“Naw, it is just some general person useful for domestic slavery work.”
“It sounds like someone had this plan in mind for a while.”
“Right. Madonnah was really Norah Rudinsky. She got close to some drug-lord mobster and testified when he was caught. Just like we heard, she was in the Federal Witness Protection Program. They have been trying to kill her for three years.”
“Why now? The case is closed, surely, and her mobster boyfriend is upriver until his toenails grow long enough to decorate for Christmas.”
“Sure. But the mob needed to make an example of what happens to anyone who squeals on them. The fact that this opportunity would put a former rival like Macho Mario and kin in trouble just made revenge all the sweeter.”
“So Shoofly is likely to go to prison for quite a while?”
“As soon as they figure out what gender he or she is.”
Miss Midnight Louise licks her vibrissae with the tip of her dainty red tongue and considers.
“So they have the pseudonymous Gherken for murder one, and Shoofly and Asiah as accessories. Will the showgirl get big time?”
“Maybe not, but Ralph is through with her, although he was pretty upset about the trouble she got herself into. She did it for kicks really, not knowing something was up.”
“Not even when a woman was murdered?”
“Maybe then. She changed into pants when she came into the bordello for good, Gherken was lurking and smart enough to grab her discarded hose from the trunk for the murder weapon. Then she kept her mouth shut, not knowing how they’d turned up around Madonnah’s neck.”
“Is not one pair of fishnet hose like another?”
“Apparently not. Asiah’s were from Frederick’s of Hollywood, and they had a lurid little label on the back rear seam. They were the trashy, real thing. The other girls, including Madonna, had more fashionable seamless fishnet hose.”
“So the only one of the bachelor party to take a loss is Ralph?”
“Yeah, but a dame gone bad is worse than no dame at all. You hear anything on this end about how he and your other proteges here at the Crystal Phoenix are taking the girlfriends’ prank turned deadly?”
Miss Midnight Louise looks around, as if the fish have ears. “I know, Louie, that the male of the species does not like to listen to the idle speculation called gossip—”
“In this case,” I say quickly, “I will be idle.”
She rises to look around again, then bends my ear, quite literally, with a cupped paw.
“Wedding plans proceed apace, but the Fontana brothers are still mightily annoyed with their abducting girlfriends. The rumor is that they all have been fired as bridesmaids.”
“No! But who will they find to escort to the wedding on such short notice?”
“You think Giuseppe, Rico, Ernesto, Julio, Armando, Emilio, Eduardo, and Ralph cannot find alternate dates on the spin of a dime?”
“No, but there is the matter of the bridesmaids’ gowns. They are already altered to fit a bevy of lithe beauties.”
“Do not worry, Louie. Miss Van von Rhine and Miss Temple Barr would not permit Miss Kit Carlson’s nuptial moment to be tarnished by the actions of a flock of jealous and impulsive girlfriends, one of whom is currently in custody.”
“Of course not. So who will replace the eight bridesmaids?”
Miss Midnight manages to look both smug and coy.
“Let us just say that ‘something blue’ for the wedding is a set of eight garters and their wearers, out from Beatty way.”
I gasp. Yes. Literally. Like a fish, like the oh-mouthed koi crowding to the pond’s edge to mock me with their piscine kisses.
Midnight Louise goes on. “Miss Kit Carlson will wear the ninth garter as an honorary badge of courage for having her bridegroom held in durance vile at the Sapphire Slipper.”
I nod. There is a certain satin-smooth justice in the solution to the wedding party problem, for, of course, bridesmaids behaving badly must not be rewarded.
Family Circle
Temple and Kit clasped hands before leaving the Circle Ritz for their dinner date at the Crystal Phoenix.
“My mom is going to flake out,” Temple said.
“My sister is going to go ballistic.”
They took a deep, simultaneous breath.
“Do you think,” Temple asked, “it’s all right to have the guys waiting in the wings?”
“We can always cancel the introductions in case things look too . . . dreadful.”
“Leave them waiting in the bar all evening, deny them dinner, and then brush them off at the last moment?”
“That would be rather tacky,” Kit agreed. “But better tacky than homicide victims.”
“My parents would never overreact so badly.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, maybe so. So you think we’re better off not wearing our rings?”
“Absolutely not. Karen would spot them instantly. We want to ease the Old Folks at Home into the current realities, not give them strokes.”
“She’s your sister. Almost your age.”
“I’m almost her age,” Kit said icily, “were I about to give such privileged information out hither and yon. I’m sorry, Temple, but you do not look like a hither or a yon to me.” Kit thought for a moment. “They probably don’t even have sex anymore.”
“Kit! These are my parents. I don’t want to think about such things, the lack or presence of them. Please!”
“Why not? That’s all they’re going to think about us. About you deflowering that nice ex-priest and me succumbing in the vulnerability of my ‘certain age’ to a sleek Italian gigolo.”
Temple paused to think. “Actually, those scenarios sound rather hot to me.”
“Me too,” Kit said with a giggle. “Wanta trade? Just kidding, kid! Only a good sense of humor is going to see us through tonight. Why do my sister and her husband seem like parents, even to me?”
“Because that’s all they’ve ever been to me. Parents.” Temple swung Kit’s hand. “I feel naked without my ring.”
“Me too, but we must not feel naked in front of your parents. Parents sense that kind of vulnerability and exploit it like cardsharps. We are independent women of the world and no one tells us who to sleep with.”
“Right. My latest bed partner has been a big black cat.”
“Do not go there. Parents will immediately think bestiality. Trust me.”
“Come on! How bad can it be, Kit?”
“Worse than we can imagine. Look. We arrive. We chitchat, we idly mention our significant others. . . . ”
“Nothing ‘idly’ about that for me. They’re sure to think I’m still being hoodwinked by that rat, Max.”
“Are you?”
“Only when I stop to think about it.”
“Oh, Temple,” Kit said, squeezing her hand. “I’m sure he would never have left you if he’d had a choice.”
“You mean dead or alive?”
“I mean dead or alive. But you’d never leave Matt standing forever in the wings, waiting for an interrogation by your parents, would you? They can be soooo Midwestern.”
“So can we. Sometimes. Let’s go do it. Maybe we can make them feel guilty for a change.”
“Excellent plan. We are women of the world.”
“We live in Manhattan and Vegas. They live in the Grain Belt.”
“We drink martinis and absinthe, they drink—”
“Absinthe?” Temple asked. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“It was banned, but one or two brands are now allowed on sale, and I also do smoke the occasional cigar.”
“No!”
“That’s very hot in Manhattan. Cigar bars. A girl has to adapt.”
“Let’s adapt our way into the worst shock and awesome disapproval Karen and Roger Barr can deliver.”
“Right.” Kit linked arms with Temple in a Yellow Brick Road sort of way. “Off we go.”
Of course, Nicky and Van had seen to it that the Barr party had the best table in the house, overlooking the Strip shooting due north far below on a shimmer of glitter and neon and fairy dust.