Carole Douglas - Cat in a Red Hot Rage

So Temple explained the difficulty straight out.

“Oh." Jeanne's natural buoyancy flattened. "That killing was awful. The hotel was wonderful about sparing the poor woman public display, and the police have been cooperative too."

“That's important in Las Vegas," Temple said.

“That's why they and the hotel want Temple keeping an eye on things," Electra said proudly. "She's got a knack for spotting killers."

“Only I don't want any killers spotting me:' Temple said, "so we were trying to figure out how I could go undercover as a member. You hide a leaf in a forest, and here you'd hide your presence in a hat."

“I'd certainly like this matter settled as soon as possible," Jeanne said. "I'm Queen. I'll name you an honorary member, Temple."

“And my aunt too? I could use a partner."

“And Miss—"

“Carlson," Kit said.

“Ah. And Miss Carlson too." She ushered them to one of the registration stations and whispered her instructions to the wearer of the red hat there.

“This would be wonderful," Jeanne Johnson said as she turned back to them, "if a woman and an honorary Red Hat Sisterhood member found whoever killed Oleta Lark.”

She glanced at Electra's name tag with sudden concern. "A relative?"

“Once removed." By a murderer.

“No wonder you want your crime-solving friends present and accounted for, Electra! Carry on, Hatters, and do us proud.”

The royal audience ended with Jeanne Johnson grinning as she produced two enameled pink-hat brooches with the Red Hat Sisterhood logo. She dropped them into Kit's and Temple's purple canvas convention bags filled with informational sheets, convention programs, and favors from bars of soap to decks of playing cards.

“Good luck on your serious quest, but remember to have fun!"

“ That's an order everyone would like to take," Temple commented, but Kit looked a bit chagrined.

As they left Electra at the registration desk with her Red Hat friends, Kit caught Temple's elbow in a death grip to steer her out of hearing range.

“Aldo must never hear of this," she said, pulling Temple aside from the crowded registration lines. "That I'm really qualified to be a Red Hat."

“Yes. I mean, no! Never. But he knows that you're my aunt. I don't buy the dumb hunk thing. Can't he do simple arithmetic?"

“Aldo is an emperor of enterprise. He just thinks you're as old as you look, sixteen, and that I was your mother's youngest, hippest, most not-Midwestern sister."

“This whole Red Hat Sisterhood movement wants women to be proud of their lives and ages and futures."

“Right. Meanwhile, I got myself listed in Actors Equity as ten years younger ages ago and I'm not going to lose that edgenow. Not even for you, niece, would I go undercover as an over-fifty. You or your landlady, the old darling."

“You and Electra are probably about the same age, Kit, although you don't look it.”

Kit sighed her deep relief. "There is some advantage in short stature and a slight frame. You are going to inherit it, dear niece, so honor my position now because someday you'll be here."

“I hope so, because you're a pretty cool lady. If you want to think Aldo digs you for the age on your Actors' Equity card, fine.”

Temple was a legitimate Pink Lady, but not the youngest. She spied a few twenty-something daughters accompanying their mothers. For her trouble, she'd scored a truly darling name tag: a hot pink miniature straw hat with feathers framing her name on the front: Temple.

Kit's shorter name fit her miniature pink hat much better, but she was cheating. Inevery respect.

“So we are both Pink Ladies," Kit noted, "for the record. Lord, every time I hear that phrase I could use a drink. How do we do this undercover sleuth stuff?"

“We're registered, but first we must find the proper hats to disguise us and announce our status.”

Luckily, the convention store, called the Hatorium Emporium, was mostly set up. Temple and Kit trolled the aisles, trying on hats and giggling like five-year-olds until both had suitable chapeaux, wide-brimmed for purposes of disguise.

“Short women aren't supposed to wear wide-brimmed hats," Temple told Kit.

“Pink Hat women don't worry about silly fashion rules.”

“Is mine too . . . bridesmaid-y?”

Kit stepped back to assess. The hat was pink with a lavender touch, both colors permitted the under-fifty Pink Lady member. Temple had figured she might actually wear the hot pink straw hat later, after removing the pale pink cloud of marabou feathers and cluster of silk lavender flowers around the crown.

“It's utterly charming, Temple," Kit said. "You look like an angel. And I'd say it was more bridal than 'bridesmaid-y.' “

Temple felt her cheeks pink to match the marabou. She hadn't announced her marital potential to anyone yet.

“Well, yours is a showstopper," Temple told Kit in turn.

The front of Kit's wide-brimmed pink straw was a huge, rhinestone-dotted organdy bow anchored with pink satin roses and wisps of ostrich feathers.

“The hat! The hat," Kit intoned in a Broadway musical style as she spun to display the back. "The hat is nothing ratty. The hat! The hat! Is that which makes us all look batty!"

“Batty is beautiful," Temple interrupted. "Golly, I'm glad I'm still a temporary blond. Pink would do nothing for my natural red hair color, and vice versa."

“Speaking of blond and unnatural," Kit said, stopping in midstep. "What or who is that?"

“Oh, Lord. I hope it's not another of Electra's husband's ex-wives. That would be too much of a coincidence to bear."

“The whole entourage is too much to bear," Kit murmured, pulling Temple aside so the oncoming parade could pass.

It was led by a woman on hot-pink stilettos, crowned by a hot pink hat with a brim so wide it would suffice to shade an elephant. Even so, it barely shaded the cleavage on her Pamela Anderson–size enhanced Hollywood breasts. The woman was pulled along by two tiny pink-dyed Chihuahuas on rhinestone-studded leashes.

She was trailed by an assistant attired in pink checks who toted two pink canvas pet carriers and was followed by a large brass luggage trolley that had been mugged by a pink polka-dot matched set of baggage.

Temple let her jaw drop in horror.

Kit eyed her sagely. "You know her."

“To my everlasting regret. Surely a former actress like you has heard of Savannah Ashleigh.”

Kit pulled her red-framed reading glasses off her nose to stare at the entourage in naked disbelief.

“She makes Pamela Anderson look like Oscar material. And all that pink. She's no more under fifty than I am! Oh!" Kit cupped her mouth and looked around, but no Fontana brothers were lurking to overhear her confession.

“That woman," Temple said, "has made this town headquarters for the rotten actress retirement home. She's the one who wanted to slice the balls off Midnight Louie."

“No! Well, those pink Chihuahuas looked pretty neutered."

“I've got to find out what Savannah Ashleigh is doing here. Could you amble over and grill her, Auntie? She kinda really hates me since I took her to People's Court and won."

“This will be like grilling an unzipped banana," Kit promised. "I'll smash her.”

She skittered over on her low-heeled slides to stand in the registration line behind the lady in question.

Not that Savannah was content to wait in line. Oh, no. Apparently Temple hadn't needed an undercover agent aunt. Savannah was broadcasting live from the Crystal Phoenix lobby.

“I do not do lines, unless they're waiting for my autographs. I am the celebrity emcee of this shebang and should have a prestige suite waiting for me, and mine." She beamed upon the yappy pink Chihuahuas. "Taco! Belle! Hush, babies.”