Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

Rescue Party

“It’s Nicky,” Van said, giggling. “I guess he just can’t stand being away from me for even one night.”

Temple smiled indulgently.

They were all smiling indulgently. They were all rosy-nosey high. Tipsy. Happy. Girly.

Kit took advantage of the interruption to rise and refill all their champagne glasses. As her left hand hesitated over the Lalique crystal flutes her ring sparkled like the light blazing out from the top of the Luxor pyramid, a light that could be seen in outer space.

“I bet those Fontana boys are getting rowdy,” Electra said. “That many brothers have got to be a handful.”

“I have four older brothers, and they are,” Temple said. “Total teases. It’s nice to be on my own here and not be overprotected and underrespected.”

“The Fontana boys are all darling with you,” Kit said. “Like the world’s sexiest big brothers.”

“I would never,” Temple said with the kind of slow solemnity several ounces of champagne produces, “flirt with a Fontana brother. We have a special relationship. They respect me, and I respect them. You will be marrying into all those brothers, Kit.”

“I can use some brothers-in-law, especially if they treat me the way they do you.”

“They’re pretty . . . nice,” Temple said. “I don’t know why some lucky girls never got their claws into them . . . I mean, converted them to matrimony.”

“Overrated,” said Electra, the much-married, and divorced, woman. She was frowning at Van. “That girl is getting sober. Fast.”

“Van’s always so dignified,” Temple said. “It’s nice to see her loosen up.”

“Van’s never as white as a Halloween sheet,” Electra said, her fingers patting the air to quiet Temple and Kit. “Something’s going on.”

Van was making writing motions with her right hand and looking way not tipsy. Or happy.

“The Sapphire Slipper. I’ve heard of it, but—”

Kit ravaged a distant desk for pen and paper. Temple pulled a two-inch-thick Vanity Fair magazine off the coffee table to offer it as a writing surface. In a few seconds, Van was jotting down frantic phrases.

They were all listening hard now, memorizing the words Van repeated as she made huge, sloppy, slanting notes.

“Isolated. Iffy cell phone. Temple. Take the . . . Rover. Kidnapped! By whom? Murder?”

While Temple and Kit stared at each other in utter shock, Electra disappeared.

“Nicky,” Van was shouting. “I’m losing you! The connection. Nicky!!!”

Cool, cool Van von Rhine was shaking when she reluctantly snapped the cell phone shut. Her hands were smoothing her mussed French twist.

“Nicky swears it will soon all be under control,” she said, “but he says we have to get out there ASAP.”

“We?” Temple asked. “Not the police?”

“He says the bachelor party—him, Aldo, their brothers, Uncle Mario, and Matt—” Van glanced sympathetically at Temple. “They’ve all been kidnapped. Even Midnight Louie is there!”

“My cat? Who’d kidnap a cat?”

“He must have been along for the ride. They were hijacked to a different location than the expected bachelor party in town. This . . . notorious brothel in the desert. Somebody look up the address—”

Electra bustled in. “I’ve got the coffee on and found the telephone book. Just give me a minute. Van, you need to get online and get a map to this Sapphire Slipper place. They’re sure to have a Web site.”

“Of course. Online.” She stood up. “Nicky said—”

“What did he say?” Temple demanded, jumping up.

“He said they need you out there to solve a murder. They need a cool head and an outside eye. He said that Matt discovered the body, and Nicky discovered Matt with the body, and they’re the most likely suspects. We get a jump on the police, or they . . . jump on them. It was a prank. Just a prank. The bridesmaids went berserk. It was supposed to have been funny. Now maybe one of them is dead. Murdered.”

“Who can drive?” Kit asked.

“Me,” said Electra. “I was planning on ‘cycling home, so went light on the champagne. Plus, I’ve got the extra poundage to metabolize it. Sometimes fat girls do have less fun. Van, you get the map and order the Rover from the valet captain. If cell phones don’t work out there—”

“There’s a satellite phone in the Rover,” Van said, racing for her home office and the computer.

Temple sat down. Everybody seemed to have it together.

All anyone needed from her was on-scene detective work.

All?

Matt? A suspect. Matt at the Sapphire Slipper brothel? Oh, my. Oh, Matt.

She was starting to shake like Van had at first. Nicky vulnerable, too.

Something soft intruded on her crazed, anxious mental soliloquy.

Midnight Louise was rubbing against her calf, looking up through serious, round, gold eyes.

And Midnight Louie out there too!

Midnight Louise spoke. One meow. Loud and strong.

“We’ll get them all out of it in the twitch of a cat’s whisker,” Temple said, stroking the little cat.

She didn’t believe one word of what she said.