Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

“They’ve been identified as Temple Barr’s cat, Midnight Louie, and the Crystal Phoenix mascot, Midnight Louise, plus an unnamed old alley cat, also black. The resident cat is called Baby Blue.”

“I suppose their paws are all over the crime scene too.”

“It’s possible. That’s why our crime scene technicians need to go over the place before the body and any suspects are removed.”

Molina just shook her head. “You know I don’t need another Temple Barr Flying Circus of Crime and Cats just now, Morrie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Stop addressing me like a military woman. You’ve seen my midriff bare. You can call me Carmen.”

He straightened uneasily. No one on the force was allowed to use her first name. “You want me out there wrangling this, don’t you? Is that the reward I get—?”

She leaned close, over her desktop, eyes like indigo ice.

“That’s the reward you get for being the bearer of this bloody awful news. Don’t worry. I’ll have to go too. God, jolting over those desert roads! How does Barr know just when to turn up bodies to inconvenience me the most?”

“Talent?” he asked.

“That was a rhetorical question, Alch. Saddle up the Crown Vic. I’ll call Grizzly Bahr. I’m sure he’ll want to eyeball this one himself.”

“Because of the complication of postmortem CPR administered by one of the suspects?”

“Because of all the seminaked ladies on the premises.” Molina managed a grin. “He does like to get out of the autopsy room sometimes to view some live bodies instead of dead ones. Especially if they’re comely.

“Come to think of it, this crazy quilt of a case might get my mind off grimmer matters.”

“What’s scratching your ass today is more than your stitches,” Alch said.

She nodded, the phone already auto-dialing the coroner’s office. “I just saw the father of my child. Tried to set up a civil ‘arrangement.’”

“Good for you—”

She waved him silent. “Dr. Bahr. Got a case that might need your personal touch.” She listened as he spoke. “One corpse, female.” Another pause. “I know that’s nothing new in Vegas, but this one isn’t in Vegas. It’s out at the Sapphire Slipper. Yes, that place is still out there, and going great guns, apparently. Our involvement? The joint is crammed with Vegas persons of interest, including all of the male members of the Fontana family. Yes, mentioning ‘male members’ is ironic under the circumstances. Oh, you’ve been pining for some fieldwork, have you? Alch and I will drive over and your van can follow us out there.”

Alch was astounded. “Grizzly Bahr is leaving his den of death and disintegration?”

“A dozen or so live shady ladies will motivate and move even the most morgue-entrenched coroner.”

“Does he know you nicknamed him ‘Grizzly’?”

“I doubt it, Alch, and you aren’t going to tell him. I’ll inform the captain. He will just love this! And me deserting my newly neat desk I’ve maintained for more than a month after you cleaned it up during my week off. You get the CV from the garage. Matt Devine!” She snorted. “In a hooker hotel. This I gotta see with my own eyes.”

“And supervise?”

“That’ll be the best part.”

She was feeling a lot better.

Louie Puts Up

a Red Flag

Can you believe that I, Midnight Louie, must come up with a scheme to draw attention to myself?

Me, who is usually bigger than life and as hard to disguise as the MGM lion?

Having assistants at hand during this case has permitted me to hang back above the battle and remain out of sight while I deploy my operatives. It has permitted my three female operatives to assume at various times the identity of Satin, the house cat, and be taken for granted and totally ignored while collecting information like a trio of furry, black, mobile, eavesdropping “bugs.”

Now I need to step up to the plate my own self and lead the many befuddled humans in the house to the lurking perp at the perimeter. I return to the back screen door of the kitchen and proceed to sharpen my shivs on the mesh, making a nerve-wracking rending sound.

But the kitchen radio is playing and the assembled bridesmaids are doing their nails in the courtesans’ bizarre and glittery colors.

I yowl.

Finally, one yawns and shivers. “Listen to the coyotes.”

“It sounds like it is right on top of us,” another comments.

They never even glance toward the back door, not even Ms. Shoofly who is not only a guilty party, but presiding over a huge, noisy fry pan of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs at the stovetop.

Not one of my ninja trio is in the kitchen at the moment.

I want to scream like a catamount. This case is next to closed, and I am shut out and ignored.

In desperation, I amble outside to prowl the bordello’s perimeter, finding a way up to the first-story roof via the courtesans’ bedroom annex. I am forced to blunt my shivs on stucco before I manage to scramble onto the roof’s asphalt shingles.