Cat In A Leopard Spot

Chapter 41

Hunt Club

“Temple!”

She turned, midway across the massive, sparkling, tinkling lobby of the Crystal Phoenix, flabbergasted.

Not that she was surprised to hear her name called here. Every time she visited to check on final touches for the new entertainment areas people expecting instant answers were hollering her name right and left.

Only they weren’t Max Kinsella, doing it right out loud in public.

This one-of-a-kind event would not only scare the horses, it would stop Temple in midhurtle.

She spun in her tracks. He was almost on top of her. “What on earth—?”

Caught up, he grabbed her elbow and hustled her toward the indoor wall of greenery fencing the Crystal Court lounge. There was a look of strain on his face that she’d never seen before, except in jugglers who have six ax blades up in the air at once.

“I couldn’t reach you on your cell phone,” he fretted.

Temple began groping in her tote bag. “I have it right here. Somewhere right here. Or maybe there. Can we sit down while I dig it out?”

Max was looking around like he expected an attack by tsetse fly. “No. Where, why doesn’t matter. I’ve heard from the hunt breakers.”

She blinked at the term, finally diverting her mind from Jersey Joe Jackson and his mine ride to Max’s recent high-desert adventure.

“Hunt-breakers? Oh, those protesters who put themselves between hunters and their prey.”

“I promised to help them document the action at Rancho Exotica. They just told me a hunt is scheduled this evening.”

“That’s…nuts! Why would the ranch do business now that Cyrus Van Burkleo is dead? With all the attention his killing is getting, they risk exposing their illegal operation. The protesters must be wrong.”

“They ought to know. They’re out there, watching. I need someone inside the ranch watching too.”

“Me? Why would I go there again?”

Max grinned down at her. “Because you’re so good at plausible pretexts.”

“Pardon me, but why can’t you be the inside man?”

“Because I have to be the outside man.” He lifted his thumbs and fingers, fanned to form a frame. “Home movies, remember? I need someone inside to stop the hunt before anything is killed.”

“Anything? Or anyone?”

Max shook his head. “This has nothing to do with the murder. This is purely because of a promise I made. Look, the least I can do right now is help these people out. They’re liable to get hurt if they come between an amateur hunter and his target. If I’m out there documenting it on film, it’ll keep them from doing anything foolish.”

“What about me getting between an amateur hunter and his target?”

“I don’t expect you to be as confrontational, or foolish, as that protester crowd. Just…distract the hunter. Scream or faint or something.”

“Max, I don’t think feminine wiles are going to work out there, not that I’ve got many of them.”

“This might.” He hefted a small matte-black gun from a pocket.

Temple took a deep breath. “What would I do with that? Throw it?”

“We never did get to a shooting range. You could always shoot it into the air.”

“What’s to keep some trigger-happy hunter from shooting me into the air?”

“They want trophies, not felony arrests. But I don’t think you’ll need this. Still, if it would make you feel better—”

“I’d feel better without it, using my wits for bullets, thank you. I guess if Leonora and Courtney Fisher are going to be there, I can stomach it. I do hate having to see Leonora again…after what I found out.” She had called Max about the news from the plastic surgeon’s office once she was home.

“It’s nasty knowing other people’s secrets, isn’t it?” Max said sympathetically. “But abused people rarely turn on anyone, not even their abuser. Even if this case is an exception, I doubt she’d bother you.”

“I’m not afraid that she might be a killer. That’s not what’s bothering me. It’s just that I’ll never be able to look at her bizarre face without picturing that awful man hitting her, crushing bones and cartilage. I suppose helping to stop a hunt before another animal is killed is one way to get back at Van Burkleo, even if he is dead. Don’t worry about me. I’ll think of something.”

“Once I’ve got the vital footage, I can step in.” Max frowned, as if remembering something. Or somebody. “Hopefully without being seen. Vintage Mystifying Max, hand quicker than eye. That’s what I expect to happen.”

Temple shook her head. “Imagine one good deed requiring so much forethought. What made you volunteer to film a canned hunt?”

Max shrugged. “These protestors! Babes in the woods on the Mojave. Well intentioned, but way too clumsy to pull off a useful surveillance operation. One mistake could turn fatal.”

“That’s really a nice favor,” Temple began. “Aha!”

She pulled the cell phone from her bag, where she had been rummaging all during their conversation. She flipped it open while Max eyed her askance. “Oooh, Battery’s dead. Guess I forgot to recharge it.”

“Maybe you’re best off without armaments,” he said, watching her drop the phone back into the bottomless maw of her tote bag.

“What time is this hunt supposed to happen?”

“Five P.M.”

“I suppose that’s so all concerned can have a civilized dinner at eight. Except the prey.” She checked her watch—1:00 P.M.—and looked around. The bustling lobby thronged with people who showed no interest in them whatsoever. “Can I take you on a quick tour of the innovations? I’m sure we can get to anywhere we’re not expected in time.”

Max looked around rather more thoroughly than she had. When his glance came back to her—the natural, blue-eyed one she had gotten so used to that she’d forgotten he’d ever hidden behind green contact lenses—his Irish eyes were smiling.

“Why not?”

“You seem a bit more chipper than you were a few days ago.”

“Maybe I’ve decided that I’m no more bad for you than the next guy.”

Temple decided not to ask if he had any particular “next guy” in mind.

Max offered her his arm and the tour began.