Now if only I had a brilliant plan for trapping the Maylords killer.
But I do not. Yet. So I must keep a shiv-sharp eye out in case my Miss Temple figures out more than is good for her and somebody bad notices.
Chapter 51
Rafishy Doings
Temple had discovered that despite all the exciting events in her life, she was doomed to spend Wednesday night alone.
Max was distracted and obviously busy with projects other than hers.
Matt had made his move, such as it was, and had moved on to his demanding schedule of nightly radio shows and out-oftown speaking gigs.
Louie was off on errands of a peculiarly catlike nature, and was not talking.
She was all alone by the telephone, so she was surprised when it rang.
Her hopes ran high: in this order: Max. Matt. Matt. Max.
She was hopeless! Maybe it was Electra. That was a step forward. Maybe … her mother. A step backward. Maybe a wrong number? A desperate step.
“Hello?”
“Yeah.”
Gulp. Could it possibly be …
“Something’s going down.“Her hopes, yes.
“At Maylords.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?” she asked Rafi Nadir, for she could recognize his voice over the phone now. He must have got her phone number from the Maylords computer. Scary. She had inherited Molina’s nightmare, it seemed.
“The police-and one member of the force in particular-aren’t going to listen to me. Maybe they would to you.”
“What’s happening?”
“The loading dock. Out back. There’s a shipment.”
“Coming in, or going out?”
“I can’t say. Well, I look forward to sampling your muffins too, Buffy baby. Here’s lookin’ at you.”
He hung up.
Temple blinked. She hoped his call had been interrupted by someone he had to put on an act for. She really, really hoped
that.
Rafi’s warning had arrived on the eve before Amelia Wong’s last night in town. Coincidence? Temple wondered. Or prior planning?
Loading dock? Tonight? Alone? With Rafi Nadir? Maybe the moon was full and his Mr. Hyde personality was about to come out gibbering and slathering in unfettered lust. She just had his word that something fishy was happening at Maylords. What was she supposed to do about it? Call in reinforcements? Max was barely reachable. Matt was working. Heck, even Midnight Louie was off somewhere.
Right. She’d been through that scenario about five seconds before. Feeling a teensy bit ignored, are we? Every formerly overprotective male of her acquaintance busy out and about?
That left … little her.
Temple sat up straighter. Nadir had called her. Apparently he thought that was enough. If the big bad wolf thought little Red Riding Hood was reinforcements … maybe she should whip the napkin off her basket and pull out an Uzi. Or a Plum, as in a Stephanie operation. Temple considered the zany mystery series, then got a damn skippy idea.
Temple picked up her tote bag and went to the bedroom. For once the zebra-pattern coverlet had all its stripes on straight.
But Temple’s pride in housekeeping paled in comparison to the fact that the only partner in crime fighting she had tonight was … Rafi Nadir?
The tote bag hung heavier now, and it should. In it now reposed the small Colt Pocket Lite Max had bought her back in the days when he thought her salvation would be self-defense.
Silly boy. Salvation was always a lot more complicated than firearms. Trust a woman to know that.
Temple had decided that the more of a fashion victim she appeared, the more useful she would be.
She marched in the front entrance of Maylords, looking so chic and confident that the society photographer for the Las Vegas Review-Journal shot her with a blinding strobe of light.
This sudden new image was easy: she borrowed a page from Max. All black. Black boot-cut spandex jeans; black clunky, flat-footed Asian Mary Janes; black jersey top with Renaissance-fluted sleeves; black fanny pack adhered with black chains that were crying in vain for a revealed belly button. Black Colt, weeping for concealment.
Amelia Wong’s two boys in shades looked like cartoon cutouts in comparison.
What had they done to protect anyone?
Interesting question.
Tonight.
After the ceremonials.
After the Wong was over.
After all the hoopla.
And the hopes.
Meanwhile, the band played on for the 8:00-to-11:00 P.M. reception hastily assembled to celebrate Maylords new support of drunk driving issues. MADD delegates thanked the Maylords delegates for the generous donation. TV crews got their pallid sound bites and left. Hors d’oeuvres were eaten. The “wine” was ginger ale, in deference to MADD and the occasion. The celebrities left and the crowds thinned, leaving Temple little excuse for remaining.
So she called an impromptu strategy meeting in the employee lunchroom.
The banks of fluorescent fixtures highlighted the strain in everyone’s faces. Temple wondered if she looked ten years older
too.
“The police and the media have been very discreet,” she noted, “but we can’t expect that to go on forever. Give us one slow news day, and they’ll be all over the `Maylords curse.’
“What’ve you done to prevent that?’ Mark Ainsworth asked, taking the lead.
“Called in a few IOUs I’ve got with the media in this town.”
“The coverage has been pretty low-key,” Kenny admitted, but his shoulders were slumped. “Just everything’s gone wrong,
from the Las Vegas Now! deal on.”
“I don’t need this,” Amelia Wong put in. “Matt Drudge, well-named alternate media weasel, is doing a whole investigation of my ‘empire.’ Murder is the ginseng on the rice cake for him.”
“Then maybe,” Temple said, “what we need most is a solution to the crimes.”
“Yeah, right.” Ainsworth sneered. “I’ve got my crack security people right on the scene and they haven’t seen a thing.”
Temple refrained from mentioning that one of his not-socrack security men was hinting at a break in the case, and that she was hoping to be there when it broke.
“I’m thinking that we might be better off anticipating the publicity. You, Ms. Wong, could go on Las Vegas Now! to discuss the transcendental elements of these misfortunes, the power of chi, the life force, and the disharmony of evil acts in all our lives.”
“lf we have to,” Kenny said, standing. “I’d like to go ahead with the week’s events. Carry on. It’s almost over, thank God.”
He was the CEO. People nodded even if they didn’t look like they believed him. Wong and her contingent swept out. Ainsworth passed right by Temple’s chair, looking down his nose at her.
Kenny Maylord stopped in front of her, shook his head, and said, “I appreciate what you’ve done, but a PR person can’t do much about murder.”
Temple remained behind in the lonely assemblage of Formica-topped tables and plastic-upholstered chairs, Maylords’s equivalent of the servants’ kitchen and so very unchichi. No good chi here. But maybe, somewhere else in Maylords tonight. Could Rafi Nadir really be her salvation?
Temple melted down the travertine trail and into the darkest, dimmest vignette she could find to await her date with destiny. Come to think of it, Rafi Nadir was proving to be as loyal and useful as Midnight Louie his own self. Grrrrrr!
It was almost midnight before Rafi showed up.
Matt was almost on the air.
Max was … hunched over a hot computer … or halfway to Ireland in his mind … not here.
Rafi suddenly peeked out from behind the fake wall of a vignette. Nobody noticed him. Temple edged over until she stood