Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit

by Carole Nelson Douglas

  Temple—cursed by the gift of Cassandra, the prophet no one would believe—could see that some good, and a lot of bad, would probably come from this night, this siren song, this guarded family of two that was being inexorably circled by unpredictable outside forces.

  Chapter 59

  An Invitation She Can’t Refuse

  “Temple.”

  Matt stood speechless when she answered his knock. It wasn’t just the longish straight blonde hair—

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of it.”

  “Your eyes will wash out? Temple, they’re green. Is it some strange dietetic reaction?”

  “Don’t mention dietetic reactions! One of those was murder on my last case.”

  “Have I got the right unit?”

  “I just forgot about the green contacts. Let me go change them. The hair will have to be redyed to my natural color, then grow out. Come in. Sit down. Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

  Matt did as instructed, which left him confronting Midnight Louie and his thoroughly natural green eyes over the flimsy barrier of a throw pillow.

  Other than Temple’s radical change of appearance, everything else around her place seemed the same. Seemed … normal.

  She came clattering back over the hardwood floors on a pair of feminine and creative shoes. That was the same, thank goodness.

  “So. How was Chicago?” she asked.

  He was still speechless.

  “Well?”

  “I found my father.”

  “Matt! No. I can’t believe it. You found out who he was, finally?”

  “No. I found out who he is. Found him.”

  “Found his grave, you mean?”

  “No. Him. The Jonathan my mother only knew by his first name. I had to stake out the Winslow family lawyer’s office to do it. You’d have been proud of me, undercover detective.”

  “But, Matt, wasn’t he supposed to be dead? My God! You’re so calm.”

  “His family told my mother he was dead to get rid of her, and me. It’s all over. We met and talked. It’s pretty disconcerting to meet someone you resemble for the first time, but he’s a stranger, after all. It wasn’t his fault. His family was wealthy and controlling, which goes together all too often. They high-handedly rearranged his life too.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s pretty amazing. My mother wanted to find out who he was. The family had told her, via their attorney, that he’d died overseas and they gave her a two-flat, a Chicago-style duplex, as a sort of settlement. So she never expected to see him again on this planet. When it happened, when I discovered him while badgering the attorney’s office—”

  “‘Badgering’? You?”

  “When some high-end attorney starts brushing you off with obvious evasions it makes you pretty darn mad. I thought I might find his parents. My grandparents. I wanted no more to do with them than they had wanted to do with me thirty-five years ago. I only did it because my mother wanted closure and I thought that would be healthy for her. She’s never really tried for a real life of her own. So … I find him. And she wanted nothing more to do with it. Or him. Funny. I couldn’t have cared less until it happened.”

  “So, what’s the story?”

  “Ancient history. His family kept them apart, kept him ignorant of her, and me. He’s got a whole new family, and life. Seems like a decent guy. He feels pretty cheated too. My mother’s … not happy. I’m okay with it. I’m here.”

  Temple plopped down next to him, forcing Louie to scramble for new high ground: the cushion tops behind them.

  “Amazing. You’re so calm.”

  “What does it change? It was Romeo and Juliet from two different classes instead of clans. Their families imposed their own priorities on their wayward kids. I feel for my mother but it’s too late to change anything. Except,” he added, “the present. So what kind of tangle have you been involved with while I was gone?”

  She told him, including her reservations about the Molina/Nadir/ Larry/Mariah quadrangle.

  “Wow. Carmen is ratcheting up the stakes on all fronts, isn’t she?”

  “Carmen? You call her that? Since when?”

  “Occasionally. When I really want her attention. Her name is the key to her background. That’s why she doesn’t use it professionally. Carmen Regina. Regina means ‘Queen of Heaven.’ All very Hispanic and very Catholic.”

  “I’m not very Catholic.”

  “That’s what I like about you.”

  “Why?”

  “I get to keep the guilt concession all to myself when I’m with you.”

  She looked a little nervous. He discovered he loved being able to make her nervous.

  “Guilt isn’t a Unitarian thing,” she said finally.

  “Fine. Leave it up to me.”

  “Have you something guilty in mind?”

  “Maybe. Let’s go out.”

  “The Bellagio, you said.”

  “The new you deserves it.”

  “You won’t be ashamed to be seen with my blatantly blonde hair?”

  “I wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with you with chartreuse hair. I’ve still got a couple days left on my vacation from the radio station. They’re running ‘Mr. Midnight’s Classic Moments’ this week.” Matt shrugged an apology at the cominess of his employer. “Okay if I pick you up tomorrow at eight? I’m thinking of that purple taffeta dress you wore once.”

  “You want me to wear it again?”

  “It wasn’t too shabby.”

  “You want me to dress a certain way?”

  “Catholic guilt.”

  She hesitated before answering. “That’s kinda … erotic.”

  “The best kind of guilt.”

  “Not the black with the buttons—?”

  “Not this time.”

  She swallowed. She was right. This conversation was getting incredibly erotic. “‘This time’?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Matt—?”

  “Temple.”

  “You are way too … confident.”

  “You like dithering?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tomorrow. Eight.”

  Her eyes were wide, blue-gray. Looked incredible with the blonde hair. The Teen Queen people had remade her into somebody beyond her current persona. For the first time, Matt felt that Max Kinsella could be a name in a history book. For the first time, he felt like he was writing his own life, and maybe Temple’s life too.

  “I think you’re saying yes,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  He left, feeling something in his core that was deep and tender and strong, stronger than anything anyone had ever taken away from him. Strong beyond weakening. Love, surely.

  Sex. Maybe.

  Chapter 60

  Caught in the Crossfire

  Temple wasn’t usually nervous before a dinner date. Dinner dates were the most formal form of coupling, easily written off as exploratory and way too public to offer anything more than mild flirtation.

  She wasn’t stepping out on Max. Just socializing, right? Besides, Max was pretty hard to step out on since he’d hardly been around lately. He’d never noticed she’d been away from the Circle Ritz. Had left her high and dry in the hot tub, his hot tub. This had nothing to do with Max and their long monogamous relationship. Right. The relationship that was turning into a monologue instead of a dialogue, with Temple asking the leading questions and Max ducking them like she was an obnoxious insurance agent. This was not about Max. No. It was about Matt, who had been ducking her for good and scary reasons but was definitely over that now.

  Maybe digging out her old purple taffeta prom dress and trying it on in the bedroom mirror was putting her on edge. At least the Teen Queen diet ensured she could easily pull up the back zipper.

  Temple surveyed her past self in the full-length mirror, ignoring the bizarre hair color above the neck. This dress was so twelve years ago. Strapless, close-fitting ruched princess torso. Sheer chi
c then, today it felt like wearing curtain from an Austrian whorehouse. Belled skirt like an exotic blossom with her legs the stem. This dress had been selected after she’d been invited to the prom by a dorkish date. Temple, too soft-hearted to just say no, had chosen the full crackling skirt so she wouldn’t be afflicted during slow dances by knowledge of the casual date in homo erectus state. It was icky to think of oneself as a blowup doll for the socially challenged set. Poor guys, hormones will … well, out. That didn’t mean she had to be the scene of the crime.

  Back to now and a definitely nondorky guy. Being a vintage-everything lover, Temple wasn’t bothered by the dress’s dated look. But something bothered her. Maybe it was her unadorned chest and neck. She couldn’t remember what she’d worn with the dress to her real prom back in Minnesota, which showed how unmemorable that had been. In fact, it had been the usual night of uneasy embarrassment, having been asked by someone she wouldn’t have asked to the prom if girls could do the selecting.

  So … she needed a fresh necklace anyway. Her three-tier costume jewelry chest didn’t offer anything right. And then she remembered … Should she? It would be a nice gesture. Maybe it would be too nice a gesture. Take a look, she told herself. If it goes with the dress and the Garnier hair …

  She pawed through her scarf drawer, a repository of all the gifts she’d never used because she couldn’t tie an attractive knot to save her soul. A little round box. What was that? She opened it and found the old gold ring of a dragon biting its tail she had been mistakenly given at the women’s exhibition. Way too big to wear and way too clunky and not-her.

  Her fingers found the shape of another box. She opened the velvet case and pulled out the black cat necklace of crushed black opal Matt had given to her months and months ago. She had given it to her scarf drawer in turn because she was an almost-married woman. In her own mind. Then.

  Now … if he wanted her to wear this dress, he’d want her to wear his present. She fought the tiny clasp to a TKO and went to the mirror to adjust the lay of the delicate centerpiece on her collarbones.

  Maybe a bit subdued for the dress but not bad. She shook her head. The curl was creeping back into her colored hair but she still looked so radically different to herself. Max wouldn’t believe it. Maybe she’d keep the color. It made what she’d always considered her lukewarm blue-gray eyes look startlingly strong. Why be a Lucille Ball redhead forever, even if hers was natural?

  Temple scavenged among the shoe racks in her wall-long closet, rejecting several candidates before finding the pair of purple satin sandals she’d got on sale at Designer Shoe Warehouse.

  Perfect, the mirror said. You look way too hot, the voice in Temple’s head warned the blonde in the mirror. So? Her date had just faced a huge personal shock. Might as well take his mind off of it. He seemed to be in the mood. Besides, what could happen at the Bellagio that they couldn’t backtrack from … which they’d gotten very good at … in a heartbeat?

  “Wow. You look like a movie star,” Temple greeted Matt at her door.

  He was wearing a cream blazer over an open-necked cocoa silk shirt that showcased his unusual brown-eyed blond coloring.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  “Then we’ll really wow them at the Bellagio.”

  “Not that I want to obscure your glory but do you have some sort of wrap? Could get chilly later.”

  “Oh.” She’d figured they’d use valet parking but maybe not. “Just a sec.”

  She darted back into the bedroom to raid her scarf drawer for an airy lavender and silver-thread stole-thing.

  Midnight Louie, stretched out on the bed, opened one green eye to watch her swing the stole over her bare shoulders. He looked like he was winking approval.

  “Back before midnight, boy,” she reassured him, as if he cared.

  When she returned to the foyer and grabbed her tiny silver evening purse again, Matt opened the door. Before she could glide through, his finger touched the necklace in recognition.

  Temple stopped as if hitting an invisible wall.

  “Looks even nicer on,” he said.

  “It’s lovely. I … just needed the right occasion to wear it.”

  “This is the right occasion.”

  When his finger dropped away from her skin, she felt like someone who had been released from a spell and hurried out into the short hall leading to the elevator.

  The one-floor elevator ride was a study in awkward silence.

  When the door slid back, Electra Lark was waiting for them. Mega-awkward.

  Actually, she’d been waiting for the elevator.

  Electra stepped back in mock awe, clutching her hands over the terminally floral muumuu covering her buxom body in the region symbolizing her heart.

  “I’m stunned. Don’t you two look like escapees from the top of a wedding cake; good enough to eat! What’s the occasion?”

  There was nothing to do but step out into lobby and explain themselves.

  “Dinner at the Bellagio,” Temple said.

  “That’ll set you back! Must be a big celebration.”

  “I wrapped up a big account,” Temple said, just as Matt said, “A family reunion.”

  “Well.” Electra looked from one to the other, speculative, surprised, and pleased at the same time. “Temple, love the hair! Nice to have such snazzy tenants add class to my lobby. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “We will,” Matt promised in farewell, ushering Temple down the side hall to the parking lot at the rear.

  She giggled as they left the landlady behind. “Suppose that reaction means she’s used to seeing us in our scruffies.”

  “And separately.”

  The parking lot was only half full.

  Temple came to a full halt again as they emerged into the still-warm night air. “That’s right! I get to ride in the Crossfire.”

  “The Hesketh Vampire would hardly do for that get-up.”

  “Guess not.” Mention of the silver vintage motorcycle that had been Max’s, then Electra’s, and now was Matt’s to borrow when he pleased drew a thin curtain of what Temple would from now on consider “Catholic guilt” over her mood.

  Matt established her in the passenger seat of the low silver car. She oohed over the leather interior and futuristic dashboard until they were well underway.

  “Regret not waiting to buy until the convertible model came out?” she asked.

  “Not really, given both our needs to avoid too much exposure to the sun.”

  “I suppose my Miata ragtop was a dopey purchase but it’s great to tool around town in, and I wear a vintage straw hat with a built-in scarf I can tie on. So forties.”

  “Risk taking is good for the soul,” he said, while Temple decided to reparse his last comment about the Crossfire convertible being dangerous to their skin types.

  It was true. Natural blondes and redheads were sun-sensitive. Skin cancer was an ugly reality in a sunshine state like Nevada. So why should Matt be thinking of the Crossfire in relation to her skin tones as well as his? Hmmn.

  The Circle Ritz building, dating from the fifties, had been erected amazingly close to the Strip. Nowadays, it couldn’t afford the location, had it not already snatched it. In moments, they were cruising the Strip’s overheated neon length. The Paris Hotel’s festive balloon floated above the traffic like a tattooed moon fallen to earth. The Mirage’s volcano flashed fire and outroared the MGM-Grand lion. The Hilton’s chorus line of neon flamingos pulsed their hot-pink plumage.

  They were heading south.

  “The Bellagio—”Temple was about to point out that the hotel was north from where they were now. They were heading away, toward the Crystal Phoenix Hotel’s neon namesake looming large on the right. It vanished into their wake.

  “I decided someplace off the beaten tourist path would be better,” Matt said. “That all right?”

  “Uh, sure. All the restaurants in the Bellagio cost an arm and a leg and a first-born child, anyway.” />
  He just smiled at her. The dashboard lights made his features look, not eerie, as that kind of theatrical uplighting usually did, but gilded.

  For some reason, Temple felt that the tiny metal purse on her lap required the tight custody of both hands.

  In moments, the Strip was glittering history in the rearview mirror. Oceans of bedroom communities twinkled across the broad valley floor.

  Max’s place was somewhere out there.

  And then the desert darkness swallowed even that, leaving only the Crossfire’s headlight beams sweeping the deserted highway ahead. From the darkness all around came the intermittent rhythm of the one mysterious light glimpsed now and then. Who lived way out there alone, you wondered. What were they doing now?

  What were they doing now?

  Temple racked her brain for some new chichi restaurant out in the boonies but she could only think of Three O’Clock Louie’s at Temple Bar on Lake Mead. That was definitely not chichi and not in the direction they were heading.

  An antsy little spasm started in the pit of her stomach. This was ridiculous! She was with Matt. He wouldn’t take her anywhere she didn’t want to go.

  He wouldn’t take her anywhere she didn’t want to go. Oh.

  When he reached a break in some barbed wire (all this land was owned, no matter how deserted looking), she glimpsed another of those cryptic highway mile markers. Fifty-one, it read.

  Fifty-one! Area 51. But, no, that was farther north than this.

  Temple cringed as the Crossfire jolted over a winding sandy road. Hard on the brand-new suspension.

  “Where are we—?”

  “The horses know the way,” Matt said. “Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried.” Liar.

  He’d had such a huge shock back in Chicago. Finding a father he’d never known and thought was dead. She remembered the Matt who’d been obsessed about tracking down his stepfather. He’d been relentless, angry, explosive sometimes. She hadn’t glimpsed that side of him for a long time. Still …

  The headlights finally revealed another sign.

  Salt Cedar Springs.

  For a moment, Temple had thought it read “Saltpeter Springs.” She giggled to herself. Nervously. “I didn’t know there was a restaurant way out here.”