"It is their way of being provocative."
"Consider me provoked." She frowns until the short, satiny fur on her brow wrinkles like a throw rug.
"I had to slink away pronto, though, before anyone spotted me. I tried to interrogate the horse, but it was too spooked to speak."
"The horse? You mean tall as a two-story building, with hooves?"
"Yeah, a big bruiser with knobby knees and a forelock. And it wore iron shoes. Mere size does not intimidate me." Louise's round gold eyes give me a once-over that is not a compliment. "Anyway, the equine was in shock. Could only whinny about a slap on the rump. Later, I jumped up in the flies and got a bird's-eye view of its rump, and it deserved slapping. Had all these white spots on it, like it had been caught in a bleach rainfall. Silly-looking creature."
"I believe you refer to a valued birthmark that indicates a breed known as the Appaloosa."
"Appaloosa, applesalsa, it ain't talking."
I cringe at my reputed offspring's grammar. Not only ain't, but a contraction. She misreads my body language, which is not unusual.
"So what would you have done different, Pops? All I know is that this fallen hunk was masquerading as an Indian warrior when someone stuck him in the back with an unbroken arrow. Goodbye, Cheyenne."
"Cheyenne?" I sit up and take notice of my chest hairs, which I proceed to groom with some agitation. Not only are they a trifle mussed, but my mind is also a little ragged around the edges as I realize I have heard that name before, in this hotel.
"Cheyenne," she repeats, narrowing her eyes to horizontal slits you could not see out of a tank through. "What of it?"
I cannot decide whether to take her into my confidence or not, for I know the name from Miss Temple's association with the stripper contest. Could this murder have its roots in the last slaughter at the Crystal Phoenix? While I am making up my mind, the Divine Yvette is waking up in her carrier, emitting a series of soft, sleepy mews that are sweet and charming and loud enough for the vulpine Louise to hear even with her ears flattened.
She--the vulpine Louise, not the Divine Yvette--perks her ears, elongates her neck, then rises and trots over to inspect the carrier.
I can only hope that she does not notice it is occupied, but that is extremely unlikely.
"Mew," the Divine Yvette murmurs in greeting the black feline face peering through her mesh.
"Louie?"
"I might have known!" The vulpine Louise whirls to face me, inadvertently smacking my chops with her tail. At least I prefer to think that it is inadvertent. "This pose of slinking about the premises to protect poor Miss Temple, when you are visiting some sleazy showcat! And my mother was not good enough to occupy your attention for more than a one-night stand. Males! You are all alike, no matter the species."
I spit out some stray black hairs and maintain my dignity. "You are sadly mistaken, my dear girl. The Divine Yvette and I have a purely platonic relationship."
"The Divine Yvette? What a pushover for some over breeding and a pedigree, along with a phony French name!" Midnight Louise turns on the drowsy Divine Yvette to snarl, "Parlay voo French, cheree?
Translate this."
With that, Midnight Louise smacks the mesh so it collapses like an expired balloon.
I am paralyzed by horror. And I am even more horrified when I see the mesh bounce back as the Divine Yvette lets loose with a flurry of ungloved jabs, claws out.
"Civet!" she hisses. "Rank roadside runaway! Nameless hussy! Fatherless floozy! Ungroomed hairball!
Alley scum. Your mother is a glove liner and your father's tail is a rearview-mirror trophy."
Midnight Louise sits back to let the abuse unfold, casting a brief glance in my direction.
"Not exactly," she interjects when the Divine Yvette takes a deep, heaving breath before expanding on her charges further. "Daddy dearest is a friend of yours, I believe."
"Impossible," the Divine Yvette hisses in righteous indignation.
I am, of course, caught between two irresistible forces of feline nature. I can only sit still, cringe and wait for the storm to pass.
'That is what I call him, too," Midnight Louise spits. "And they call me Midnight Louise."
"Oh!" The Divine Yvette's fury has subsided suddenly.
"I will let you chew upon that fact," Louise says, de-arching her back and shaking out her tail, "as I bid you adieu. Just remember that this is my turf nowadays, and I demand a certain respect, even from visiting aristocrats. Do not count on my old man having any influence whatsoever with me."
She stalks off, stiff-legged, her tail kinked and still twitching.
The Divine Yvette's carrier is worrisomely quiet. I inch nearer and peek in.
The Divine One is busy licking her silver coat into fresh-minted condition, rolling out her long rosy tongue with skillful regularity. She glances up with her deep blue-green eyes.
"You did not tell me that you were married, Louie," she rebukes me in sad, calm tones.
I swallow. "It was an informal affair. And we are divorced now. Hey, Las Vegas is the capital of the quickie marriage and divorce. That was a long time ago."
"Oh? I detect zat zee dainty Midnight Louise cannot be more than a year or so old. I am nevair wrong about zee age of anoz-zair female."
Is it possible that the Divine Yvette has developed a French accent since Midnight Louise accused her of being French? Talk about a suggestible sensibility!
"I am sorry, dear lady, that my miscreant daughter was so rude to you."
"I am sorree, Louie, that you have such a rude offspring. And now I must nap. My beauty sleep was interrupted."
"You will not hold my relatives against me?" I inquire more anxiously than I would like.
The Divine Yvette sighs as she rests her soft gray triangle of a face on her silken paws. "I cannot say. I have always known that we exist on two different planes--"
"You are not leaving already?"
"But I try very hard not to be a--how you say? A snob. Perhaps your daughter could benefit from obedience school."
"That is for dogs!" I reply, horrified.
The Divine Yvette shrugs and shows the pearly tips of her two exquisite fangs. "If the shoe fits, the foot should wear it. Au revoir, mon ami. "
I withdraw, not knowing what to blame Midnight Louise for more: betraying my past lovelife to my current amour, or giving the Divine Yvette the idea that she is French.
Chapter 18
Every Large Breezy ...
Temple and Kit returned to the Crystal Phoenix to find the lobby packed with registering G.R.O.W.L.ers.
"Oh, no!"
"What?" Kit asked, scanning the mob.
"Fabrizio again. Does he stake out the registration line, or what?"
"Of course he wants to catch them coming in. This is his business, Temple, and these women are his fans."
"At least we registered early and can sneak past."
"But we're not going to." Kit corralled Temple's arm as she tried to eel away. "Here's an ideal opportunity to practice your new undercover persona."
"What new undercover persona?"
"Remember? I told you at lunch. Trot out your old reporting skills and become officially nosy. This crowd expects the media to be out in force, and it's dying to get noticed."
"Dying is the operative word around here lately."
Temple frowned as Kit pulled her toward Fabrizio's knot of women. "I really don't want another close encounter with Fabrizio. He's so bold, so blond ... so bigger than life. I feel like I'm going to be stomped by Trigger when I'm around him."
"Ah! But you are Media now. Breezy will be a pushover, and you'll do the pushing. Mention a major show, and he'll trot over quietly for a lump of sugar, I promise. Now, here's the notepad and pen from my registration packet. Remember, he's probably got the inside scoop on all the pageant personalities. He might even be the killer. Go, girl!"