‘That sofa is good enough to eat,” I cannot help remarking. “Orange is definitely our color,” Louise agrees. Like me she is as black
as the jack of spades, except she is a jill.
“And I was born on Halloween,” I add. “Some would consider this a bad omen for a dude of my coloring, but I sneer at silly
superstitions.”
“You sneer at a lot of things, Daddy Dudest,” she notes dryly. “I do not know when I was born,” she adds.
.
This is a dig, because she is convinced that I am responsible for her advent on earth and should be mensch enough to at least remember the month.
“Halloween is months away,” I say vaguely. “I wonder what they are all doing here.”
“It is a big Las Vegas opening,” she points out.
“It is a very minor Las Vegas opening.”
“Then why did we come?”
“I heard Chef Song was catering it and there will be lots of leftover shrimp scampi and other saltwater delights.”
“Then should we not scampi around back by the Dumpster and be first in line?”
I gaze into Louise’s narrowed golden eyes, so cynical for one so young.
My own eyes are green, limpid, and as innocent as a three-dollar bill.
As one, in this if nothing else, we head for the buffet-lineto-be out back, leaving our humans to handle their own messy
affairs for once.
Chapter 6
Chatty Catty
“So what are you doing here?” Matt asked Temple. This didn’t sound as smooth a conversational transition as he had hoped. “I’m doing PR for Maylords. And you?”
“Uh, Janice is on the staff.”
“Oh, really?” Temple took the opportunity to perch beside Janice on the sofa arm.
Maybe her high heels were killing her, Matt thought, though they seldom did. So maybe it was curiosity.
Temple continued, “I heard everyone on staff went through a tough six-week training session before the opening. Boot camp for the retail set. But on salary. Pretty impressive. Maylords is really slinging the cash around for this opening. What do you do here?”
Janice’s amused expression grew quizzical. “I’m in an odd position. I’m not a fully qualified interior designer yet, but I
directed the overall look of the artwork in the displays. The staff is either designers or sales force, so I’m a bit of both.”
“Listen,” Temple said, “I’ve seen some of your own artwork. You’d be qualified to photo-style the Taj Mahal, I’d bet.”
“And you’ve done a fabulous job with the opening party and the press. Matt has always said you were very creative.”
“Oh, he has? How nice.”
Temple looked at him. Janice looked at him. Why did Matt feel like chum dangling between two attractive but circling ,
sharks?
“I envy you both,” he said. “Your minds are always concocting something out of nothing. I just sit in a chair nights and psychoanalyze strangers for fun and profit.”
“Being a radio shrink is not an easy gig.” Temple tolerated no self-deprecation except on her own behalf. “You do actual good for people.”
He wished he could do some good for himself and escape this awkward situation. Why it was awkward, he couldn’t say,
but it was.
“So.” Temple turned to Janice again. “I see the store will be doing monthly art shows in the framing area. Any of your pieces scheduled?”
“No.” Janice shook her head as she smiled. “However upscale it is, Maylords is a furniture store. It shows and sells art that would be considered … wallpaper. Nothing too meaty.”
“And you’re meaty.” Temple nodded. “I’ve heard so much about you, but have never had a chance to compliment you. I saw those police-style portraits you did from Matt’s descriptions. It’s too bad computers have superceded police sketch artists, but how lucky that ‘Lieutenant Molina suggested Matt try you for help in finding his stepfather. Those sketches you did for him, both phenomenal … at least the one of the man was. I met him once. Briefly.” She shuddered slightly at a brutal memory Matt wished they both could forget. “I never did see that woman face-to-face.”
“From what Matt said about her, you were lucky.”
When, Matt wondered, had he been totally cut out of this conversation?
Temple smiled grimly in agreement. “We’re all going to be lucky to see or hear no more of her. Matt did tell you?”
Janice just nodded. Matt could see Temple softly riffing hertangerine (she never missed a nuance) enameled fingernails on the silver metal evening purse in her lap. He knew she loathed short, uninformative answers, being an ex-TV news reporter and professional wordsmith. Words were her paint, and Janice was keeping her personal profile very sketchy indeed right now.
While Matt tried to think of something to say-it had to be his turn by now-their trio suddenly became a quartet. “Temple, you minx, you’ve been hiding!”
The man’s frame was as wiry as his cannily bleached, curly blond hair. Matt knew him, so he was free to spring up and shake hands.
“Danny Dove, the choreographer,” Temple said, glancing at Janice. “Janice Flanders is an artist and was in charge of the store’s opening look.”
“Fabulous!” Danny’s waving hand indicated the overall ambiance, then captured one of Temple’s hands. “I hate to drag you away, munchkin, but there’s someone I’ve been dying to have you meet.”
“We can’t have Las Vegas’s premier choreographer dying,” Temple answered, nodding farewell to Matt and Janice. “If you’ll excuse us?”
Matt was left standing, his hands in his pants pockets. Janice stood up beside him.
“Danny Dove,” she said. “Wow. He’s big-time in this town.”
“Funny, no matter how massive the Las Vegas tourist trade gets, it’s still called a town. Temple worked with him on a couple of special shows.”
“She’s one multitalented little murichkin,” Janice said. “True.”
“In fact, she’s adorable.”
“Temple would cringe to hear that. She hates being reminded that she’s small and cute; she wants to be taken seriously.” “Danny Dove didn’t get a rise out of her.”
“He calls everybody pet names. Choreographer’s habit, I guess. Besides, he saved her bacon.”
“Hmmm.” Janice gazed at the dressed-up people filtering in twos through Maylords’s maze of model rooms filled with modern, and very expensive, furniture. The orange leather sofa was $4,800, Matt had noticed.
He eyed Janice, wondering how Temple had seen her: a tall woman with short brown hair, wearing a beige linen top and skirt hand printed with rather cryptic images, like three wavy lines and a fish. Not pretty, but pleasant and strong looking.
“So she’s the one.” Janice’s mild tone set alarm bells clanging all along his circulatory system.
” ‘The one?’ “
“Don’t play dense, Matt. The one-something-almosthappened-with-except-she-was-taken.”
“Did I mention-?”
“Yes, once, a while back.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I do. So. Is she the one?”
“How did you guess?”
Janice gave him the same narrow perceptive look that she applied to the subject of a sketch before she began slicing the charcoal across the paper.
“By the very thorough once-over she gave me. She knew who I was from ten feet away.” “She did?”
“Made me with one glimpse of my name tag.”
Matted eyed the small rectangle of plastic plastered to Jan-ice’s left shoulder. “Janice” was incised into it, no more.
“I’m sure she was just interested because she’d seen those two sketches you’d done for me. She said they were great.”
“I’m sure not. Matt, don’t be naive,” Janice said. “I wouldn’t underestimate that munchkin for a minute. She’s smart as a whip and faster than a speeding bullet and other assorted clich�s, and doesn’t miss a thing. I don’t blame you for falling for her.”
“Well. Am I right?”