Unknown - Cat_In_A_Hot_Pink_Pursuit

Savannah Ashleigh’s shiny spandex workout attire hid nothing. She had a Hollywood body, that was for sure, narrow but rounded. Her Dolly Parton hair bounced in one platinum blonde wave as she glided along at a rapid pace, her face delicately sheened with sweat.

Xoe leaned against the door and applauded, slowly.

That threw Savannah out of her rat race. She shook her head, batted her eyelashes, and observed her observer.

“Are you my ten fifteen?”

It was now 10:35, but Temple nodded. (Xoe was a shrugger, not a nodder, so Temple had to step in for her from time to time.) Reluctantly flipping the magazine shut, Savannah pressed her forefinger to the control panel and the green level control vanished … not before Temple noticed it was solid all the way to the top. Savannah was a serious strutter.

She eyed Xoe for the first time. “My, you’re a grim little thing. Pastels and brights, hon, are what you need. And, of course, someone will talk to you about that hair.”

Temple was willing to bet Savannah’s hair was about as natural as her own.

“Now sit down in that cute little chair, and I’ll sit at the desk and we’ll go over your program.”

“I have a program?” Xoe slouched into the seat indicated. “That makes me sound like a computer.”

“Don’t we wish. Program out the calories and carbs, program in the veggie shakes and distilled water.”

“That’d give me the shakes, all right.”

“Now.” Savannah was paging through the contents of the standard hot pink folder. “Hmmm. Could lose ten pounds. Definitely a hair and face makeover. I’ve been through your wardrobe—”

“When?”

“When you were out of your room, dear. Such trash. If it doesn’t chime, clatter, cling, or clash with every other color in your wardrobe, except for black, it isn’t there. We’ll be looking for something light, floral, and airy for you.”

“Are you recommending a scent or a wardrobe? ‘Cuz your recommendations stink.”

“A very good point, uh, Ex-oh-ee. A signature fragrance would be a fine addition to your wardrobe. I don’t think any other girl has mentioned a stinking problem, so you would be ahead of the competition. On that matter.”

“It’s Xoe-ee.”

“Oh. As in ‘Zoo.’ Well, you might consider a name change while you’re at it. Perhaps … Daisy.” She looked up to register Temple’s expression. “Or perhaps … not. Anyway, I’ve ordered some darling things for you, which should fit whether you work off those biggy, piggy ten pounds. Or not.”

Savannah rose, dabbed at her forehead with a floral hand towel, and escorted Temple to the door.

That was when some poor ‘Tween or Teen Queen candidate who had actually been left alone for a moment began to scream to wake the dead.

Savannah stood paralyzed in her tracks, hands over her waves of hairsprayed curls.

Temple sprinted out into the hall, not only beginning work on the biggy, piggy extra ten pounds but to find out whether a contestant had killed or been killed, or had just broken a fingernail.

Chapter 23

Exercised to Death

The screams continued, leaving no doubt that most of the contestants possessed well-developed pairs of lungs, not to mention any superstructure above them.

Mariah was three steps behind Temple, and Temple never thought for a moment of telling her to stay back for her own good.

They were both committed to serving time in what was quickly becoming a House of Horrors and deserved to know what was going on firsthand.

Temple and Mariah were apparently closest, for they burst through the double doors to the indoor workout room and found Silver standing hunched just inside the doors, screaming her heart out.

What riveted her gaze was instantly obvious.

A blood-spattered figure in a hot pink leotard lay slumped over an elliptical walker machine … the very kind of machine that Savannah had been putting throughits paces, or vice versa, just moments before in her private office.

Mariah gasped, and Silver screamed until her hair should have turned white had she not bleached it that shade long ago.

Temple gradually realized that the figure on the walker had pointed hands and feet. And then she saw that its bubblegum-pink flesh, spattered with a measles of blood drops, was rather … rubbery.

Footsteps were pounding into the room behind them and stopping.

“She looks like a Barbie doll,” Mariah’s clear young voice said.

Temple nodded. She’d heard of defaced and mutilated Barbie doll images showing up around town from Mariah’s mother.

But this was worse. This figure was life-size.

“It’s not a real person, it’s a blow-up doll,” Temple murmured.

“What’s that?” Mariah’s dark eyes demanded an honest answer.

“Later,” Temple hissed under her breath. “Cameras.”

By now the kitschy security forces were pushing their way into the room … and coming up mortified at the scene they confronted.

No way bronzed Greek god he-men were going to deal with butchered sex toys.

Beth Marble had finally arrived. Her voice could be heard urging the girls to leave immediately.

Temple went over to take Silver’s arm. “Easy. It’s just a doll. You can’t kill Barbie. She’s forever. Come on.”

Silver moved in tiny baby steps like an old, old woman. Amazing how shocking unreality could be.

Yet Temple couldn’t underestimate the sick mentality at work, or how bold it was. Someone knew the setup and was exploiting it.

Someone? Anyone. The crew was an assemblage of workers from here and anywhere. The contestants were selected from anyone who chose to enter. Temple knew for a fact that being a finalist could be manipulated. This could be about more than a single demented prankstercum-killer. It could be a conspiracy.

The producers could have arranged it. Maybe this had always been more horror show than beauty/makeover pageant. American Idol-cum-Fear Factor

“I’m calling the police,” Beth announced from the hall when the room had been cleared and the double doors firmly shut on the bloodied doll.

The bloodied life-size actual doll. The faux victims were getting bigger, and the “attacks” closer together and bolder. More personal.

Temple was interested to see three nervous men she’d never spotted before, overdressed for members of the camera crew. Must be the “suits” from the producers’ office. They had to be lurking around here somewhere, clean-shaven bland-looking men whose ages were in the indeterminate twilight zone of forty to sixty. Two of them immediately nixed calling the police.

Beth shook off their opposing voices. “Everyone go to your rooms and stay there until further notice.”

Everyone but the suits was forced to drift away, whispering to one another despite the ever-eavesdropping cameras and mikes.

“Scream Queen,” someone whispered before they all dispersed to their separate cells … rooms. “Silver should get a lot of screen time for this.”

“So what got everyone unglued about that doll, besides the blood?” Mariah asked in the shower-steamed bathroom, while water pattered into the tub 4nd down the drain. Xoe and Mariah watched from the center of the room. They would shortly be regarded as the cleanest candidates in the competition. “Sure it was gross, Xoe Chloe, but it was just a dead balloon. I mean, talk about airheads—”

And what, Temple wondered, would Mama Molina think of Xoe Chloe (Mariah obviously loved the comic book name) enlightening her sheltered daughter about sleazy ads in the back of men’s magazines?

But she explained, as delicately as she could. She’d always heard that parents should be honest about sex education. Even dragooned in loco parentis types like herself.