“Elmore may never have suspected that Candy was the killer. And he sure didn’t know Natalie was dead, or he’d never have put himself in disguise on a murder scene.”
Alch was silent while the room hummed around them with reports of crimes in the making.
“All conjecture. Luckily, now that we know about Candy Crenshaw, we can build a good case. What’s interesting, though, is that we found Newman’s camera and equipment when we checked her hotel room. And there wasn’t any recording media in that itty-bitty camera with the viewing eyehole through her tote bag. Nada.”
Temple gaped. “Have you tested the bag for Elmore’s or Candace’s prints?”
Alch smiled. “No, but we will now, though even Elmore may have been smart enough to wipe off the purse, and Candy certainly was. It’s one of those big tote bags like you carry, and people don’t always remember where their fingertips have been. Our crime lab is almost as good as those pretty TV folks at bringing up latent prints. If we get a good print, we have that copied video recording of yours, which will then be worth something.”
Temple nodded, and looked around for Molina again.
“She’s under the weather,” Alch said. “Off work. I’m sure otherwise she’d be here to congratulate you.”
Temple rolled her eyes. “That assumption would not hold up in court, Detective Alch.”
“You never know about people,” he told her, his gaze both intent and kind. “You never know.”
The truism was, well, true, but it made Temple think about Max again, and about never knowing. Never.
But, then again, Molina wouldn’t either.
And that made all the difference.
Chapter 62
A Dazzling Engagement
While thousands of Red Hat Sisterhood members and their hatboxes spread through McCarran Airport on their way home hither and yon, confounding security personnel, the Crystal Phoenix and Circle Ritz crowds had taken over the revolving rooftop restaurant known as the Crystal Carousel.
The central head table was reserved for Nicky and Van, Temple and Matt, Kit and Aldo, and Electra Lark. Surrounding tables of four held a mixed bag of guests. Two hosted the black-tie glory of the remaining Fontana brothers. Their uncle “Macho” Mario Fontana and wife and “private secretary” and bodyguard occupied another table. The Circle Ritz residents filled four more tables. At another table sat Detectives Alch and Su. Lieutenant Molina had sent her regrets. She said she wasn’t feeling well.
Temple would bet she wasn’t, having again failed to lay another crime at the feet of Temple’s ex-nearest and dearest.
Even Savannah Ashleigh had been invited, and commandeered a whole table for her Rodeo Drive–attired pair of Chihuahuas. Yvette and Solange, the Persians, were undressed for the occasion. Their magnificent coats shone like actual silver and gold under the restaurant’s sparkling mirrored ceiling lined in crystal lights.
Danny Dove was there, with Leticia Brown, aka Ambrosia, Matt’s WCOO-FM’s producer-personality. And somewhere, on the dark carpeted floor, Midnight Louie and Midnight Louise were doing security detail mixed with a casual nosh offered by various diners now and then.
The Fontana males were resplendent in Gangster-Hollywood formalwear: cream silk ties on black silk shirts with black dinner jackets and cream trousers.
Very near them were two tables of the Red-Hatted League, all glittery in red rhinestones and a crimson rage of satin and flowered and feathered cocktail hats.
Temple wore an emerald taffeta fifties dress that was short in front but had a long bustle-topped fall in back, all the better to show off her Stuart Weitzman Midnight Louie Austrian crystal pavé pumps with the green-eyed black cat silhouette on the heels.
The dress was short at the knee, tiny at the waist, and had a band of vestigial off-the-shoulder sleeves.
Her blond hair was smoothed into a Van von Rhine updo, probably the last time her hair would be blond and sleek.
After dinner she kept her left hand in Matt’s under the table. It was cold, something new for her warm nature. Her engagement ring was in its box in Matt’s pocket. After the after-dinner speeches, they were going to rise and announce something of their own, their engagement. Some in this room knew about it already, but this would be the formal, public, official announcement.
Temple only pecked at her plate all through the many dinner courses, which kept Louie and Louise at her side, catching the morsels of chateaubriand steak she dropped down to them.
“I’ve never seen you this nervous,” Matt leaned in to whisper. “Not even when a killer was coming for you.”
“Killer-schmiller,” she whispered back. “They’re a dime a dozen in this town. Now, an engagement announcement, that’s a one-off for me.”
His brown eyes warmed. “Glad to hear that. Happy to be here for it.”
She took a deep breath. Nicky had stood and was playing master of ceremonies with the usual Fontana aplomb.
“Van and I are especially happy to welcome you all here for a rather unusual celebration. A celebration of a whole host of things.
“First of all, we celebrate the Crystal Phoenix’s successfully hosting the largest convention group in our history. They are going, going, gone now, but here’s to the Red Hat Sisterhood!”
“Here, here,” cried Electra, rising along with her Red-Hatted League members. Her hair was all snowy flyaway flips under the red-rhinestone-dotted cage of a tiny pillbox with an immense veil. She looked marvelous, darling.
“And, then,” Nicky said, “I suppose I should recognize the notorious among us.”
Macho Mario and the Fontana brothers stirred like a flock of starlings pointed out by the city fathers.
“I refer,” Nicky went on, “to our esteemed but vindicated murder suspects, Miss Electra Lark of the Circle Ritz and Lovers’ Knot Wedding Chapel—”
Electra had remained standing, circling her right hand gracefully in the royal wave affected by Queen Elizabeth II.
After the applause and cheers from the Circle Ritz tables faded, Nicky went on.
“And, all too briefly to cause the proper stir, Mr. Matt Devine of the Circle Ritz and radio station WCOO-AM. Even before his brief moment in the lineup, he had a gangster nickname befitting a murder suspect, ‘Mr. Midnight of the Midnight Hour,’ where he purports to advise solid citizens on troubles far less felonious than his.”
Amid laughter, the whole room stood up and applauded.
Matt stood up to acknowledge their affection, swinging Temple’s and his linked hands high between them in a victory gesture.
“And then I must acknowledge,” Nicky said, “the sleuths who saved the good name of the Crystal Phoenix. We have with us tonight Detectives Morrie Alch and Merry Su of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.”
To applause and whistles, they stood and took a bow. Morrie wore the usual black dinner jacket and tie, but the tie was Columbo-askew. Su was a revelation in a black sequin-trimmed riding jacket and long, thigh-high slit skirt. All she needed was the whip.
The whistles from the Fontana brothers table grew piercing.
“And, of course, last but never least,” Nicky said, “our own public relations wizard, erstwhile redhead, and resident gumshoe in designer spikes, Miss Temple Barr.”
Temple stood and waved her tiny emerald-rhinestone vintage evening purse at the diners. They laughed when the elderly clasp gave and spilled cough drops she was carrying for Kit onto the tablecloth.
Something small in formal shiny black materialized at Nicky’s elbow.
Midnight Louie sniffed at the contents of his wineglass.
“Ah, that reminds me. A final toast to our littlest but hardly least resident sleuths, whose stout resort to tooth and nail saved our friends and associates from arrest and murder.
“On my left is Mr. Midnight Louie, formerly of the Crystal Phoenix but relocated to the Circle Ritz.”
Louie lifted his head and gazed on the assembly.
Another black form
lofted onto the table at Nicky’s left, to laughter and applause.
“And, oh yes, Miss Midnight Louise, currently engaged here in Mr. Louie’s stead and doing a heck of job, Blackie.”
The laughter resonated up to the mirrored ceiling.
Louie patted Nicky’s sleeve, then looked out over the room.
Nicky make a slight face, but plowed ahead. “And I must thank our guest security force, the beautiful and deadly feline fatales, Miss Yvette and Solange Ashleigh, protégés of our esteemed Red Hat Sisterhood celebrity guest, Miss Savannah Ashleigh.”
Savannah leaped to her feet to reveal that she was clad in a formfitting strapless tube of ivory sequins. The gown must have cost a fortune, but unfortunately it only made her look like a very long, pallid, glittery noodle surmounted by a pair of pearl onions.
Fortunately, Solange and Yvette were trained to recognize a curtain call. The long-haired Persians leaped atop the table and began licking daintily at their mistress’s vanilla-caramel ice cream parfait.
Everyone laughed and began sitting again.
Matt’s hand tightened on Temple’s. Their momentous announcement would be the last item on the program.
A heavy silver spoon tapped on a glass, drawing attention.
Someone was quieting down the guests for a final announcement.
Temple craned her neck along the head table to see who. Not Nicky, but Aldo.
How did he know?
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for a surprise announcement among friends. One regarding not murder, but endeavors of the marital sort.”
The crowd oohed and began looking around.
“I am here to announce an engagement.”
Temple tightened her hand on Matt’s. This wasn’t in their personal script, but—
“I am pleased and happy to announce that a beautiful and clever redhead—”
Well, it wasn’t back to red yet, and “beautiful” was a little excessive . . .
“—is engaged to be my wife. Miss Kit Carlson.”
He held out his hand and Kit stood, shakily, next to him. She outshone Savannah with her midnight-blue column of sequins with the batwing sleeves and off-the-shoulder white rhinestone neckline.
A pear-shaped diamond solitaire winked on the left hand she held up before her face so everyone could see.
Everyone at the head table and in the room stood to applaud. Temple’s bare hands clapped together as she and Matt were surrounded by standing people, their own formal stance lost in the celebration.
They sat with the rest, finally.
Kit spoke, the slight vocal rasp she shared with Temple much rougher still, but understandable.
“I came to Las Vegas simply to visit my beloved niece.” She flashed a tearful smile Temple’s way. “But I found a beloved. And almost lost him.” Her voice and head had lowered, then lifted as the actress rose to her own most special occasion. “I imagine I’ll be seeing a lot more of Las Vegas from now on, and all of you dear, delightful people.”
Few would have believed this group capable of more applause, whistles, and hoots, but led by the Fontana brothers, the chaos clamored on for another three minutes. Everybody loves a wedding, or the promise of one.
Matt whispered to Temple during the mania, “We could still add our news to the evening.”
She shook her head. “It’s Kit’s moment. After what she’s been through, she doesn’t need me making an anticlimax.”
“But everyone we know is here, we’re all dressed up to celebrate, and I know you—”
“I can wait,” she told him. “We have decades and decades to go. Kit doesn’t. Can you figure it? Another married Fontana brother at long last. And my very own aunt brought the eldest of the clan to his knees. Go, Kit!! Here’s to the Carlsons,” she said gamely, lifting her glass. “I guess I shouldn’t say ‘Skoal,’ under the circumstances.”
Matt sighed, despite his grin of surrender, and lifted her bare hand to his lips for a kiss. Right where his engagement ring would have gone public.
Chapter 63
Future Perfect
Temple and Matt stood on his balcony in the dark, gazing down on the shadowy forms of feral cats eating from the dishes they’d all set out for them under Electra’s direction.
Electra was in a mood to embrace everything. Freedom, her small kingdom of residents, even the clan of feral cats who had followed Midnight Louie to the Promised Land.
If Electra Lark had anything to do with it, the Circle Ritz would deliver.
The round Circle Ritz building now had an outer, separate ring like Saturn’s, but this was composed of fur and claw: wild guardian cats.
If Matt and Temple had looked up, they could have seen Electra’s penthouse balcony three floors above. She was back in her aerie with her mystical Birman, Karma. All was right with the Circle Ritz world.
Except for the one topic that they didn’t bring up right now. Where was Max, and in what condition? That was something for Molina to figure out, and she was obsessed enough with Max to do it.
Temple sighed and inhaled the scent of jasmine on the dry desert air. The long, hot summer was here.
Her hands rested on the balcony railing. In the combined glow of the moonlight and grapefruit-pink sodium iodide parking-lot lights, her engagement ring gleamed galaxy-bright, just for the two of them.
“I suppose,” she said, “it’s just as well that announcing this didn’t work out tonight. We probably have more groundwork to do before our distant friends and family are ready to accept a new reality.”
“You’re saying—?”
“That we should let Kit and Aldo have the stage for now. She wants me to be her ‘maid of honor,’ which I can’t do married.”
“You could be her matron of honor.”
“Matt, I wanted to celebrate Electra’s exoneration by having her marry us in the Lovers’ Knot.”
“A civil ceremony? You’re sure?”
She could hear his voice weighing what her decision really meant. Was it a stopgap, an easy out, as he had proposed? With divorce always an option. Or was it a first step?
“But now I’ve changed my mind. Let’s not distract anyone from Kit and Aldo. They’ve never been married.”
“Neither have we,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but we’re young. Anyway, the reaction to Kit and Aldo tonight had me rethinking things. We should visit Chicago and Minneapolis and meet the folks, so they don’t feel hurt by a sudden announcement from far away.”
“Whew,” Matt said. “My mom would freak at the idea of a civil ceremony.”
“My mom wouldn’t. I could get married in a Quonset hut beside a swamp by a swami. Unitarians are highly inclusive. She won’t even mind my marrying a Catholic. She will freak at the idea of my marrying someone she doesn’t know. Or hasn’t met.”
“And my cousin Krys—”
“Yes? Boy or girl?”
“Girl. First year of college.”
“Ah. First crush too, huh?”
“You sure you want to involve families? They’ll try to tell us what to do. And anything we do won’t appeal to someone on one side or the other.”
“Weddings are always like that, from what I’ve seen. That’s why we scout the territory first. To figure out if they’ll make a later ecumenical church wedding too divisive to handle.”
“If we’re making a pilgrimage to the old folks at home, why even come back and get a civil marriage here?”
“To show them we’re serious. Otherwise, they might raise holy hell. Ask us to wait forever. Decide to hamstring us by insisting on a religious ceremony they know the ‘other side’ can’t stomach.”
Matt eyed her with mock suspicion. “You know a lot about tribal behavior in the matter of weddings. I’ve officiated at many, and your low opinion of relations between families at such times is terrifyingly accurate. Like the unlamented but still-not-late Elmore Lark, do you have a few weddings of your own under your belt?”
“Alw
ays a bridesmaid, never a bride,” she said lightly. “But I took notes.”
He tightened his arms around her. “I want to have a church wedding, I want you to be a bride, to watch you coming down an aisle toward me looking like an angel, to take you to a hotel room after and seal the ceremony and the sacrament in bed all night.”
He made a honeymoon sound so sexy, so seriously sexy, that Temple felt her knees get watery. He made being married sound like living in officially sanctioned sin. She could hardly wait. This boded well for them not wearing out their passion.
Their kisses grew so warm that Temple couldn’t take the heat. Max had been sexually superb from a skill standpoint, but Matt’s innocent intensity pushed her emotions as well as her body to a climactic peak. Sometimes it scared her, feeling these new depths in herself.
She kissed him lightly and pulled away to speak again. Lightly. “It all sounds so old-fashioned. Will your church expect me to wear off-white?”
His grip tightened. “Hardly. We’ve been winking for years at couples who rent separate apartments a few months before the wedding, as I was reminded recently.”
“But you’d still be living in sin after a Lovers’ Knot ceremony?”
“Semi-sin,” he told her, smiling. He had a hard time discussing sin with her. “Some devout Catholics cleave to all the traditional rules, and some devout ones veer far from them, all in the name of God and the good of humankind. I went to seminary to learn how to be a priest. Maybe I needed to go to bed to learn how to be a husband.”
Temple laughed. “I know a Unitarian minister who would say you were self-justifying.”
“Really, though? Are you sure about these two-tiered wedding plans?”
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