The lieutenant smiled like a shark. “Never mind, Miss Barr. We have witnesses who heard Mrs. Lark being very specific in her plans for Mr. Dyson if he didn’t do as she wanted.”
“Witnesses?” Temple remembered the hookers. How much had they seen or heard that was damaging?
“I also understand that you claimed to be a member of the Sisterhood of the Streets, that you and Mrs. Lark were a ‘sister act’. Is that something Vice might be interested in? Or perhaps your evidently long-suffering, kept-in-the-dark fiancé?”
“You know that was a joke.”
“Maybe, but you’d gone way out of your normal fields of operation to tell it, and this follow-up situation is definitely not a joke. Even if it’s because you gave me a rare opportunity to use a classic line.
“Don’t leave town again, Miss Barr.”
22
Off Duty
Ernesto, the expert chauffeur-psychiatrist by virtue of his job shepherding limo-loads of tourists around Las Vegas, reversed his recommendations on the next leg of the long, long trip from the airport in a long, long custom car.
The dimness behind the dark tinted windows soothed unsettled nerves and Ernesto did more to achieve that by getting to work again as mixologist at the glittering bar. Temple leaned back in the channeled red leather upholstery and sighed deeply.
Ernesto smiled. “For the sophisticated lady recovering from a wearing interrogation, I recommend the Daiquiri, a drink created to soothe the vintage soul.” He handed Temple a delicate, footed cocktail glass.
“For the dyspeptic, displeased gentleman, I suggest a Peppermint Schnapps.”
“I’ve got reason to be dyspeptic,” the usually affable Matt snapped, accepting the Schnapps.
Temple hid her amused expression behind a sip of the Daiquiri, fearing it was far too ladylike to soothe the savage soul of a dishonest hussy like her.
“Ernesto,” she asked, “how did Electra’s husband die? I hope it wasn’t by gunshot, because Electra brought one in her purse to the Araby Motel. I’m afraid the ladies of the night saw it.”
The limo slipped smoothly into motion with Julio at the wheel, but the emotions inside decidedly did not match the ride.
Matt turned into Molina and started interrogating Temple. “You went out in the dead of night with Electra to a notorious local motel and didn’t tell me? Makes me wonder what else you didn’t tell me.”
“It was Electra’s secret, and her ex-husband. She couldn’t sleep not knowing if he was selling his interest in the land adjacent to hers.”
“Excuse me,” Ernesto said, “your discussion should be private. The police are not giving out details of the killing because they are rather bizarre.” He had their rapt attention. “However, there is not a detail, no matter how closely guarded, that a Fontana brother somewhere will not find out some part of it. Between us and the color-coordinated cat lying on the black carpeting—”
“Louie’s here?” Temple interrupted, inspecting the pooling dark at her feet.
One slitted green eye opened near the door.
Nodding, Ernesto went on. “The late Mr. Dyson was not killed at the Araby Motel that night, as one would think, which is good for Miss Electra. He was found dead the next morning, in that old building near the Circle Ritz he owned, or perhaps had just sold, which I’m afraid is not good for Miss E.”
“How…truly strange,” Temple said.
“No matter how he died,” Matt said, “the fact is you and Electra put yourselves in the middle of a murder case by running off like hotheaded teenagers to an unsavory place at an unsafe time. Who’d you think you were? Max Kinsella and his cousin Sean?”
“Matt, that’s not fair!”
“It’s a pretty fair summary of the situation.”
“Piano, Piano,” Ernesto urged, fanning his fingers in a quieting gesture. He then excused himself to ride with the driver and left them to it.
“And this took a nighttime visit?” Matt asked as the limo proceeded after a pause.
“Electra needed to know what Jay had really done. We’d seen the people who were planning on putting in a strip club just down the street—”
“Must have been a classy crew.”
“Hardly. And the exterior of the Lovers’ Knot chapel had been vandalized—”
“Even worse if there were vandals about. How did you get to the Araby Motel?”
“Electra drove.”
“The Elvis edition Beetle I won and gave her?”
“No, she’d never risk that. Her old white Probe.”
“But she’d risk herself. And you.”
“She was the only person who could make her ex tell her the truth, and make him feel guilty enough about it to spoil any deal he had going. With, perhaps, mob elements.”
Matt threw back some peppermint schnapps and nearly choked. Schnapps was potent stuff. “How’d Electra even find out about this fishy deal?”
“Bits here and there. Diane, Jay’s most recent ex-wife, warned Electra Jay was in her neighborhood.
Temple went on. “When the Circle Ritz had the Incident of the Cat in the Night-time—you may recognize that the animal in question was a dog, not a cat, in the Sherlock Holmes story, but Midnight Louie gives it a whole new twist—when that intruder showed up in my bedroom, I thought maybe Stalker Kathleen was still around. Electra said, maybe not, and then showed me the defaced front of the chapel. Vandals had already been attacking the building. I can’t see Kitty the Cutter wasting her venom on architectural details when there are live people around to harass.”
Matt nodded, ruefully. “The only inanimate object Kathleen O’Connor had it in for was stealing your one shoe of the pair you planned to wear to my mother’s wedding in the chapel, and Kathleen actually gave that back to you.”
“Yeah. Dangled it off my balcony. So,” Temple said. “I wondered who would attack the building. Electra surprised me with a tour of some of her other properties surrounding the Circle Ritz. I then wondered if the vandalism was more general.”
“Was it?”
“No. Her tenants are having a hard time, though, being mom-and-pop businesses post-Great Recession. At the end of our walkabout, we found the empty building down the block that Electra doesn’t own was looking ready for revamping into a raunchy strip club.”
“Is there any other kind than raunchy?” Matt asked.
“Uh, there are traditional strip clubs and nowadays there are nudie bars,” she told him gingerly. “You would not believe what they are like.”
Temple hated to disillusion Matt about how low Las Vegas could go, but she could tell her last comment had given him pause. He had a funny look on his face, and it couldn’t all be the peppermint Schnapps.
She pushed her advantage. “You can see that would devastate Electra’s livelihood at the wedding chapel, not to mention the quality of future Circle Ritz tenants and possible condo investors. We may leave, you know, but she’ll always be there.”
“Yeah.” Matt was looking even sicker. “I see you were trying to help her out. How did you know where the old rogue—what’s-his-name—was holing up?”
“Ex-wife Diane again. She kept tabs on him. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going. I know you’d never sneak around investigating stuff without telling me, but this came up, and Electra’s livelihood was at stake, and I owe her. And…I was afraid she’d go alone. At least I can alibi her now for that time.”
Matt nodded slowly. “You probably don’t know this. I wouldn’t want to upset you, but the Araby Motel is one of the places I looked for Cliff Effinger when I first came to Vegas. I hate thinking of you visiting such a scuzzy dive.”