Molina's face reflected a dawning suspicion that still lay well below the horizon line of logic.
Temple grabbed the boot-heel--the rhinestone studding felt porcupine-prickly--and twisted. Ick.
Cool drool from Louie's boot-licking wet her palm.
But something clicked, both in Molina's mind and in the boot. The lieutenant was reaching for the boot when Temple's efforts paid off. The heel twisted 180 degrees askew, releasing a shower of small white stones that flashed out and rained to the floor.
"Holy shit! Shut that thing!" Molina knelt and cupped her hands under the dazzling drizzle, until her palms filled with tiny glittering drops.
Temple snapped the heel back into place, then dove for the dressing table.
"Here's a makeup tin cover."
Temple held it under Molina's hands, which separated. Glitzy hail drummed the metal until Molina's hands had emptied, except for a few sparkling stones that stuck to her moist skin.
She picked them off, one by one, like priceless burrs.
Temple was on hands and knees by then, crawling over the floor to corral the first few stones that had bounced away.
"I'll send technicians over for an official search," Molina said, rising with the literal booty. "Get off the floor and tell me what and why and how you knew."
"I'm not sure," Temple said, dusting off her hands. "It just came to me."
"Something must have triggered your instincts, so think."
Temple leaned against the dressing table, gazing down at the shallow lid afloat with Austrian-crystal brilliance. Cut and uncut diamonds by the carat.
"Jake Gotshall told me Cheyenne had run out just before his first, fatal rehearsal. He'd come back in a hurry and seemed upset about something."
"The boot." Molina set the object beside its precious contents. "I should have thought of the hollow heel. It's an old smugglers' trick. So the men of steel and boys in bronze body makeup are moonlighting in smuggling.
Temple nodded and stared at the boot. Maybe she should not have been thinking of England during her trying moments lately, but of another foreign country. One famed for footwear and leather goods.
One that recently had hosted both Cheyenne and Fabrizio. One shaped like a boot.
"Italy!" she said aloud.
Molina waited.
"Cheyenne had just completed a modeling job there, and Fabrizio was a native."
Molina touched the heel with the missing rhinestones. Then she lifted the boot from the table top.
"Got a nail file handy?" She glanced pointedly at Temple's long, red-enameled fingernails.
Temple bent down to ravage her duffel bag until she came up with a metal file imbued with, ironically, diamond dust. She slapped it in Molina's extended hand like a nurse giving a surgeon a requested scalpel.
Molina used the file like a surgeon. She dug the tip into the soft leather and pried until a large rhinestone finally popped out.
Molina held it up to the makeup lights. "The larger stones were embedded in the leather. Clever, mixing real with fake stones. Looks like the amateur smugglers, Cheyenne and Fabrizio, had a falling out."
"But if Fabrizio killed Cheyenne--"
"Obviously to get Cheyenne's share of the diamonds. I bet when we check the boot of Cheyenne's we already have, it'll be clean. Only one in each pair was a mule; that way the bearer could try to pull a switch if a customs official got too curious. Cheyenne, sensing that Fabrizio planned to keep the goods in both pairs, hastily hid the boot of his that was loaded before Fabrizio got it. Only he was killed too soon, and when Fabrizio sneaked into Cheyenne's dressing room after he was dead to nick the diamond-bearing boot, he found only the real one, and left it in disgust."
"Then who killed Fabrizio?"
"Another confederate, maybe even the mob who arranged the smuggling. Believe me, these guys weren't meant to keep what they carried through customs. While Cheyenne and Fabrizio were tussling for possession of the gems, the people who had stolen them probably got impatient and used the pattern of Cheyenne's murder to off Fabrizio."
"Foreign assassins? Diamond lords loose at the Crystal Phoenix? But Fabrizio wanted to kill me --"
"Because you'd figured out he'd worn a glove, and could have killed Cheyenne. I got a call while we were en route. The backstage crew found a black leather gauntlet concealed under the waste tray in the hawk's cage. We'll test it, but the location alone pretty much nails Fabrizio for Cheyenne's death."
A yowl from the floor directed their attention to Midnight Louie, who was weaving against Molina's navy slacks and rubbing his chin on something bulky around her ankle.
She quickly moved away.
"I wish we'd realized that the stones in Cheyenne's medicine pouch were more than rock crystal," she went on. "But everything about the scene of the crime was so theatrical and fake--"
Molina's self-defense trickled down to a smile she quirked at Temple. "Anyway, thanks for the boot.
I've got all I need here. You can pick up your cat and leave."
"Doesn't he get a medal?"
"For ensliming the evidence and nipping at an officer of the law? I think not."
But Molina patted Midnight Louie's head after Temple had nearly dismantled herself bending down and picking up the hefty tomcat.
Temple knew that Midnight Louie hated condescension as much as she did, but he let it go this time.
After all, he had solved the case.
Chapter 34
Last Act
Once out of the dressing area, Midnight Louie wanted down, so Temple complied before he reminded her of his hind claws.
She watched him trot off, probably on a romantic mission. She had a mission or two herself.
First she saw Danny, who was working madly in the Peacock Theater, reblocking the contestants to reflect Fabrizio's absence.
The chaos suspended while Danny consulted with Temple, pointed to the stage once or twice, and finally patted her on the back. She left, smiling, a swing in her step.
She checked her watch without putting on her glasses as she walked up the theater's gorgeously carpeted aisle. That required squinting a lot.
When she looked up, someone tall was waiting for her by the royal blue velvet curtains at the entrance. She assumed it was Molina, but when she drew closer, she realized that it wasn't Molina after all.
"Max!"
The Hawaiian shirt was gone, replaced by his trademark black, and so were the sunglasses. He didn't smile in greeting, just looked at her.
"I was crazy to think that I could protect you by going away," he finally said. "You've managed to find more danger than I could ever lead your way."
"I'm all right," Temple said, betrayed by the fog in her voice.
Max cocked his head to hear the damage, then finally smiled. "You will be after your throat recovers.
Are you planning to continue your role of put-upon romance heroine tonight?"
She appreciated that he had refrained from telling her what she should do. "No. I chickened out. The reason for doing it is gone. Danny's not feeling let down; he'll substitute a girl who did it last year and is wild to do it again."
"A veteran of the romance wars," Max noted.
"Yeah. She's all of eighteen."
"I wondered, because I wanted you to go out with me after the pageant tonight."
"Out? Is it safe for you?"
"It will probably be safer where we're going than here."
"And that is?"
"The Goliath."
"Max, that's not safe for you! Why there?"
His smile became mysterious. "I have a yen to see the Love Moat again."
That gave Temple pause. She and Max had "done" the Love Moat when they'd first arrived in Las Vegas over a year ago. The gondola ride on a waterway winding through the Goliath's vast lobby was amusing enough, but the portion that ran through a romantically-lit artificial grotto provided the kind of privacy that lovers were known to take full advantage of. Temple wasn't ready for that situation again with Max.