Unknown - 16_Cat_In_An_Orange_Twist

“Some women do have a habit of falling for the unobtainable.” Su’s dark eyes drilled into Temple’s as if she had secret information about her soul.

Tell me about it, Temple thought. “I believe they’re called fag hags,” she said instead. Demurely.

Alch’s shaggy pepper-and-salt eyebrows raised at her use of the term. Her father all over again!

Su zeroed in. “What might Amelia Wong have to do with this Maylords bunch?”

“Very little. She’s high-cost, hired-celebrity help. She comes in for an outrageous amount of money, does her media thing for a week, and is soon off to some other continent.““She has had death threats.”

“I’ve heard. So has every other media household name.”

“First a serious sniper shooting,” Su said, “that almost smacks of terrorism. Something distant and impersonal, more

directed against an institution, a building, than the people in it. Then a knifing and the display of the corpse in an outr� location. The prize Murano. Somebody was saying this Simon Foster was a prize nobody could have. So we’re talking a personal target, an intimate suspect. Love triangle maybe. Now a second stabbing, with an even more elaborate display of the victim. Plus the overkill of the knife and the picture wire.”

“You’re thinking Blanchard killed Foster, and then someone killed Blanchard? Revenge for the first killing?”

“Blanchard was … mounted in the late Simon Foster’s design area. Apparently she took it upon herself to rearrange the works of others. Now she herself has ended up ‘rearranged’ into a gruesome addition to the first victim’s interior design.”

Alch clapped softly. “Nicely done. A design for dying.”

Su did not pause for praise, but thumbed through her notes. “Are you familiar with a Janice Flanders?”

“I was familiar with her name, as an artist some friends of mine … admired. I only met her last week, here at Maylords, where she’s now an employee.”

“Apparently she was one of the people irritated by Beth Blanchard, but she was the only one to protest in a formal memo to management.”

“If you’ve met Janice, you know that she’s not afraid to speak out.”

“She is also the girlfriend of a man who has no particular relationship to Maylords, but who bears an amazing superficial likeness to the dead designer. Do you know a Matt Devine?”

Did she? Temple wondered. “He’s a neighbor.”

Su was surprised enough to dart Alch an inquiring glance. He retained his affable poker face, letting Su lead.

“And,” Temple added, “a friend of Lieutenant Molina, as well.” “Molina!” Su reared back as if snakebitten. “He’s a friend of hers?”

Alch smiled into his mustache.

Temple was beginning to really like him.

He finally bestirred himself. “We ran into Mr. Devine during that nutsy Star Trek investigation. I’m surprised, Su, that a savvy young up-and-comer like you forgot a babe like him. Molina certainly didn’t. And you, Miss Ban. You saw both men, Foster and Devine. You knew Devine. Could one have really been mistaken for the other?”

A key question. Temple gave it the long consideration it deserved.

“I’d say no, except that their coloring and height was similar, and their clothing shades matched that night. Simon was far more fashion-forward, though.”

“But from behind-?” Su prompted, on the edge of her seat. “In a dim room setting,” Temple conceded. “Yeah. It could happen.”

“So who,” Alch asked, “would want to kill this friend of Molina’s who was here with Janice Flanders?” He chuckled. “This

Devine’s a pretty good-looking guy. Maybe Molina herself?”

“God, no!” Alch had shocked Temple into a revealing outburst, but it was too late to backtrack. “I said Matt was a `friend’ of Janice’s. I meant ‘friend.’ Maybe that’s too strong. Acquaintance might be better.”

“You don’t invite a mere acquaintance of the opposite sex to a Hallmark moment like the opening ceremony of your new employer.”

“Janice is a single mother,” Temple told Su. “There are a lot of occasions when a single woman wants a male escort at a

social event, just so she doesn’t look like a loner. Or a loser. No one takes that kind of setup too seriously.”

Alch wasn’t convinced. “Maybe someone did this time, only they axed the wrong guy.”

“But Beth Blanchard knew Simon and had seen Matt. Why would she mix them up?”

“Maybe she decided this was the perfect time. Maybe she was hoping we’d wonder who the real target was.”

Temple mulled over Alch’s theory. The woman had indeed acted like she had a major burr under her instep that evening.

“Maybe you have a point,” Su told Temple. “Maybe someone didn’t like Devine’s escort duty.” Before Temple could say that was highly unlikely, Su found her own unwelcome link. “You, maybe,” she added.

“Me?”

“Your fingerprints are all over this environment and the people in it. I hear you were the one who rushed right over to the

Oasis to tell Danny Dove about Simon’s death.”

“We’re friends.”

“You’re friends with an awful lot of suspects in this case.”

“Danny? A suspect? You must be crazy.”

“Murder is an intimate act, Ms. Barr,” Su said. “We look first at close associates. Spouses, lovers.”

“I know, but you’re wrong! It’s something here at Maylords. The bad vibes in this place would have knifed Caesar, trust me.”

“Do you know a Rafi Nadir?”

“Uh, casually.”

Su snorted, as if her point about Temple was made.

Alch leaned forward, elbows on knees. (No wonder his polyester-blend suits were baggy in both locations, like his face, well worn and trustworthy.)

“This case is a mess, I agree. We got a gangland-style hit … on a bunch of display windows. We got a gay man and a straight woman knifed to death. We got friends of friends hanging around this place. Then there’s one Big Mama of a media maven tossing orange peels right and left, into a murder vehicle. I tell you, it gives me nightmares.”

Not you, Columbo Jr., Temple thought admiringly. Su was the rat terrier, but Alch was the bloodhound on this team.

“So,” he said, hunching farther forward. “I hear you have something of a reputation for creative crime solving. Who do you

think did it?”

Temple took a deep breath.

“Nobody I know,” she said.

Su glared at her. Alch stared at his wing-tip shoes. She stared back. It was what she had heard called a Mexican standoff.

To PR or not to PR.

That was the question the LV Metropolitan Police Department CAPERS unit (Crimes Against PERSons) had to decide.

Was she going to be considered a suspicious person and put on ice one way or another, or were they going to let her do her job?

Which Matt said was too enabling. What did a radio shrink know anyway? Maybe her.

“As long as we can isolate the crime scene,” Alch said, “I vote we let Ms. Barr go to the atrium and do her ringleader bit.”

Su frowned. Her eyebrows had been plucked into Chinese brush strokes, an amazing configuration of thick and thin, reminiscent of the handle of the letter opener/dagger that had done in Beth Blanchard.

Temple always admired creative cosmetics, but didn’t dare tell the intimidating Su.

Su considered. She silently consulted Alch. He beamed encouragement. Even Temple felt the glow. She liked the guy. He reminded her of her father when her mother wasn’t talking him into being anxious about his only daughter.

Alch winked at her, so swiftly that Su never noticed.

“All right,” Su said, none too happily. “But if Molina’s not happy with this, it’s your scalp.”