Carole Douglas - Cat in a Red Hot Rage

“Elmore may never have suspected that Candy was the killer. And he sure didn't know Natalie was dead, or he'd never have put himself in disguise on a murder scene.”

Alch was silent while the room hummed around them with reports of crimes in the making.

“All conjecture. Luckily, now that we know about Candy Crenshaw, we can build a good case. What's interesting, though, is that we found Newman's camera and equipment when we checked her hotel room. And there wasn't any recording media in that itty-bitty camera with the viewing eyehole through her tote bag. Nada.”

Temple gaped. "Have you tested the bag for Elmore's or Candace's prints?”

Alch smiled. "No, but we will now, though even Elmore may have been smart enough to wipe off the purse, and Candy certainly was. It's one of those big tote bags like you carry, and people don't always remember where their fingertips have been. Our crime lab is almost as good as those pretty TV folks at bringing up latent prints. If we get a good print, we have that copied video recording of yours, which will then be worth something.”

Temple nodded, and looked around for Molina again. "She's under the weather," Alch said. "Off work. I'm sure otherwise she'd be here to congratulate you.”

Temple rolled her eyes. "That assumption would not hold up in court, Detective Alch."

“You never know about people," he told her, his gaze both intent and kind. "You never know.”

The truism was, well, true, but it made Temple think about Max again, and about never knowing. Never.

But, then again, Molina wouldn't either.

And that made all the difference.

Chapter 62

A Dazzling Engagement

While thousands of Red Hat Sisterhood members and their hatboxes spread through McCarran Airport on their way home hither and yon, confounding security personnel, the Crystal Phoenix and Circle Ritz crowds had taken over the revolving rooftop restaurant known as the Crystal Carousel.

The central head table was reserved for Nicky and Van, Temple and Matt, Kit and Aldo, and Electra Lark. Surrounding tables of four held a mixed bag of guests. Two hosted the black-tie glory of the remaining Fontana brothers. Their uncle "Macho" Mario Fontana and wife and "private secretary" and bodyguard occupied another table. The Circle Ritz residents filled four more tables. At another table sat Detectives Alch and Su. Lieutenant Molina had sent her regrets. She said she wasn't feeling well.

Temple would bet she wasn't, having again failed to lay an-tither crime at the feet of Temple's ex-nearest and dearest.

Even Savannah Ashleigh had been invited, and commandeered a whole table for her Rodeo Drive–attired pair of Chihuahuas. Yvette and Solange, the Persians, were undressed for the occasion. Their magnificent coats shone like actual silver and gold under the restaurant's sparkling mirrored ceiling lined in crystal lights.

Danny Dove was there, with Leticia Brown, aka Ambrosia, Matt's WCOO-FM's producer-personality. And somewhere, on the dark carpeted floor, Midnight Louie and Midnight Louise were doing security detail mixed with a casual nosh offered by various diners now and then.

The Fontana males were resplendent in Gangster-Hollywood formalwear: cream silk ties on black silk shirts with black dinner jackets and cream trousers.

Very near them were two tables of the Red-Hatted League, all glittery in red rhinestones and a crimson rage of satin and flowered and feathered cocktail hats.

Temple wore an emerald taffeta fifties dress that was short in front but had a long bustle-topped fall in back, all the better to show off her Stuart Weitzman Midnight Louie Austrian crystal pavé pumps with the green-eyed black cat silhouette on the heels.

The dress was short at the knee, tiny at the waist, and had a band of vestigial off-the-shoulder sleeves.

Her blond hair was smoothed into a Van von Rhine updo, probably the last time her hair would be blond and sleek.

After dinner she kept her left hand in Matt's under the table. It was cold, something new for her warm nature. Her engagement ring was in its box in Matt's pocket. After the after-dinner speeches, they were going to rise and announce something of their own, their engagement. Some in this room knew about it already, but this would be the formal, public, official announcement.

Temple only pecked at her plate all through the many dinner courses, which kept Louie and Louise at her side, catching the morsels of chateaubriand steak she dropped down to them.

“I've never seen you this nervous," Matt leaned in to whisper. "Not even when a killer was coming for you."

“Killer-schmiller," she whispered back. "They're a dime a dozen in this town. Now, an engagement announcement, that's a one-off for me.”

His brown eyes warmed. "Glad to hear that. Happy to be here for it.”

She took a deep breath. Nicky had stood and was playing master of ceremonies with the usual Fontana aplomb.

“Van and I are especially happy to welcome you all here for a rather unusual celebration. A celebration of a whole host of things.

“First of all, we celebrate the Crystal Phoenix's successfully hosting the largest convention group in our history. They are going, going, gone now, but here's to the Red Hat Sisterhood!"

“Here, here," cried Electra, rising along with her Red-Hatted League members. Her hair was all snowy flyaway flips under the red-rhinestone-dotted cage of a tiny pillbox with an immense veil. She looked marvelous, darling.

“And, then:' Nicky said, "I suppose I should recognize the notorious among us.”

Macho Mario and the Fontana brothers stirred like a flock of starlings pointed out by the city fathers.

“I refer," Nicky went on, "to our esteemed but vindicated murder suspects, Miss Electra Lark of the Circle Ritz and Lovers' Knot Wedding Chapel—”

Electra had remained standing, circling her right hand gracefully in the royal wave affected by Queen Elizabeth II.

After the applause and cheers from the Circle Ritz tables faded, Nicky went on.

“And, all too briefly to cause the proper stir, Mr. Matt Devine of the Circle Ritz and radio station WCOO-AM. Even before his brief moment in the lineup, he had a gangster nickname befitting a murder suspect, 'Mr. Midnight of the Midnight Hour,' where he purports to advise solid citizens on troubles far less felonious than his.”

Amid laughter, the whole room stood up and applauded. Matt stood up to acknowledge their affection, swinging Temple's and his linked hands high between them in a victory gesture.

“And then I must acknowledge," Nicky said, "the sleuths who saved the good name of the Crystal Phoenix. We have with us tonight Detectives Morrie Alch and Merry Su of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department”

To applause and whistles, they stood and took a bow. Morrie wore the usual black dinner jacket and tie, but the tie was Columbo-askew. Su was a revelation in a black sequin-trimmed riding jacket and long, thigh-high slit skirt. All she needed was the whip.

The whistles from the Fontana brothers table grew piercing.

“And, of course, last but never least," Nicky said, "our own public relations wizard, erstwhile redhead, and resident gumshoe in designer spikes, Miss Temple Barr.”

Temple stood and waved her tiny emerald-rhinestone vintage evening purse at the diners. They laughed when the elderly clasp gave and spilled cough drops she was carrying for Kit onto the tablecloth.

Something small in formal shiny black materialized at Nicky's elbow.

Midnight Louie sniffed at the contents of his wineglass.

“Ah, that reminds me. A final toast to our littlest but hardly least resident sleuths, whose stout resort to tooth and nail saved our friends and associates from arrest and murder.