Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit (35 page)

“Nothing more. We have some uniforms on the set, so to speak," Alch said.

“Meanwhile," Su added, "I've found a lot out about Marjory Klein."

“And—?"

“
She was somebody, Lieutenant. She has several books
about nutrition and eating disorders on Amazon.com and eBay."

“Second coming, obviously," Alch mocked. "Amazon and eBay. The new carnival hucksters."

“
The point is," Su said, pointedly, eyeing Alch
askance, "that she was something of an expert in the
field."

“Credentials accepted. What about her personally?”

Su flipped pages, quoting. "Associate Professor at
Great Western University in Michigan. Blue-collar
school but well regarded. Assisted various nationally known psychiatrists in treating eating disorder cases. She had some professional chops."

“
In other words," Alch summed up, "she was an expert
of a sort."

“Amazing." Molina was truly surprised. "The show producers actually assembled some credible advisors, unlike our own CSI."

“It's a national hit, Lieutenant," Alch said, "no point in being a nit-picker."

“
There's always a point in being a nit-picker, Morrie,
or at least some pleasure." But Molina smiled.

“Okay," she went on. "This woman wasn't a quack. Could she have professional rivals jealous of her new public profile with the Teen Queen gig?"

“
We're talking academia," Alch said. "Always rivals.”

“
I have the autopsy report."

“What'd Grizzly say?" Su asked.

Molina smiled again. Her nickname for the burly
brusque coroner, last name Bahr, had stuck. It gave her a
certain cachet with him. Coroners were always a trifle
vain, like Sherlock Holmes's older brother. They loved
the tribute of a nom de guerre.

“Peanut oil. Peanut allergy. Deadly. Victims of this condition usually advertise it widely to avoid any contact with such a common food element."

“So the lima beans . ." Su began.

“Were both a medium and a message, I think."

“Wow." Su was speechless for two seconds. "Any one
of those girls could have had enough of Klein's 'beans
and legumes' philosophy. And peanut oil . . . it's everywhere."

“What about the kitchen?" she asked Alch.

He nodded, consulting his notebook. "Bottles of the stuff, raw peanuts. 'Natural' peanut butter floating in oil. Anyone could have accessed it."

“Wasn't the kitchen normally off-limits?"

“
Yes, but the show reveled in rebels." Alch looked up at
Molina. Pause. "One Mariah Molina made an unautho
rized midnight raid on the kitchen Tuesday night. And
Xoe Chloe caught her with a hand in the Chips Ahoy.”

A silence held in the small, narrow office.

“I suppose no one is exempt from suspicion," Molina said finally. "I am at a loss for a motive."

“
According to witnesses, Klein was particularly hard
on your daughter," Su said. "She was on the most stringent diet."

“Nobody else got bad news from the nutritionist?”

“Everybody had to consume more soy protein, low-fat dairy, and milk."

“
None of that is a motive for murder," Molina ob
jected.

“Agreed." Alch sat forward on the damned uncomfortable plastic shell chair. "We need to dig deeper into the victim's personal life."

“Hah!" Su crossed her arms over her size zero Donna
Karan jacket. "Nutritionists don't have personal lives.
Klein was a divorcée for twenty years, an academic
drudge, a nobody outside a very narrow arena of
expertise."

“She was somebody enough to get drafted for the Teen Queen Castle show." Molina sat back. "Find out more.
Find out more relevant facts. Find me a motive."
Alch and Su stood. "Right," he said.

“Wrong," Su murmured as they shouldered out the narrow door together.

Molina leaned back in her chair's cheesy tilt setting.
She couldn't agree with Su more. This murder was all wrong. The vic was all wrong. They were all wrong, or they would see the connections that were now invisible. But, like a magician's hidden mechanisms, those threads had to be there.

Magicians. At least Max Kinsella had nothing to do
with this case, thank God and Harry Houdini.

Chapter 38

North into Nowhere

The Circle Ritz was a kitschy piece of fifties architecture clinging to the fringe of the exploding ultramodern Fantasia that the Las Vegas Strip had become.

It was round, faced with black marble, and sported triangular balconies at the "corner" units.

Max drove his latest dispensable vehicle, a black Toyota Rav4, into the familiar lot. He knew every dimple in
the asphalt and every pothole the heat had burned into the
surface.

Temple's new red Miata, caramel-colored canvas top up, sat under the shade of the venerable palm tree that overarched the lot.

He usually entered the unit he and Temple had
shared—until his enforced disappearance eighteen
months ago—like a second-story man: by the French
doors on the balcony.

Part of that was self-preservation; there were those that
wanted him dead. Another part of it was the magician's need to surprise. Temple had always been a ready audi
ence for the paper rose bouquet, the sudden flash of fire to
light a candle, and especially the unannounced midnight assignation.

This time, though, Temple was gone and he'd have to
enter by a more conventional route, the side door from
the parking lot.

The Lovers Knot Wedding Chapel that landlady Elec
tra Lark operated was in the building's street-facing front.
Back here was only a long hallway, then the buzzer security system for the units.

Max had his own key but he buzzed his destination
anyway. This mid-afternoon visit would be a surprise,
and he wanted to ensure his quarry was in.

The answer was yes, so he pushed the button for the
single elevator and waited for its slow descent. He felt
like a visitor here at last, not just an errant resident who'd been AWOL too long. Not a good feeling. No wonder
Temple was getting restive about their relationship. Ouch.
That was the first time he'd thought of it that way.

The old elevator took him up at its usual charming
cranky rate. When the door finally opened, his destina
tion was just three strides away.

The forbidden penthouse.

Another button to push. Rewarded by the nostalgic chime of an old-fashioned doorbell.

“
Max!" Electra Lark cast the door wide, her tropical-colored muumuu filling it like a flower-shop display. Be
yond her came the chill and hum of air-conditioning.
"Don't be a stranger. Come in."

“
Are you sure? I've never been inside before. Most residents haven't."

“Tut-tut. You mean you never managed a clandestine exploration, like Temple's cat, Louie, that bad boy?”

“Magician's honor."

“
Well, you're not really a resident anymore. Are you?”

“Not officially."

“Neither is Louie, but he's coming and going around here all the time.”

Electra turned and Max followed her through an octagonal entry hall lined in vertical mirrored blinds that reflected his image in disconcerting slivered bits. He felt exactly that fragmented these days.

The rooms beyond were cool, almost cold, and dimly
lit. The whole place smacked of an inner sanctum, quite different from Electra's bright, beachy appearance and personality.

“Have a seat," she suggested.

He wasn't sure which hunkering forties sofa or chair
would accommodate his six-foot-four frame; they were
all bulky, but the seating areas were oddly cramped. He settled gingerly on the maroon mohair sofa.

“May I offer you some sun tea?"

“No”

Electra sat on a rattan chair by the blond television set
that must be fifty years old. "Well, you're an easy guest."
She herself was eternally sixty-something. Her white hair, normally a canvas for a variety of spray-on colors, like indigo or purple or magenta, was a tumble of golden blonde, giving her the look of an aging Shirley Temple doll on Hawaiian holiday.

“I just stopped by to ask after Temple."

“What about her?"

“She mentioned she was leaving town."

“Oh, yes. She asked me to watch her place, and Louie,
for a week or so. I have seen about as much of Louie
since then as I've seen of you in the past several months.”

“
That bad?"

“Oh, you bachelor boys have your rounds to make, no doubt, deserting us faithful girls at home.”

Max let that go. "I wondered if you'd heard how Temple's father was."

“Father?"

“That's why she went home. Isn't it?"

“
Goodness, Max! I don't know. She didn't mention
why she was leaving and I'm not one to pry, not right out
anyway. She was in a tearing hurry to leave. I hope it isn't
anything too serious, although at his age . . . and mine, it could be."

“She said it was a minor heart problem. A stent.”

“Listen, at our age, heart problems are not minor. Poor little thing. She must have been worried to distraction to
forget to mention it to me. Or she didn't want me to
worry. Oh . . . Max! Wait! Don't move.”

Of course he froze at Electra's sudden command. Her eyes had widened like windows and she was staring directly behind him.

Max's muscles tensed to jump any which way necessary.

“What is it?"

“
This is unheard of. She's . . . come out and is perch
ing on the sofa back. Just behind your left shoulder.”

“
She. You're not referring to a poisonous serpent or a scorpion, I assume."

“
Lord, no.
Shhh!
If you move very slowly you might
see her.”

Max could move as slowly as a living statue in the
Venice hotel's central courtyard, in other words, almost be
yond camera detection. In a minute, he had turned enough
to stare into the most celestial sky blue eyes he'd ever seen.

He was facing a cat whose longish silky cream hair
was accented with brown and white.

“Karma," Electra pronounced.

“You mean it was karma that she's shown herself to me."

“Maybe so, but that's also her name. Karma. She's a
supersensitive cat, a Birman. They were sacred to the
dalai lamas."

“Much was." Max rose, very slowly.

The cat remained in place, staring at him.

“This is so unusual. Karma doesn't take to strangers.”

“I'm not a complete stranger."

“
Not until the last few months. If Temple calls, is there
someplace I can reach you?”

He jotted his cell phone number on a blank card from his pocket.

Electra rose to see him to the door. "It's good to see
you Max. I'll walk out with you."

“Not necessary."

“No, but I want to see what you're driving these days.
I've never seen anyone with such a habit of changing
cars."

“
Leases allow me to change cars as often as you
change hair colors."