Cat in a
Quicksilver
Caper
By Carole Nelson Douglas from Tom Doherty Associates
MYSTERY
MIDNIGHT LOUIE MYSTERIES
Catnap
Pussyfoot
Cat on a Blue Monday
Cat in a Crimson Haze
Cat in a Diamond Dazzle
Cat with an Emerald Eye
Cat in a Flamingo Fedora
Cat in a Golden Garland
Cat on a Hyacinth Hunt
Cat in an Indigo Mood
Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit
Cat in a Kiwi Con
Cat in a Leopard Spot
Cat in a Midnight Choir
Cat in a Neon Nightmare
Cat in an Orange Twist
Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit
Cat in a Quicksilver Caper
Midnight Louie’s Pet Detectives
(anthology)
IRENE ADLER ADVENTURES
Good Night, Mr. Holmes
The Adventuress* (Good Morning, Irene)
A Soul of Steel* (Irene at Large)
Another Scandal in Bohemia* (Irene’s Last Waltz)
Chapel Noir
Castle Rouge
Femme Fatale
Spider Dance
Marilyn: Shades of Blonde (anthology)
HISTORICAL
ROMANCE
Amberleigh†
Lady Rogue†
Fair Wind, Fiery Star
SCIENCE
FICTION
Probe†
Counterprobe†
FANTASY
TALISWOMAN
Cup of Clay
Seed upon the Wind
SWORD AND CIRCLET
Six of Swords
Exiles of the Rynth
Keepers of Edanvant
Heir of Rengarth
Seven of Swords
* These are the reissued editions.
† Also mystery
Cat in a
Quicksilver
Caper
A MIDNIGHT LOUIE MYSTERY
Carole Nelson Douglas
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CAT IN A QUICKSILVER CAPER: A MIDNIGHT LOUIE MYSTERY
Copyright © 2006 by Carole Nelson Douglas
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Douglas, Carole Nelson.
Cat in a quicksilver caper / Carole Nelson Douglas.—1st ed.
p. cm.— (A Midnight Louie mystery)
“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
ISBN-13: 978-0-765-31400-0
ISBN-10: 0-765-31400-2 (acid-free paper)
1. Midnight Louie (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Barr, Temple (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 3. Public relations consultants—Fiction. 4. Las Vegas (Nev.)—Fiction. 5. Women cat owners—Fiction. 6. Cats—Fiction. 7. Art thefts—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3554.O8237C2769 2006
813’.54—dc22
2005032801
First Edition: July 2006
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Janice Carlson-Buffie aka Ashland Price,
my longtime great and foresighted friend
through all the thick and thin of writing
and publishing
Contents
Previously in Midnight Louie’s Lives and Times . . .
Prologue:
Eve of Destruction
Chapter 1:
Swept Off Her Feet
Chapter 2:
Louie Agonistes
Chapter 3:
The Deal of the Art
Chapter 4:
Eat Till You Drop
Chapter 5:
The Softer Side of Vegas
Chapter 6:
Designing Man
Chapter 7:
The Russians Are Coming
Chapter 8:
Friendly Fire
Chapter 9:
Brothers Under the Fur Skin
Chapter 10:
Kit and Caboodle
Chapter 11:
Spider Men
Chapter 12:
Who Do You Trust?
Chapter 13:
Depend upon It
Chapter 14:
Louie’s Choice
Chapter 15:
Old Acquaintances Not Forgot
Chapter 16:
Siamese If You Don’t Please
Chapter 17:
A Heist Hoisted
Chapter 18:
Dudley Do-Right
Chapter 19:
Rushin’ into Trouble
Chapter 20:
Maximum Insurance
Chapter 21:
Playing Chechen
Chapter 22:
Better Bred Than Red
Chapter 23:
United We Stand
Chapter 24:
Police Work
Chapter 25:
Dead Man Falling
Chapter 26:
A Moving Experience
Chapter 27:
Bedtime Stories
Chapter 28:
Afternoon Delight
Chapter 29:
Little Black Dress
Chapter 30:
Cat in the Hat
Chapter 31:
Accursed
Chapter 32:
A Bottle of Red, a Bottle of White Russian
Chapter 33:
The Wrath of Carmen
Chapter 34:
Home Invasion
Chapter 35:
High Anxiety
Chapter 36:
Cat’s Cradle
Chapter 37:
Brass Tactics
Chapter 38:
My Baby Tonight
Chapter 39:
Triple Threat
Chapter 40:
Deadhead Curtain Raiser
Chapter 41:
Who, What, Why?
Chapter 42:
When, Where, Why For?
Chapter 43:
Home, Sweet Homicide
Chapter 44:
The Murderer in the Gray Flannel Suite
Chapter 45:
Mad Matt
Chapter 46:
Mum
Chapter 47:
Riding Shotgun
Chapter 48:
Free to Good Home
Telling Temple
Chapter 50:
Miracle Worker
Chapter 51:
Maxamillion
Chapter 52:
Leaving Las Vegas
Chapter 53:
Foreplay
Chapter 54:
Crystal Shoe Persuasion
Chapter 55:
Maxed Out
Chapter 56:
After Max
Tailpiece:
Midnight Louie Mourns the Status Quo Vadis
Carole Nelson Douglas Professes Innocence, or Maybe Just Ignorance
Cat in a
Quicksilver
Caper
Midnight Louie’s
Lives and Times . . .
I cannot say why I am always hip-deep in dames.
Not that I object to said state.
It is just that I am a noir kind of guy, inside and out. My singing voice is more scat than lyrics, and my personal theme song would have to be “There Is Nothing Like a Dame.”
I admit it. I am a shameless admirer of the female of the species. Any species. Of course, not all females are dames. Some are little dolls, like my petite roommate, Miss Temple Barr.
The difference between dames and little dolls? Dames can take care of themselves, period. Little dolls can take care of themselves also, but they are not averse to letting the male of the species think that they have an occasional role in the Master Plan too.
That is why my Miss Temple and I are perfect roomies. She tolerates my wandering ways. I make myself useful by looking after her without letting her know about it. Call me Muscle in Midnight Black. In our time, we have cracked a few cases too tough for the local fuzz of the human persuasion, law enforcement division. That does not always win either of us popularity contests, but we would rather be right than on the sidelines when something crooked is going down. We share a well-honed sense of justice and long, sharp fingernails.
So when I hear that any major new attraction is coming to Las Vegas, I figure that one way or another my lively little roommate, the petite and toothsome, will be spike heel–high in the planning and execution. She is, after all, a freelance public relations specialist, and Las Vegas is full of public relations of all stripes and legalities. In this case, though, I did not figure just how personally she would be involved in murder most artful.
I should introduce myself: Midnight Louie, PI. I am not your usual gumshoe, in that my feet do not wear shoes of any stripe, but shivs. I have certain attributes, such as being short, dark, and handsome . . . really short. That gets me overlooked and underestimated, which is what the savvy operative wants anyway. I am your perfect undercover guy. I also like to hunker down under the covers with my little doll. My adventures would fill a book and, in fact, I have several out. My life is just one ongoing TV miniseries in which I as hero extract my hapless human friends from fixes of their own making and literally nail crooks.
After the recent dramatic turn of events, most of my human associates are pretty shell-shocked. Not even an ace feline PI may be able to solve their various predicaments in the areas of crime and punishment . . . and PR, as in Personal Relationships.
As a serial killer finder in a multivolume mystery series (not to mention a primo mouthpiece), it behooves me to update my readers old and new on past crimes and present tensions.
None can deny that the Las Vegas crime scene is a pretty busy place, and I have been treading these mean neon streets for eighteen books now. When I call myself an “alphacat,” some think I am merely asserting my natural male and feline dominance, but no. I merely reference the fact that since I debuted in Catnap and Pussyfoot, I commenced with a title sequence that is as sweet and simple as B to Z.
That is when I began my alphabet, with the B in Cat on a Blue Monday. From then on, the color word in the title has been in alphabetical order up to the current volume, Cat in a Quicksilver Caper.
Since I associate with a multifarious and nefarious crew of human beings, and since Las Vegas is littered with guidebooks as well as bodies, I wish to provide a rundown of the local landmarks on my particular map of the world. A cast of characters, so to speak:
To wit, my lovely roommate and high-heel devotee, Miss Nancy Drew on killer spikes, freelance PR ace MISS TEMPLE BARR, who has reunited with her elusive love . . .
. . . the once missing-in-action magician MR. MAX KINSELLA, who has good reason for invisibility. After his cousin SEAN died in a bomb attack during a post–high school jaunt to Ireland, he went into undercover counterterrorism work with his mentor, GANDOLPH THE GREAT, whose unsolved murder while unmasking phony psychics at a Halloween séance is still on the books. . . .
Meanwhile, Mr. Max is sought by another dame, Las Vegas homicide detective LIEUTENANT C. R. MOLINA, mother of teenage MARIAH . . .
. . . and the good friend of Miss Temple’s recent good friend, MR. MATT DEVINE, a radio talk show shrink and former Roman Catholic priest who came to Las Vegas to track down his abusive stepfather, now dead and buried. By whose hand no one is quite sure.
Speaking of unhappy pasts, Miss Lieutenant Carmen Regina Molina is not thrilled that her former flame, MR. RAFI NADIR, the unsuspecting father of Mariah, is in Las Vegas taking on shady muscle jobs after blowing his career at the LAPD . . .
. . . or that Mr. Max Kinsella is aware of Rafi and his past relationship to hers truly. She had hoped to nail one man or the other as the Stripper Killer, but Miss Temple prevented that by attracting the attention of the real perp.
In the meantime, Mr. Matt drew a stalker, the local lass that young Max and his cousin Sean boyishly competed for in that long-ago Ireland . . .
. . . one MISS KATHLEEN O’CONNOR, deservedly christened by Miss Temple as Kitty the Cutter. Finding Mr. Max impossible to trace, she settled for harassing with tooth and claw the nearest innocent bystander, Mr. Matt Devine . . .
. . . who is still trying to recover from the crush he developed on Miss Temple, his neighbor at the Circle Ritz condominiums, while Mr. Max was missing in action. He did that by not very boldly seeking new women, all of whom were in danger from said Kitty the Cutter.
In fact, on the advice of counsel, aka AMBROSIA, Mr. Matt’s talk show producer, and none other than the aforesaid Lieutenant Molina, he had attempted to disarm Miss Kitty’s pathological interest in his sexual state by supposedly losing his virginity with a call girl least likely to be the object of K the Cutter’s retaliation. Did he or didn’t he? One thing is certain: hours after their iffy assignation at the Goliath Hotel, said call girl turned up deader than an ice-cold deck of Bicycle playing cards. But there are thirty-some-million potential victims in this old town, if you include the constant come and go of tourists, and everything is up for grabs in Las Vegas 24/7: guilt, innocence, money, power, love, loss, death, and significant others.
All this human sex and violence makes me glad I have a simpler social life, such as just trying to get along with my unacknowledged daughter . . .
. . . MISS MIDNIGHT LOUISE, who insinuated herself into my cases until I was forced to set up shop with her as Midnight Inc. Investigations, and who has also nosed herself into my long-running duel with . . .
. . . the evil Siamese assassin HYACINTH, first met as the onstage assistant to the mysterious lady magician . . .
. . . SHANGRI-LA, who made off with Miss Temple’s semi-engagement ring from Mr. Max during an onstage trick and has not been seen since except in sinister glimpses . . .
. . . just like the SYNTH, an ancient cabal of magicians that may deserve contemporary credit for the ambiguous death of Mr. Max’s mentor in magic, Gandolph the Great, not to mention Gandolph’s former onstage assistant and a professor of magic at the University of Nevada at Las Vegas.
Well, there you have it, the usual human stew, all mixed up and at odds with each other and within themselves. Obviously, it is up to me to solve all their mysteries and nail a few crooks along the way. Like Las Vegas, the City That Never Sleeps, Midnight Louie, private eye, also has a sobriquet: the Kitty That Never Sleeps.
With this crew, who could?
Eve of Destruction
Max Kinsella was the Man in the Moon.
Here at the Neon Nightmare club, he was part of
the dark, neon-lit dreamscape. A hybrid of magician, acrobat, and superhero, he hung high above everybody else, a nightly phenomenon easily taken for granted. Anonymous. Easily over- or underestimated.
Sometimes he was a star swinging down on a bungee cord into the mosh pit on Neon Nightmare’s black Plexiglas floor, sprinkling firework tricks on the well-oiled crowd dancing the night away.
Beyond one perfectly safe confederate, no one knew he was the Phantom Mage, not even the love of his life, Temple Barr. It was a little bit of knowledge that was really too dangerous to have and to hold, especially for anyone he cared about deeply.
But he was playing double solitaire this time. No one knew that hidden rooms honeycombed the pyramid-shaped nightclub’s inside walls. There, he came and went using his real persona: Max Kinsella, who had performed as the Mystifying Max until forced out of Vegas. Now, for a select audience of conspirators, he played the disgruntled ex-magician. He was consorting with the group of aggrieved old-time magicians who called themselves the Synth, magicians who might be behind high stakes Las Vegas villainy like murder and money laundering and even international terrorism. His real role was infiltration, investigation. His purpose was exposing and bringing the Synth down. That sole act might save innumerable lives. But the Synth did not run on blind trust.
So, to his nightly role at Neon Nightmare, he had added a Synth-demanded assignment: playing high-flying technician in the “heavens” over the New Millennium Hotel’s extravagant soon-to-open exhibition of White Russian nineteenth-century treasures. Ripping off the exhibition was Max’s entry fee for membership in the Synth. They’d always suspected his motives. If he committed a high-profile crime in their service, they controlled him.