Cat in a hot pink Pursuit

to risk that, did she?
    “What if you get thrown out?” Mariah asked passionately. (Girls her age were always passionate.) They spoke, as usual, under the cover of the thundering shower water.
    Both she and Temple were getting Irish-soft skin from all this steaming, and were winning spontaneous compliments from Team Teen Queen for their “glowing” complexions. Subterfuge does have its pluses.
    “They won’t throw me out,” Temple said. “This show needs a Bad Girl like Buffy the Vampire Slayer needed evil slayer Faith.”
    “You watched Buffy: The Vampire Slayer?” Mariah’s voice broadcast new respect.
    “Still watching reruns. So. If you recall, sometimes little sister Dawn couldn’t come along. This is one of those times. And think how mad your mother would be if I got you tossed off the show, after all the trouble she went to seeing you had a partner in crime here on-site.”
    “I can’t believe she let me come, with those creepy show posters turning up.”
    “I can’t believe she made me come.”
    Mariah gaped at her for a moment, her soft features looking absurdly fifth-grade for a second. “My mother tells you what to do too?”
    “Sometimes. She’s da cops, you know.”
    “I know.” Said with discouragement.
    “That’s okay. We’ve got an inside track on what’s really going on.”
    “Why are you doing this?” Mariah’s face suddenly showed an adult expression, half worry, and half hope. “Your mom offered me my heart’s desire.”
    “She can do that?”
    “In my case. And... after I saw that defaced poster, I agreed that you needed a partner inside.”
    “Yeah. That was creepy. I can’t believe she showed that to me.”
    “I think she wanted you to see that she could treat you like an adult.”
    “Really?” The word had ended on an adolescent squeal. “Sometimes. If it’s important. But you’ve got a ways to go before you earn the right to be treated that way full time.”
    Mariah grinned and leaned back against the sweating bathroom tile. Niagara Falls roared away into the bathtub, making it into a hot tub. “A long way. Like lying around here under the hidden cameras in the bedroom reading my pink Teen Queen folder while you pussyfoot around and have all the fun.”
    “Yeah. Like that.”
    “Okay.”
    Temple smiled as she fronted down the hall, always aware of the cameras. Some maturity was creeping into Mariah, making her a heartbreaking blend of reliability and impossible imaginings. Teenagers had hot flashes too, Temple decided. Easy for her to say, caught as she was in the great long slog between maturation and menopause.
    Meanwhile, she could play thirteen-going-on-twenty again and act out.
    What strack her first was how tortuously this house was designed. It was an assemblage of separate wings joined by modern breezeways, with Mondrian-like windows inset here and there.
    What struck her second was how difficult it would be to do mischief here, given all the hidden cameras. That meant the perp was either part of the production crew or had access to the camera installations.
    Like a major hotel casino, the house would need some sort of central spy chamber where the images from all the cameras unreeled. Where someone watched and recorded. Several someones. Most likely the technicians and producers but perhaps also someone with a more sinister purpose.
    Temple was thinking about who this Sinister Someone could be so hard she turned the corner into the den area of the house and ran right into someone coming the other way: face-to-face and, ick, belly-to-belly, as in the oldie “Zombie Jamboree” song.
    Double ick!! Rocketing Rollerblades! Where were Lexan bullet-proof shields when a girl needed them?
    She had ended up cheek by jowl with the diminutive Crawford Buchanan!
    Temple disengaged as fast as Xoe Chloe’s size fives could manage it.
    “Hey, little lady!” He reached out to steady her from the impact.
    He should be so lucky.
    “Chill, dude.”
    Temple skated away from him on the smooth marble floor despite having no Rollerblades beneath her feet at the moment. She could still move like a street skater. (In fact, her four older brothers had taught her to waltz on Minnesota concrete years ago. Without knee or elbow pads. You never knew what you would be grateful for, thanks to obnoxious older brothers, years later.)
    “You’re quite the spunky little dark horse,” he said.
    “Just send me a ticket to the Belmont Stakes,” she rejoined.
    “All