But this was worse. This figure was life-size.
“It’s not a real person, it’s a blow-up doll,” Temple murmured.
“What’s that?” Mariah’s dark eyes demanded an honest answer.
“Later,” Temple hissed under her breath. “Cameras.”
By now the kitschy security forces were pushing their way into the room … and coming up mortified at the scene they confronted.
No way bronzed Greek god he-men were going to deal with butchered sex toys.
Beth Marble had finally arrived. Her voice could be heard urging the girls to leave immediately.
Temple went over to take Silver’s arm. “Easy. It’s just a doll. You can’t kill Barbie. She’s forever. Come on.”
Silver moved in tiny baby steps like an old, old woman. Amazing how shocking unreality could be.
Yet Temple couldn’t underestimate the sick mentality at work, or how bold it was. Someone knew the setup and was exploiting it.
Someone? Anyone. The crew was an assemblage of workers from here and anywhere. The contestants were selected from anyone who chose to enter. Temple knew for a fact that being a finalist could be manipulated. This could be about more than a single demented prankstercum-killer. It could be a conspiracy.
The producers could have arranged it. Maybe this had always been more horror show than beauty/makeover pageant. American Idol-cum-Fear Factor
“I’m calling the police,” Beth announced from the hall when the room had been cleared and the double doors firmly shut on the bloodied doll.
The bloodied life-size actual doll. The faux victims were getting bigger, and the “attacks” closer together and bolder. More personal.
Temple was interested to see three nervous men she’d never spotted before, overdressed for members of the camera crew. Must be the “suits” from the producers’ office. They had to be lurking around here somewhere, clean-shaven bland-looking men whose ages were in the indeterminate twilight zone of forty to sixty. Two of them immediately nixed calling the police.
Beth shook off their opposing voices. “Everyone go to your rooms and stay there until further notice.”
Everyone but the suits was forced to drift away, whispering to one another despite the ever-eavesdropping cameras and mikes.
“Scream Queen,” someone whispered before they all dispersed to their separate cells … rooms. “Silver should get a lot of screen time for this.”
“So what got everyone unglued about that doll, besides the blood?” Mariah asked in the shower-steamed bathroom, while water pattered into the tub 4nd down the drain. Xoe and Mariah watched from the center of the room. They would shortly be regarded as the cleanest candidates in the competition. “Sure it was gross, Xoe Chloe, but it was just a dead balloon. I mean, talk about airheads—”
And what, Temple wondered, would Mama Molina think of Xoe Chloe (Mariah obviously loved the comic book name) enlightening her sheltered daughter about sleazy ads in the back of men’s magazines?
But she explained, as delicately as she could. She’d always heard that parents should be honest about sex education. Even dragooned in loco parentis types like herself.
Mariah reared back. “Gross! Guys are so pathetic. And now gruesome too. Whoever is doing this is major sick.”
“Some guys. And the red may not have been real blood. And the perp may be sick, or just pretending to be.”
“What do you mean?”
Temple mopped at her sweat-dewed brow. The wig was looking very natural thanks to all these steam baths. It was relaxing, growing just like real hair. Maybe someday soon she would become a real Xoe Chloe, like Pinocchio became a real boy.
“These are flashy incidents,” Temple said, “designed to upset people and just begging to bring in the authorities. Maybe someone has it in for the show’s producers. There’s a point when too much freaky publicity hurts rather than helps a project. I’m Miss Public Relations. Trust me on this.”
“So someone’s trying to ruin the show.” Mariah nodded. “Could be.”
“Or it’s an elaborate setup.”
“Or it’s a real sicko.”
“Those are the options.”
“Do you think my mom will get involved in this?”
“Like a Kevlar vest on a SWAT team.”
“Oh … shoot. She’ll ruin everything. Can’t she ever just let me do anything by myself?”
“Hey! She okayed this whole deal, despite your never telling her in advance, but it’s going way beyond any of us being Teen or ‘Tween Queens. It’s starting to look like Junior Miss Fear Factor”
“If we solve this thing, we can get this show back on the road.”
“To me, that is not a good thing, Mariah.”
“Oh, no. You’re cool. You’ve got a real shot at this.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. Nobody here needs a do-over more than you.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean, it’s brilliant. You are just awesomely wrong. I wish I coulda had that much to start with.”
Chapter 24
Great Big
Beautiful Doll
It seems the Divine Yvette has taken it into her pretty little head that since the little doll named Silver found the big doll named Balloon, a shaded silver Persian is likely to be the next victim of random spattering.
“She is very superstitious,” sister Solange explains to me in the hall when I am denied access to the suite accorded to Miss Savannah Ashleigh and dependents. “She will not leave her carrier or take food. Other than caviar and sirloin tips, of course, which our mistress must hand-feed to her.”
I would like to see Miss Savannah down on her knees doling out the tidbits to the pink canvas carrier, for the Divine Yvette when in a mood is as likely to snap as to snarf.
However, I am out in the hall with her shaded golden sister, and Midnight Louie is not one to overlook an opportunity of any color or stripe.
“Since we are clearly not needed during the present crisis, we can take a stroll on the grounds and perhaps figure something out.”
“The grounds?”
“Yeah. Out by the pool. All the freak show people are huddling in the den trying to think up security ploys. It seems the producers threw a hissy fit at the idea of bringing the police in. Might close the show down. Luckily, my Miss Temple is already in place.”
“She is? Where?”
I feel a rush of pride for my little doll and her success at the undercover arts. The stunning Solange did meet her when we were all in the Big Apple last Christmas auditioning for the big come-on of an A La Cat contract. Unfortunately, murder-most-Noel put the whole commercial deal on the back burner.
Also, an unwanted delicate condition sidelined the Divine Yvette’s performing career for a few months, causing the sponsor to invoke the morals clause in her contract. Miss Savannah Ashleigh in turn leveled a wrongful paternity suit at moi. It is no wonder the Divine One is a bit high-strung. We all came out of that incident worse for wear but at least Miss Temple went to The People’s Court to prove me innocent as a lamb. Still, I do my best to avoid the instep-arching spikes of Miss Savannah’s footwear, as she would still like to nail me for daring to befriend Yvette.
“Where?” Solange interrupts my reverie, reminding me that past embarrassments should not upstage the presence of a lovely and unescorted lady with jade-green eyes.
“I am not at liberty to say but am glad to know that she is safely disguised. This looks to be a rough crowd.”
“Oh, it is.” Solange amiably follows me down the hall to the back areas of the mansion. “These girls all havesuch long claws, and they chitter and coo every time they see Yvette or me and try to pick us up and pet us. All that nasty hand and cuticle cream lotion on our freshly powdered coats.” She shudders delicately. “Our mistress can be distressingly dense at times, but she always wears cotton gloves when handling us.”