This strikes me as more than somewhat fastidious. “My Miss Temple does like to run her nails and fingers through my hair, but she is always gentle and I believe that her natural oils add sheen and polish to my coat.”
We have by now eeled through the kitchen door, aided by our collaborative doorwoman, the cook, who has taken quite a fancy to Solange.
“My mistress has no natural oils but she has rows and rows of unnatural ones she applies to various portions,” Solange reveals as we step into the shadow of the portico, then into the unfiltered sunlight. “My! Your coat is indeed as sleek as black satin. You could go to the Oscars and be a star on the red carpet.”
“Alas, our commercial endeavors are over, and I doubt they would have garnered us a nomination. The members of the Academy have certain prejudices, you know.”
We settle in the shade of a rattan lounge chair by the pool. It is like retiring to an airy pergola. Small slivers of sunlight pierce our retreat, creating entrancing patterns on Solange’s golden back.
“First the pool area,” I muse. “Then the exercise room. Does that suggest a pattern?”
“The prankster is striking at various areas of the house where pageant activities are scheduled.”
“Scheduled. That is exactly it. Each day here is laid out from hour to hour on schedules all the entrants and participants are following. Pretty easy to get one jump ahead of them.”
“Yet the shaving cream used in the pool area was ‘borrowed’ from the freebies in the girls’ lockers. That sounds like an impulsive move.”
I regard Solange’s sweet, contented Persian face with surprise. I had always thought of her as Yvette’s larger darker plumper sister but maybe she is to her sister Yvette as Mycroft Holmes is to Sherlock, bigger and brighter. She shows some talent in the problem-solving department I have never spotted in my Divine One’s makeup.
“And,” she adds, licking a fluffy mitt and applying it to an airy eyebrow hair, “the bad-boy toy in the exercise room would need to have been imported, which implies premeditation.”
“Say, you are no slacker in the logic department.”
“I owe it to my mistress’s elevated TV-viewing tastes. She is hooked on CS/.”
I spit. It is all I can do not to hiss in the presence of a lady. “That bogus show elevates the humble evidence technician, when it is us detectives who really do the fancy footwork and ferret out the answers.”
“Ferret! Do not mention that miserable creature. I had an unfortunate encounter with one of that kind.”
“I am not fond of ferrets either. They are sly and sneaky.”
“Exactly. If one were on the premises, I would know whom to suspect.”
“Wait a minute! One is on the premises. A human ferret. And we must not overlook the possibility that a human male on the show personally imported the overblown lady … and someone else appropriated it as an object of fear and disgust.”
Solange slaps her mitt back to the pavement. “I do not like crime solving. It requires thinking and rethinking, and I really should be in my room having my beauty rest. Except that Yvette is getting all the attention with her usual spoiled behavior.”
This small temper tantrum on Solange’s part reminds me of the intense competition between the Teen Queen candidates. All the hoopla and dirty tricks might only be Mean Girls in action.
One can never underestimate the human propensity for malice, spite, and mayhem.
I escort Solange back to her quarters but we are forced to duck into a doorway when we spot a man’s big black boot emerging through Miss Savannah Ashleigh’s door.
I am sorry to say that I recognize the rest of the man when I am able to see as high as his face, and give a low thrum of recognition.
“Ay, carumbar!”
“What is it, Louie?”
“Well put. Not so much a ‘who’ but a ‘what’ We are regarding Miss Lieutenant C. R. Molina’s worst nightmare and a serious fly in the ointment my Miss Temple will be none too pleased to see here either.”
“He is tall, dark, and grim looking but what other kind of monster can this man be, and why is he leaving my mistress’s quarters? Are she and Yvette all right?”
“I cannot reveal matters that I am confidentially informed about but that are hidden from the rest of the world. Let us just say that Mr. Rafi Nadir is bad news to everyone I know.”
Chapter 25
Close Encounters of the
Weird Kind
Temple decided that Xoe Chloe would not be one to cower in her room at the sight of a dead life-size blowup doll. Even if it was bigger than she was.
So she began a tour of the strangely deserted mansion. Apparently, the other candidates were the sort to cower in their rooms at the sight of a dead blowup doll, even if they were all bigger than it was.
It had taken all her persuasive PR powers to convince Mariah to remain safely in their room. Unauthorized explorations through the pageant house could very well get the younger girl disqualified. She didn’t want to risk that, did she?
“What if you get thrown out?” Mariah asked passionately. (Girls her age were always passionate.) They spoke, as usual, under the cover of the thundering shower water.
Both she and Temple were getting Irish-soft skin from all this steaming, and were winning spontaneous compliments from Team Teen Queen for their “glowing” complexions. Subterfuge does have its pluses.
“They won’t throw me out,” Temple said. “This show needs a Bad Girl like Buffy the Vampire Slayer needed evil slayer Faith.”
“You watched Buffy: The Vampire Slayer?” Mariah’s voice broadcast new respect.
“Still watching reruns. So. If you recall, sometimes little sister Dawn couldn’t come along. This is one of those times. And think how mad your mother would be if I got you tossed off the show, after all the trouble she went to seeing you had a partner in crime here on-site.”
“I can’t believe she let me come, with those creepy show posters turning up.”
“I can’t believe she made me come.”
Mariah gaped at her for a moment, her soft features looking absurdly fifth-grade for a second. “My mother tells you what to do too?”
“Sometimes. She’s da cops, you know.”
“I know.” Said with discouragement.
“That’s okay. We’ve got an inside track on what’s really going on.”
“Why are you doing this?” Mariah’s face suddenly showed an adult expression, half worry, and half hope. “Your mom offered me my heart’s desire.”
“She can do that?”
“In my case. And … after I saw that defaced poster, I agreed that you needed a partner inside.”
“Yeah. That was creepy. I can’t believe she showed that to me.”
“I think she wanted you to see that she could treat you like an adult.”
“Really?” The word had ended on an adolescent squeal. “Sometimes. If it’s important. But you’ve got a ways to go before you earn the right to be treated that way full time.”
Mariah grinned and leaned back against the sweating bathroom tile. Niagara Falls roared away into the bathtub, making it into a hot tub. “A long way. Like lying around here under the hidden cameras in the bedroom reading my pink Teen Queen folder while you pussyfoot around and have all the fun.”
“Yeah. Like that.”
“Okay.”
Temple smiled as she fronted down the hall, always aware of the cameras. Some maturity was creeping into Mariah, making her a heartbreaking blend of reliability and impossible imaginings. Teenagers had hot flashes too, Temple decided. Easy for her to say, caught as she was in the great long slog between maturation and menopause.
Meanwhile, she could play thirteen-going-on-twenty again and act out.
What struck her first was how tortuously this house was designed. It was an assemblage of separate wings joined by modern breezeways, with Mondrian-like windows inset here and there.
What struck her second was how difficult it would be to do mischief here, given all the hidden cameras. That meant the perp was either part of the production crew or had access to the camera installations.