Unknown - Cat_In_A_Hot_Pink_Pursuit

“Well, that was just—”

“I know. You were just Little Red Riding Hood with a basketful of thongs trying to save the Big Bad Wolf from the Evil Huntsman.”

“Max isn’t a Big Bad Wolf! Although you’re an excellent candidate for the Evil Huntsman. You probably went after Snow White for the Evil Queen too.”

“Let’s set personal issues aside, Miss Barr.”

Temple saw those laser eyes shift, eyeing the room and conceding to Temple’s domain for the first time. “You really do want to hire me?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“I want you to enter the Teen Queen reality TV show competition.”

“What!” Temple leaped up from her chair. “I’m too old!”

“That leap says not. The upper age limit is nineteen. You can pass.”

“But—”

“You can pass. You think I don’t know who can go undercover and how well? You’re a shoo-in.““Get Su! She’s small for her age.”

“I would, but she’s a homicide detective. She’s not used to undercover. I’ve decided, abhorrent as the conclusion is, that only you … will do … for this job.”

“Abhorrent to you or to me?”

“To us both. Equally. It’s a Mexican standoff, Miss Barr. That should make it easier for you. You win, I lose. I lose, you win.”

“Why?”

Molina looked down. “My daughter—”

“Mariah. Nice kid.”

“She’s entered the contest. She’s a finalist.”

“Mariah? A Teen Queen? I don’t think so.”

“You haven’t been on the Teen Queen scene lately. But you will be now. With a vengeance.” Molina bent down to her big black purse that was half briefcase, and pulled out a plum. A one-sheet familiar to any PR person around. A flyer. An advert sheet. A Temple felt her pulse spike even as her jaw dropped. “This is … sick.”

“We have a stalker. A teen runaway has recently been found dead. That could be unrelated, but another adulterated poster like this was found in the general vicinity of her body. You realize what that means.”

Temple reluctantly took the paper.

“It’s a color copy,” Molina said. “You can’t hurt it. I wish you could.”

Temple nodded. “You’re asking me to risk my life.”

“You did it for him.”

“Because … I love him.”

“I love Mariah.”

“You can’t ask this.”

“I can ask. The deal is, I lay off Kinsella.”

“Max for Mariah? You can’t nail him for anything; you’re not even close to him.”

“But you are.”

Temple shook her head. The paper trembled in her hands. Who would deface the image of a young girl like that? And would he do as much to her body? That was the question.

“You want me there as a chaperon for Mariah? Why not just tell her she can’t do this?”

“I tried. Six hours of pleading and recriminations. Her whole soul is into this. She thinks she can sing. I’m afraid she actually can. I could at her age. Then, it wasn’t worth much. I could say she can’t aspire because I couldn’t. But I’m afraid she actually could win her division.”

“You could shut this down right now. Just say no.”

“Obviously you haven’t a clue about parenthood. Sure, I can say no and win this battle but lose the war and my daughter, forever. I suppose when you grew up in Wisconsin—”

“Minnesota.”

“—where it was old-fashioned, mid-American, and too darn cold for teenage girls to get much more from necking than frostbite, parents didn’t have to worry about their kids growing up way too fast too soon.”

Temple couldn’t help smiling. “We weren’t totally frozen out when it came to being rebellious teens. There was always punk ice-skating.”

“Not funny. I am hanging onto this kid’s future by the nape of her neck. She’s got a new bad-girl girlfriend. She’s under all the commercial pressures girls her age face: buy-buy-buy, be sexy, be hip, show it all, get guys. Never think of what you might lose by it. She could bolt if I said no. Better she try it and work out her energy and aggressions in a controlled arena. And—”

Molina looked away, to the tack board bearing the news articles on Temple’s accounts.

“Mariah has a passion to achieve girls my age, from my place in the world, were denied. Weren’t you? Twentyyears ago. Weren’t we all denied? I can’t stop her. I won’t stop her. But I can protect her.”

“With me?”

Molina nodded. Her expression tightened. “You’re all I’ve got. My agent on the scene.”

“You don’t like me.”

“No. But I’ve … come to respect your … pluck and dumb luck.” She sounded like she was swallowing a pickle.

Temple sat back, feeling slightly smug. “I’ve only fought for what … who I believe in.”

“I can’t buy that. I wouldn’t under any other circumstances in the world. But I can arrange things. I’ll have people outside the Teen QueenCastle. You can’t … won’t tell anyone. I don’t want the great Max Kinsella racing to your rescue and getting in the way. This is going to have to be a solo job for you. As it is for Mariah. And me. Maybe it’ll be good for all of us.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll make the finals. You know what teens are like nowadays. I don’t know if I can cut it. Mariah might not either.”

Molina stood up. “I know you both. Unfortunately. I don’t doubt that either you or my daughter can make the final cut if you set your minds to it. You’re two of a kind.”

“Me and Mariah?”

“Thorns in a mother’s side.”

“My mother would beat you to death with a fast-food chicken limb if she knew what you were asking her baby daughter to do.”

“She can do it with my blessing if both our baby daughters don’t come through this. I wouldn’t let either one of you even try out if I weren’t pretty sure that this … pageant threat is a long shot. All the finalists will be confined to the same quarters for two weeks. Very hard for a bad actor to get in.”

“Or easy. Film crews are gypsies, hard to do background checks on them.”

“We’ll know them from the birthmarks out.”

“And you’ll really give Max a free pass from now on?”

Molina raised her right hand. “Absolutely. Unless he stands there with a smoking gun over a dead body right under my nose, I’ll totally forget he hangs out somewhere in this toddling town, up to murky business and possibly larceny or even murder. If you can live with that uncertainty, I can.”

“You have him so wrong.”

“I don’t have him. You do. That’s your problem. It’s a crime I have to compromise on this, but I’m off his case.”

“If I do this. Wow. How long do I have to get into character? I’ll need … cool clothes. Um, a couple body piercings, ears at least. A quick rundown on the latest slang and hot boy bands.”

Molina was reaching into that bottomless briefcase again. “You’ll have to try out locally but you’ll need to bring a tape. Here’s Mariah’s winning little number. Can we check it out?”

“Other room.”

Temple was feeling pretty numb as she followed Molina there, but then the bipolar reactions set in. Shocked/challenged. Scared/excited. Worried/confident.

Molina shot the video tape into its slot and Temple manned the remote.

In a minute they were both hunkered down on the sofa, watching with fascination as Mariah spoke, sang a clever pitch, and cavorted for the camera.

“This is Mariah?” Temple marveled. “I haven’t seen her for a while. She’s really grown.”

“Teened out,” Molina said grimly.

“Who filmed this?”

“New friend from a tough school. I’m lucky the onlything that girl talked Mariah into doing behind my back was this nonsense.”

“Didn’t she need your permission to do this?”