Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit (37 page)

“
A girl can always count on a cat."

“Does this Mariah girl have a cat?"

“Two. Striped. And Louie by proxy.”

Rafi's continually scanning sunglasses lowered to re-
gard Louie, then lifted to Savannah with her foil collar, ear-plugging radio and the bikini a lime dressing on an oiled, silicone-stuffed breast of turkey prime.

“
These cops on the scene," he said. "They haven't a
clue. But I think you do. Keep me in the loop."

“
Mr. Nadir, if it's loopy you want, it's loopy you'll get."

“
Right. I liked the expression on that homicide lieutenant's face when you had me snag the Maylords killer. That do-able again?"

“
Maybe. But I don't get your issues." Of course she knew more than he could guess.

“Nobody could.”

Then Savannah called for a misting with distilled water
and a green apple martini, and Rafi moved to oblige her. Was that a motive for murder? Oh, yeah.

Chapter 40

American Idle

There is not much to be learned underneath the
dripping shower of tanning creams.

Granted, my Miss Temple has made excellent use of
the shower option in the bathroom for consultations
and speculations. However, Miss Savannah Ashleigh
proves to be a disappointment in this area, and I am
sorry I am too far away to eavesdrop on my esteemed associate's parley with Mr. Rafi Nadir.

He keeps turning up in this town like the proverbial
bad penny, but any human dude who can remain unim
pressed by the too obvious attributes of Miss Savan
nah Ashleigh gets a free grade C in my book.

So, once Miss Temple, aka Xoe Chloe, leaves the
scene to Mr. Nadir and his charge, I ankle across the
hot concrete at a sprightly pace and head for the far
door to the kitchens, which is often an open and shut
case of folks coming and going.

And who do I end up nose-to-nose with but my own
not-so-darling daughter. So-called.

“Louise! You nearly gave me a heart attack."

“
No doubt from all those hours lolling with bimbos on
the back forty," she retorts.

(Louise does not converse so much as retort. And ri
poste. And countercharge. And other annoying com
munication habits.)

“
Information gathering," I report. (If she can retort, I
can report.) "As you can see, my Miss Temple is on an
important undercover assignment."

“
She is a PR flack! How important can this assign
ment be? If you ask me, she is in her second teen-
hood. That is what happens to humans who have odd
ideas about relationships with the opposite sex. She is
bewitched, bothered, and bewildered by the choices available to the modern female. She should chill out
and sample the buffet before she commits herself to
'until death do them part,' whoever 'them' may be. Or
just get fixed and forget it."

“Easy enough for you to say."

“
I am proudly neuter. Look at all the angst and time it
saves. I would save even more time if my decidedly
not-neuter Dad deigned to tell me what case he was
working on."

“
It is not a case. It is a personal matter. My roommate
took on this nutso assignment and I have been dragged
along like a Hello Kitty purse," I say, referring to line of
feline-themed frivolities for the grade-school set.

“
'Hello Kitty!' This is exactly what I say when I am vis
iting the executive suite at the Crystal Phoenix and
happen to spy your puss on the nightly news. If Miss
Temple is undercover here, you are way overcover: 'a
passing alley cat who took one look at the lovelies in
residence and stayed on to become an unofficial mas
cot.' One week it is masquerading as a domestic ac
cessory in Fine Furnishings, and the next week it is
scarfing up 'a lean fish and veggie' diet on a reality TV
show set. You are getting downright decadent in your
old age, Pop."

“
Shhhh,"
I hiss, checking for any Persian girls who
might be within hearing range. Overhearing such non
sense might give them the wrong idea about my age
and carefree lack of encumbrances. "I am not your pop.
Murder has been done here. I need discretion more
than ever."

“
Why do you think I am here? That nasty killing is all
over local TV."

“
What? The producers of this shoddy but hot show
do not have the juice to squelch bad publicity?"

“
Get with it. Nowadays bad publicity is good publicity.
This the era of really cheesy reality, on TV or off of TV. Look at Paris Hilton and Victoria Gotti. Bad is good."

“
Call me old-fashioned, but I like to think certain
standards prevail. Why are the police not shutting this
show down?"

“
Why shut it down? The place is already wired from
one end to the other, all kosher and everybody signed
up to agree to it. They could not legally get a wire tap
on a murder scene, but all they have to do here is re
view the daily footage and stalk the suspects. We
should have it so good in our business. At least Mid
night Inc. Investigations should have a full complement
of staff on the premises. Especially since our prime
client is here and in danger."

“And that would be?"

“
'Your Miss Temple,' as you are always putting it. You
know that she relies upon us for footwork."

“
Urn, me maybe. I do not believe she is aware of your
occasional participation."

“
All the better." Miss Louise makes my heart sink by
nudging me under a shaded bench against the house
and sitting down for a long consultation.

From this vantage point, we watch the humans come
and go while I give a running commentary on who is
who and who hates whom.

I learn that Miss Louise is one hundred percent in
agreement with my Miss Temple on the vapidity of
blondes of either gender. I then twit her on her fond
ness for Mr. Matt. She swishes her long fluffy train in
my face and says that the rare exception always
proves the rule, and I had better watch out because
her Fancy Feast coupons are on him in the Miss Tem
ple sweepstakes.

I then defend the suave man of the world, black of
hair but pure of heart, and she concedes that she
would not kick Mr. Max out of bed if she happened to
be in residence there.

She predicts that my "honeymoon" with Miss Temple cannot last forever, and I should stick to working in the
family business because soon that may be all that I
have to keep me warm.

Before I can get my whiskers in a wad at this sce
nario, a glimpse of Mr. Rafi Nadir's motorcycle boots
passing through on some demeaning errand for Miss Savannah Ashleigh interrupts us.

Louise recognizes him with just one whiff of leather
sole. "Ah. The freelance muscle-about-town. I know
you have a soft spot for him because he helped Miss
Temple out during a dangerous moment once, but I
find him turning up at criminous scenes all too often.”

-Criminous?' What have you been reading at the
Crystal Phoenix while waiting for Chef Song to wave
some effete delicacy of Chinese cuisine under your
nose? Agatha Christie? Talk about decadent! `Crimi
nous' That is not PI talk. Are you a house detective or
a housecat?"

“
Back off! The lone dude with the lone gun went out
with the forty-five. Face it, Pops, it is the age of CS/.
You want long words like `criminous,' you should hear
what the forensics folks toss around. This dead lady
here was killed by something chemical, not a gun or a
knife."

“Still plenty of that out there," I grumble, for the chit is
right. It is science not horse sense (though I have
never known an equine with much of it) that rules mod
ern crime-solving circles.

While I am hunkering down, contemplating the de
mise of the lobo detective (as witness my own cravenly
alliance with Midnight Louise herself), I cast an eye to
see what Mr. Rafi has brought to the side of Miss Sa
vannah.

I stiffen with surprise, all over.

He has brought two canvas bags, one pink and one purple, both with mesh sides, each containing an Ash
leigh sister.

I cannot contain myself, although I try to not let Miss Louise see that.

“Must go interrogate a couple of witnesses," I mutter under my breath.

“
Witnesses! Daddy-O! What would these two
floozies ever witness except their mistress's indiscre
tions?"

“
Exactly, Louise. A starlet of Miss Savannah Ash
leigh's stature—”

She snorts but I step aside before my coat is
sprayed.

“
—of her stature is sure to hear all the latest gossip.
Of course, the Persian girls overhear it all. Stay here.
Two of us might look suspicious.”

At this, I make an end-around approach to the Ashleigh lounge chair, for the woman is highly prejudiced
against me, even though she knows I am a totally sex
ually responsible dude since my enforced operation at
her hands. Well, at the hands of her plastic surgeon.

Now the V-word is my byword. Not Viagra, Bast forbid, but for V as in . . . vasectomy. I am a thoroughly
modern male, even if by mistake.

Soon I am huddled under the lounge chair again,
picking up tidbits of information from the girls.

“
Our mistress is so unheeding," Yvette complains.
"She likes to swelter in the UVs, so she assumes we
would like it. With our luxuriant fur coats, of course, we
prefer cool dark places."

“
Me too," I say.

The paired purrs from the carriers nearly drive me
crazy. "So what is happening with your mistress? She
must surely be uneasy that a contest advisor has been
offed."

“
Mais oui."Only
it sounds like "meow" to the uniniti
ated, i.e., humans. Solange presses her piquant face
to the mesh so that several of her long curled vibrissae
protrude and tickle my own whiskers. "She has been
uneasy for some time. Someone has been lurking
around, and it has gotten worse now that we are here
at the Teen Queen Castle."

“
Hmmm,"
I purr. I would normally think Miss Savan
nah was imagining this stalker or making it up for pub
licity purposes. Yet I glimpsed a dark figure in her room with my own night-vigilant eyes. 'What will the death of
one of the advisors mean to the show, once the police
free the murder scene and shooting can begin again?"