Cat in a hot pink Pursuit

Nadir to the name of his unsuspected daughter.
    “Mariah. Odd name. Mama musta been a big fan of Mariah Carey. The pop diva, you know.”
    “I do know. Actually, the name reminds me of the song.”
    “Song?”
    “From Paint Your Wagon.”
    Rafi’s body language remained as blank as his sunglasses. “Paint your what?”
    “A musical comedy about the California Gold Rush. The name of the western wind is Mariah. In the song.”
    “Well, this is the West.” Rafi shrugged. “As if Las Vegas was anywhere real.”
    “What keeps you here?”
    “I don’t know. L.A. was a bust. I drifted. There are lots of temporary jobs here for a guy like me. If I don’t get competition from know-it-all PR gals. You’re quite a chameleon, you know that?”
    “I don’t want to be. I just keep getting drawn into these situations.”
    “So how’s the kid?”
    “Mariah?”
    “Yeah. I’ve worked the death scene and interviewed citizens who found the corpse, but a kid? And this one was rough. You handle it okay?”
    “Yeah. Except the victim was so harmless.”
    “Those are the worst. She seemed like a nice lady.” Temple eyed Savannah, who wiggled on the lounge chair, forcing Louie to move to keep his shady spot. Rafi was oddly unaffected by Savannah’s vampish moves. Maybe he wasn’t as knee-jerk a jerk as she—and Molina—thought. Was that possible?
    “What a spotlight hog,” Rafi said. “A little talent would help a lot.”
    “Maybe not. Look at this competition.”
    “Looks like a murder competition.”
    “You expect more?”
    “There are so many more deserving victims.” His blocked gaze clearly focused on Savannah.
    “Don’t worry. Louie is on the case.”
    “Louie?”
    “The cat. My cat.”
    This kept him silent for a few seconds. “You and the cat are a team? I spotted him around Maylords.”
    “A girl can always count on a cat.”
    “Does this Mariah girl have a cat?”
    “Two. Striped. And Louie by proxy.”
    Rafi’s continually scanning sunglasses lowered to regard Louie, then lifted to Savannah with her foil collar, ear-plugging radio and the bikini a lime dressing on an oiled, silicone-stuffed breast of turkey prime.
    “These cops on the scene,” he said. “They haven’t a clue. But I think you do. Keep me in the loop.”
    “Mr. Nadir, if it’s loopy you want, it’s loopy you’ll get.”
    “Right. I liked the expression on that homicide lieutenant’s face when you had me snag the Maylords killer. That do-able again?”
    “Maybe. But I don’t get your issues.” Of course she knew more than he could guess.
    “Nobody could.”
    Then Savannah called for a misting with distilled water and a green apple martini, and Rafi moved to oblige her. Was that a motive for murder? Oh, yeah.



American Idle

    There is not much to be learned underneath the dripping shower of tanning creams.
    Granted, my Miss Temple has made excellent use of the shower option in the bathroom for consultations and speculations. However, Miss Savannah Ashleigh proves to be a disappointment in this area, and I am sorry I am too far away to eavesdrop on my esteemed associate’s parley with Mr. Rafi Nadir.
    He keeps turning up in this town like the proverbial bad penny, but any human dude who can remain unimpressed by the too obvious attributes of Miss Savannah Ashleigh gets a free grade C in my book.
    So, once Miss Temple, aka Xoe Chloe, leaves the scene to Mr. Nadir and his charge, I ankle across the hot concrete at a sprightly pace and head for the far door to the kitchens, which is often an open and shut case of folks coming and going.
    And who do I end up nose-to-nose with but my own not-so-darling daughter. So-called.
    “Louise! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
    “No doubt from all those hours lolling with bimbos on the back forty,” she retorts.
    (Louise does not converse so much as retort. And riposte. And countercharge. And other annoying communication habits.)
    “Information gathering,” I report. (If she can retort, I can report.) “As you can see, my Miss Temple is on an important undercover assignment.”
    “She is a PR flack! How important can this assignment be? If you ask me, she is in her second teen-hood. That is what happens to humans who have odd ideas about relationships with the opposite sex. She is bewitched, bothered, and bewildered by the choices available to the modern female. She should chill out and sample the buffet before she commits herself to ‘until death do them