Cat in a hot pink Pursuit

and a house somewhere full of the magic of her laughter, with a dragon of a scarf drawer he could tame into submission with the flick of one finger.
    Another opened ring box caught his eye from across the room, this one plainer. He got up, put his hand out, then pulled it back as if contemplating touching white-hot metal. What the holy hell was this doing here? Gold metal. Real gold. A size big enough for a man’s hand.
    The ring was shaped like a huge snake coiled into a circle, its jaws closing on its own tail. The Worm Ouroboros. An ancient symbol of eternity. Given to Matt Devine by Max’s own personal demon, Kathleen O’Connor, as a symbol of her undying hatred of them both.
    Kathleen was gone. The ring had disappeared even before she had, to hear Devine tell it.
    How the devil had it ended up here, in Temple’s scarf drawer? Had Devine given it to her? Why? And when? And how could Max ask Temple without revealing that he’d come slinking around while she was gone, worried about her but even more worried about them, suspecting she’d lied to him? Now he was certain she had. About this trip, and about how much else?
    How much had she had to comfort herself with a substitute?
    He had to know. It couldn’t be too late.



Shoe Biz

    To avoid an overstaged look, the madeover ‘Tween and Teen Queen candidates would strut their stuff on a small stage near the pool at twilight time in Las Vegas.
    Temple had thought the arrangement rather tacky until she saw the area that afternoon. Fresh lavender and yellow lotuses and lit candles floated in the pool. A semicircular array of clear Plexiglas folding chairs filled the large concrete expanse between pool and house. Banks of flowers turned the planting areas into mini gardens of Eden, with more candles burning on tall lily-shaped holders staked into the ground.
    The raised stage was draped with pastel organza and seemed like a huge orchid cloud when viewed from the house.
    Temple stared at the area’s transformation into a kinder, gentler place, realizing that what would happen here tonight meant a lot to girls like Mariah. This was a kind of coming-out party, with the addition of killer media pressure.
    “She may have seemed flakey,” a voice behind her said, “but this event was really important to Beth Marble.”
    Temple turned to her Aunt Kit, who knew nothing of the woman’s real identity, or her very dark history and issues.
    “It reminds me of a garden wedding scene,” Temple said. “I wonder—?”
    “What?”
    Temple only shook her head. She had wondered whether Crystal Cummings had married Arthur Dickson in this very spot. She’d have to look it up when this was over. If it ever would be over.
    “Beth planned every detail of this setting,” Kit went on. “It seemed to mean something special to her.”
    Temple nodded, glad that the police hadn’t made the connection that the dead girl in the parking lot was Beth’s granddaughter until after Beth herself was dead. Glad that she herself hadn’t made that connection any sooner than now.
    Even if Beth’s hyper-happy exterior hid a vengeful heart, there must have been some healing energy there somewhere. The bald head under the wig screamed “cancer.” Knowing you were likely to die might make the most stable person a bit crazy, maybe even for, or especially for, a long-delayed vengeance.
    “You ready to wow them?”
    Temple grinned at her aunt. “I’m ready to do the most unwinning act you ever saw. Get out your pencil and prepare to draw goose eggs.”
    “You should give it a real shot. I think Xoe Chloe could hit as one of those alter-ego personalities. Like Martin Short in the fat suit as Jimmy Glick on TV.”
    “Oh, Lord, no! There are enough closet performers in my circle.”
    “You mean Max?”
    “Ah... yeah.” She’d meant Carmen Molina but why confuse her aunt.
    “Anyway,” Kit said, squeezing her arm. “I think you underestimate Xoe’s Midas touch. Break a leg.”
    On that contrary show biz good wish, Kit disappeared back inside like a fairy godmother off to minister to other Cinderellas.
    Temple regarded the beautiful scene, not fussing about her little upcoming roller-rap routine, but about how to trick a killer into the open.
    Beth Marble had dreamed up this entire event just to lure and kill a woman who had failed her daughter.
    Who had penetrated Beth’s carefully applied fake identity and used the hunter’s trap to kill the hunter?

    “Is she there?” Mariah