the murderer, but I figured the murderer was Natalie Newman.”

Julio eyed Ernesto and Emilio. "We'd better rescue the unknown lady from the feral felines and turn her over to the police for questioning."

“Hey, that's Louie," Temple said as they got closer. "And the frantic felines who shredded everything in sight are Savannah Ashleigh's pampered Persians.”

They all paused to study another body, this one definitely alive, but prone and moaning faintly.

Temple took in the purple fishnet stockings and wedgie shoes, red-satin elbow gloves, purple wig, crushed red hat . . . the microfiber muumuu snagged over every visible fold by the Persian girls' fancy footwork.

“Candy Crenshaw," she breathed, "the convention's singing clown princess. I haven't even dug up a decent motive for her yet."

“Good," said a gruff voice behind her. "You'll leave something for the local police to do.”

She and the Fontana trio turned as one.

Detective Alch stood there, looking officially severe.

“You four get out of here. You're contaminating the crime scene, whatever it is."

“Scenes," Temple said, pointing out the lethal vignette onstage a hundred feet away.

It took Alch a few seconds to realize he was gazing on a model corpse.

“Su," he called, "secure the stage and the body.”

Temple saw the other detective leaping up on the stage, sans stairs, to do just that. Louie distracted her from that sad scene by swaggering over to massage Temple's calves with his sides.

“The cats stay," Alch ordered. "Our crime techs will need to get their, urn, claw prints. So, who do we have here?"

“Candy Crenshaw, a member who heads a girl group of singers here at the Red Hat Sisterhood convention," Temple said.

“Did she kill the woman up there?"

“That's Natalie Newman, aka Markowitz. I suspect so. Somebody did," she answered.

“And why do you suspect so?"

“Well, Natalie's real last name was Markowitz."

“A name like Markowitz or Alch, say, is alone cause for suspicion?" Morrie was sounding nettled.

“Oh, no. But I found out that her mother was a Red Hat Sisterhood member in a New Jersey chapter."

“There are laws against that?" he asked.

“Maybe against New Jersey," Temple said, grinning, "but not against being in a Red Hat Sisterhood chapter. The suspicious thing is that Natalie changed her name just three years ago."

“No laws against that."

“That's also when her mother left the New Jersey Red Hat Sisterhood chapter," she pointed out.

“And you know this how?"

“From her sister chapter members, of course. They're all here. You can confirm everything I say with them."

“I'll have Su do it. She's so good with glitzy ladies like you and Miss Lark.”

A Fontana brother snickered. Alch nailed him with a glance. "I hope nobody here is illegally carrying, because I have plenty of uniforms arriving to handle even minor infractions of the law.”

Temple sensed a wall of absolutely still and law-abiding Fontana brothers behind her.

“I'm not," she said virtuously, "and I can't leave until Louie is released. He's my ... roomie.”

Louie stretched up her side to lick her hand. Right on the engagement ring finger. Cats were so territorial.

“Okay, boys," Alch told the Fontanas. "I won't look too hard at any bumps in your tailoring if you don't remain in view for more than twenty seconds. I'll take care of Miss Barr and her cat. Cats.”

Temple felt the faint aromatic stir of Brut cologne as they faded away like old mob soldiers.

Alch didn't leave her long to regret their absence. "Why'd you suspect the convention camera woman?"

“She was an outsider, but she obviously had issues with the Red Hat Sisterhood, and despised them. She was filming a deliberately unflattering view of the women at the same time as she did the standard version. I found out her real last name was Markowitz. It's not unusual for a media personality to take a less ethnic name, but not in reporting. You build a reputation under a byline; you want to keep it. Even if you marry. But Natalie didn't. Newman. She was a `new man' avenging her father. She also didn't want any members recognizing her last name and remembering the scandal. With e-mail, it was all over the Web. Tracking some Red Hat Sisterhood chapter gossip, I found out a certain Mollie Markowitz was a `scandalous' Red Hat Sisterhood member in New Jersey. Then it was a question of: if Natalie secretly despised Red Hat Sisters, and her unflattering hidden recordings sure made it look like she did, did Natalie despise her mother too? And if so, why? All I had to do was use the network here to find out more."

“And you found?"

“Mollie Markowitz resigned the Red Hat Sisterhood because of a red hot scandal. She found so much post-menopausal zest after she joined that she also found a new, younger man and left her husband for him. It was during an outing to a male strip club she'd arranged."

“A new, younger male stripper?" Alch's eyebrows rose at this significant piece of news.

“Forty." Temple lowered her voice. "But I'm told that's 'boy toy' age for certain women.”

Alch groaned. "Any age is 'boy toy' age for the benighted male of the species. You girls wrap us around your ring fingers. Don't deny it! You yourself have two in thrall. And maybe three," he added, looking down at Midnight Louie.

Unwittingly, Alch had touched on a sore point with Temple. Missing Max. As in Max was missing, not as in she was missing Max, because, of course, she had moved on, and Matt was Divine.

Thinking of Divine, what were Savannah Ashleigh's cats doing here, except having an unlawful rendezvous with Midnight Louie? There'd be hell to pay with Savannah Ashleigh too. It wasn't either her or Midnight Louie's night.

She asked Alch, "Are you serious about the cats being, ah, claw-printed?"

“Yup. They scratched that poor creature on the floor semi-comatose. They could be rabid. Could be a lawsuit in it.”

“Even if that woman's a murderer?"

“Civil law is not criminal law.”

0 Savannah! Temple thought. Her pampered Persians in quarantine would not be the cat's meow.

Alch reacted to squeaking leather and jingling metal over his shoulder as two uniformed officers approached.

“Help the lady up," he ordered. "Let's see what the cats dragged down.”

The spindly hose-covered legs wobbled as the cops lifted her in one sustained swoop. Wig and hat fell over her eyes. Feathers from the savaged boa sprinkled down like gaudy ticker tape to the carpet at their feet.

She lifted a red satin-covered forearm to her eyes against the glare of fully illuminated ceiling lights.

“How badly have these cats clawed you, ma'am?" Alch asked, always the gentleman.

At this point, Temple was only a luckless bystander. The hatbox sat untouched three feet away. Temple had no proof that it had lured the woman here.

“Ma'am?" one of the young cops asked, sounding worried. Something was wrong with the woman, beyond cat scratches. Her head hung like sunflower on a gossamer stem. Her ankles kept turning out so her feet slipped off the wedgie shoes to the floor, twisting the ankle straps.

It was like trying to keep the Strawman from The Wizard of Oz in upright custody. Impossible.

Liquor? Temple wondered. Drugs?

“We need to have this lady walk the line," one of the uniform cops suggested.

Alch regarded the three cats still milling around her bony ankles and tattered fishnet hose like they thought real fish might be in there somewhere.