Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit (7 page)

“
I would, but she's a homicide detective. She's not
used to undercover. I've decided, abhorrent as the conclusion is, that only you . . . will do . . . for this job."

“
Abhorrent to you or to me?"

“
To us both. Equally. It's a Mexican standoff, Miss
Barr. That should make it easier for you. You win, I lose. I
lose, you win."

“
Why?”

Molina looked down. "My daughter—"

“Mariah. Nice kid."

“She's entered the contest. She's a finalist."

“Mariah? A Teen Queen? I don't think so."

“
You haven't been on the Teen Queen scene lately. But
you will be now. With a vengeance." Molina bent down to
her big black purse that was half briefcase, and pulled out
a plum. A one-sheet familiar to any PR person around. A flyer. An advert sheet. A
Temple
felt her pulse spike even as her jaw dropped. "This is . . . sick."

“
We have a stalker. A teen runaway has recently been found dead. That could be unrelated, but another adulterated poster like this was found in the general vicinity of her body. You realize what that means.”

Temple
reluctantly took the paper.

“
It's a color copy," Molina said. "You can't hurt it. I
wish you could.”

Temple
nodded. "You're asking me to risk my life.”

“You did it for him."

“Because . . . I love him."

“I love Mariah."

“You can't ask this."

“I can ask. The deal is, I lay off Kinsella."

“Max for Mariah? You can't nail him for anything; you're not even close to him."

“But you are.”

Temple
shook her head. The paper trembled in her
hands. Who would deface the image of a young girl like
that? And would he do as much to her body? That was
the question.

“
You want me there as a chaperon for Mariah? Why
not just tell her she can't do this?"

“I tried. Six hours of pleading and recriminations. Her whole soul is into this. She thinks she can sing. I'm afraid she actually can. I could at her age. Then, it wasn't worth much. I could say she can't aspire because I couldn't. But I'm afraid she actually could win her division."

“You could shut this down right now. Just say no."

“Obviously you haven't a clue about parenthood. Sure, I can say no and win this battle but lose the war and my daughter, forever. I suppose when you grew up in Wisconsin—"

“Minnesota."

“
—where it was old-fashioned, mid-American, and too
darn cold for teenage girls to get much more from neck
ing than frostbite, parents didn't have to worry about their
kids growing up way too fast too soon.”

Temple
couldn't help smiling. "We weren't totally
frozen out when it came to being rebellious teens. There was always punk ice-skating."

“Not funny. I am hanging onto this kid's future by the
nape of her neck. She's got a new bad-girl girlfriend.
She's under all the commercial pressures girls her age
face: buy-buy-buy, be sexy, be hip, show it all, get guys. Never think of what you might lose by it. She could bolt if I said no. Better she try it and work out her energy and aggressions in a controlled arena. And—”

Molina looked away, to the tack board bearing the
news articles on Temple's accounts.

“
Mariah has a passion to achieve girls my age, from
my place in the world, were denied. Weren't you? Twenty
years ago. Weren't we all denied? I can't stop her. I won't stop her. But I can protect her."

“With me?”

Molina nodded. Her expression tightened. "You're all I've got. My agent on the scene."

“
You don't like me."

“No. But I've . . . come to respect your . . . pluck and
dumb luck." She sounded like she was swallowing a
pickle.

Temple
sat back, feeling slightly smug. "I've only
fought for what . . .
who
I believe in."

“I can't buy that. I wouldn't under any other circumstances in the world. But I can arrange things. I'll have
people outside the Teen QueenCastle. You can't . . .
won't tell anyone. I don't want the great Max Kinsella
racing to your rescue and getting in the way. This is going
to have to be a solo job for you. As it is for Mariah. And me. Maybe it'll be good for all of us."

“I can't guarantee I'll make the finals. You know what
teens are like nowadays. I don't know if I can cut it.
Mariah might not either.”

Molina stood up. "I know you both. Unfortunately. I don't doubt that either you or my daughter can make the
final cut if you set your minds to it. You're two of a kind."

“
Me and Mariah?"

“Thorns in a mother's side."

“My mother would beat you to death with a fast-food chicken limb if she knew what you were asking her baby daughter to do."

“
She can do it with my blessing if both our baby
daughters don't come through this. I wouldn't let either
one of you even try out if I weren't pretty sure that this . . .
pageant threat is a long shot. All the finalists will be confined to the same quarters for two weeks. Very hard for a bad actor to get in."

“
Or easy. Film crews are gypsies, hard to do back
ground checks on them."

“We'll know them from the birthmarks out."

“And you'll really give Max a free pass from now on?”

Molina raised her right hand. "Absolutely. Unless he stands there with a smoking gun over a dead body right
under my nose, I'll totally forget he hangs out somewhere
in this toddling town, up to murky business and possibly larceny or even murder. If you can live with that uncertainty, I can."

“You have him so wrong."

“I don't have him. You do. That's
your
problem. It's a crime I have to compromise on this, but I'm off his case."

“
If I do this. Wow. How long do I have to get into char
acter? I'll need . . . cool clothes. Um, a couple body
piercings, ears at least. A quick rundown on the latest
slang and hot boy bands.”

Molina was reaching into that bottomless briefcase
again. "You'll have to try out locally but you'll need to bring a tape. Here's Mariah's winning little number. Can we check it out?"

“Other room.”

Temple
was feeling pretty numb as she followed
Molina there, but then the bipolar reactions set in. Shocked/challenged. Scared/excited. Worried/confident.

Molina shot the video tape into its slot and Temple manned the remote.

In a minute they were both hunkered down on the sofa,
watching with fascination as Mariah spoke, sang a clever pitch, and cavorted for the camera.

“
This is Mariah?" Temple marveled. "I haven't seen
her for a while. She's really grown."

“Teened out," Molina said grimly.

“Who filmed this?"

“
New friend from a tough school. I'm lucky the onlything that girl talked Mariah into doing behind my back was this nonsense."

“
Didn't she need your permission to do this?"

“One would hope, but nope. It was only an 'open pre
liminary audition.' The permissions come later, when or
if the girls are actually accepted for the reality show cast, and there are a ton of them. As there should be. And . . . the show selected her.

“
We've already got the preshooting packet. Mariah
will be put on a diet. Sensible, they claim. She'll have acting and singing classes. She'll get clothes and a cos
metic Extreme Teen makeover and will generally hang
out with her peers while competing ferociously."

“So what's so different between this and junior high?"

“Catholic school. Mariah hasn't been exposed to the
dark side of adolescence. She'll be a chick in a yard full
of foxes."

“Maybe you've protected her too much."

“Maybe." Molina grabbed the remote and stopped the film.

“You're expecting me to get selected? The competition for my so-called age group—Senior Teen Queen—must be killer."

“I hope not. I'm counting on you being just as able and
clever as Mariah in getting attention, even if it's the
wrong kind."

“Then there's that dumb luck thing of mine."

“Exactly." Molina stood. "The tape's a copy. You can
study it. I gotta admit the kid has chutzpah. Sophistica
tion won't cut it. You'll have to find your inner teen
queen. Your shoe collection should help."

“
And you'll really, really, forget about Max?”

“Who?”

Temple
nodded. "And if I don't make the cut and the show doesn't want me?"

“Then I still want Kinsella, and this time I'll get him. For something, even if I have to make it up. But I won't. He makes it too easy."

“Okay. I guess I'll let you know when I hit"—Temple consulted the fat, glossy, and expensive press kit—"the Teen QueenCastle. Oh, boy."

“Oh, girl," Molina corrected. She wasn't Molina if she wasn't correcting somebody.

Temple
showed her out, then gazed down at Louie, who'd accompanied them to the exit like a major domo in a cat suit.

“Think I can pass as a teen queen, Louie?”

He rubbed against her ankles, nodding his head up and
down as he left his scent on her shin bones. Now that was
a vote of confidence!

Temple
returned to the living room and ran Mariah's tape again.

Couldn't tell Max, couldn't tell Matt. Wouldn't have
told Louie if he hadn't been here.

She frowned, remembering the dismembered Barbie
doll parts in the color Xerox image. If she got to the Teen QueenCastle, she'd really rather have some undercover backup that she knew about.

Not Max. Not Matt. Surely not Louie. Then who?

Chapter 7

Bait
Boy

Not once during her pitch did Miss Lieutenant C. R.
Molina specifically forbid Midnight Louie his own self to
go undercover.

Wise of her. I am always undercover, anyway.

I have watched the video with both eyes wide open, thinking how I would feel if Miss Midnight Louise put
herself on the chopping block in such a fashion. I
guess it is not a chopping block unless the purveyor of
the mutilated flyer makes it so. It is more like an auction block.

I cannot approve of these little dolls parading for the
entertainment of the masses. I cannot approve of any
one parading for the entertainment of the masses.

Unless, of course, they held a midlife-macho-dude competition. That would be right up my alley.

Everything I have overheard today convinces me of
one thing: I must be present in the Teen QueenCastle
for both the gore and the glamour of the competition,
the guts and the glory. MissTemple needs some un
dercover muscle she can count on, i.e., something
more than human.

Speaking of which, I could use some spiritual guid
ance. Or at least a hint of what is to come. Or at least a good laugh at the gullible.