"Oh, I'm not giving her away," Emily said. "Bella is a purebred with papers and has all her shots. I put her on Craigslist and sold her for five hundred dollars. The new owner is picking her up tomorrow. I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

My name, Josie thought. What name did Alyce give me?

"My fault," Alyce said. "This is my friend Joanie."

"And it's time for me to pick up my daughter at her friend's house," Josie said. "It was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for another amazing lunch, Alyce."

Josie escaped to her car and tore off to Emma's house. This afternoon, the Amelia who jumped into her mother's car was totally different from the grumpy morning child. Now she was all sunshine and smiles.

"So, where are we shopping for my dress, Mom?" Amelia asked.

"Thought we'd start with a bridal boutique near our house called Ca.s.sie's."

"Can I get a long or a short one?" Amelia asked.

"Whatever you want," Josie said, "as long as it's under a hundred dollars."

"Can I have a black dress?"

"No," Josie said. "My colors are white, pink, and red." The dreaded pout appeared, but before Amelia could say anything else, Josie turned the car into a strip mall. "That's Ca.s.sie's shop," Josie said.

Ca.s.sie herself waited on them. Her manner was firm but helpful, as if she was used to dealing with dithering bridal parties. Everything about Ca.s.sie was straightforward, from her dyed black hair to her deep red lipstick.

"Amelia is my daughter and my bridesmaid," Josie said. "We'd like a dress that's either pink or red. Amelia is a size seven junior."

Ca.s.sie sent them to a s.p.a.cious dressing room with a triple mirror, a carpeted platform, and a satin love seat. "You sit down, Mom," Ca.s.sie said. "Amelia, you're onstage. You can wear this robe while I bring some selections."

Amelia had worn her Ed Hardy skulls and roses bra and matching panties. She put on the pink satin robe and vamped in the mirror. Josie thought her daughter looked more dyspeptic than s.e.xy, but knew better than to say anything. Motherhood at this stage required lots of silence.

"I brought your new dress flats," Josie said, "so you don't have to wear the sample shoes in the corner."

"Good. They're gross," Amelia said.

"Here we are!" Ca.s.sie carried in an armload of dresses. Amelia rejected a watermelon bubble skirt as lame. The long hot pink chiffon was voted "okay" by Josie and earned a lackl.u.s.ter "whatever" from Amelia.

A fuchsia satin ball gown with ruching at the side seam was next. "That's cute," Josie said.

"Makes my b.u.t.t look fat," Amelia said.

"You don't have any fat," Ca.s.sie said.

"Oh, honey, don't talk that way," Josie said. "I hate how women torment themselves over their bodies."

Nice speech, Ms. Steinem, she told herself. You should practice what you preach. How often did Alyce hear you say the same thing when you were shopping for a wedding dress?

"This is a tea-length formal," Ca.s.sie said. "Petal pink satin with a lace overlay."

Josie's eyes teared when Ca.s.sie zipped the dress and Amelia turned around. The medium pink flattered Amelia's complexion and brought out the natural red highlights in her hair.

"You look beautiful," Ca.s.sie said.

Beyond beautiful, Josie thought. What was that phrase the kids used? "That dress is the bomb," Josie said.

"Oh, Mom," Amelia said, rolling her eyes. "Only cheerleaders say *the bomb.'"

Ca.s.sie took control. "What do you think, Amelia?"

"This dress is flawless," Amelia said.

"Sold!" Josie said.

Chapter 19.

Sat.u.r.day, October 27 Billings, Montana, was bigger than Josie thought-more than a hundred thousand people. The old railroad town was near Yellowstone National Park. "Near" meant somewhere between 127 and 178 miles, depending on the route visitors took to the park.

The West has a different definition of "near," Josie decided.

She pictured Ted, Amelia, and herself on a scenic drive through the mountains to Yellowstone. A real family vacation with horseback rides, hiking, kayaking-and lots of photos for Amelia to show off at school.

Another dream that wouldn't come true unless she found Molly's killer.

Josie called up the nationwide Brenhoff Carpet and Flooring Web site and clicked her way to the Montana store. The page showed six staff photos, framed by lariats.

ROPIN' IN GOOD DEALS! the headline said.

George Winstid was "ordinary cute," as Rita called him. Maybe better than ordinary. George looked about Ted's age-thirty-five-and had the alert, eager-to-please expression of a good salesman. Josie liked his tip-tilted nose and didn't mind the face fur. George kept his beard neatly trimmed.

"Congratulations, Mr. President!" it said under his photo. "George Winstid, September's Red Carpet Seller, has been elected president of the National Carpeting and Floor Covering a.s.sociation, 1,700 members strong. He'll be inducted at the NCFCA Expo in St. Louis, Missouri, Oct. 22a27. We're proud our top seller is nationally known."

George was in St. Louis this week, Josie thought. Before Molly was murdered. He'd run to the wilds of Montana to get away from Molly Deaver-if she really did stalk him.

Josie had to know. But how was she going to find George at a huge convention?

She kept clicking through more sites. The NCFCA Expo was at the downtown convention center. More than twelve hundred industry people were registered. George was featured in NCFCA's "Our New Officers" section. "It's especially fitting that St. Louis native George Winstid be installed at the expo in his hometown," the online press release said.

Josie looked up the NCFCA schedule. The expo had a c.o.c.ktail party and banquet tonight at seven o'clock at the convention center. It was almost five now. Even with his photo, she'd have a hard time finding George in a thousand-plus partygoers. If her hunch was right and George really had been stalked by Molly, he'd be wary of lone women.

Josie reread the site and had an inspiration. She knew how to get around that obstacle.

She started calling the convention hotels. Josie found George at the fifth one, the Drury Plaza Hotel at the Arch. Here goes, she thought, as she asked for his room.

His phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Next it would be routed to the message center. Should she leave one?

Wait! He answered, "George Winstid."

"Mr. Winstid," she said, "I'm a reporter with the St. Louis City Gazette business section. My editor received a press release about your election as president of the National Carpeting and Floor Covering a.s.sociation, and we'd like to interview you about your post. It's news when a hometown boy makes good. Would you have time for a short interview?"

"That's nice of you," George said. "My mom lives in Ballwin. She can show the paper to all her friends. We have a big do at the convention center at seven tonight. I could get you a press pa.s.s."

"Actually, I have another a.s.signment this evening," Josie said. "The Gazette offices are fifteen minutes away. Could we meet at the bar at your hotel? I'll buy you a drink on my expense account."

George hesitated.

"Please?" Josie said. "I promise you'll be free by six o'clock. Plenty of time to make your party."

"Meet me in the lobby for happy hour," George said.

Josie pushed her old car to the limit, slowing down only in the known speed traps. She parked in the hotel garage with minutes to spare.

Josie loved the Drury Plaza Hotel at the Arch. The dark wood, Waterford crystal chandeliers, and Italian marble were part of the building's elegant past. The hotel also had a seriously loony bronze sculpture of Native American Sacajawea guiding explorers Lewis and Clark through the lobby.

Business travelers easily found their way to the happy hour buffet. The suits were filling their plates with free chips and salsa, hot dogs, and nachos. All the men were clean-shaven except for one in a dark suit, nursing a beer.

"Mr. Winstid?" Josie asked.

Now Josie saw his convention name tag. "You're the reporter, right? Take a pew," George said.

"Thank you for meeting me here," Josie said. "Before I sit, may I buy you a fresh drink?"

"The hotel gives us some free drink tickets," he said. "Let me get you one."

"White wine," Josie said.

"Help yourself to the buffet and I'll be right back," George said.

Josie piled a few chips on a plate, but she was too nervous to eat. George set a cold wine in front of her and said, "Now, what do you want to ask me?"

Here goes, Josie thought. "Mr. Winstid, I'm not a reporter."

His face darkened.

"I need your help," Josie said. "I want to marry Ted Scottsmeyer next month. He's a veterinarian, and Molly Ann Deaver-"

George made a growling noise, but Josie forged ahead. "Molly Deaver showed up at Ted's clinic in a wedding dress and said they were getting married that morning. The whole marriage was invented in her twisted brain."

"That b.i.t.c.h!" George slammed his beer bottle on the table. Two women at the next table stared at him. George lowered his voice and said, "I moved to the other end of the country to get away from her. I thought I was safe. I come back here to be president of a national organization and take my mom to lunch and Molly's da-" He stopped short and amended the word. "-dang sister was at the restaurant peddling homemade junk."

"You were at the Blue Rose Tearoom?" Josie asked.

George looked embarra.s.sed. "I did it for Mom. I'm no tea drinker, but she likes the place. She can't afford lunch there, so I took her as a treat."

"You're a good son," Josie said.

"Look, I'm sorry for your trouble, but I can't waste any more time talking to you. I have to get to that c.o.c.ktail party."

"I think the police would be interested in knowing Molly's ex-fiance was in town this week," Josie said.

"We were never engaged," George said. "I opened up the Gazette one day and saw the announcement of our engagement. I took a lot of ragging about that. I tried to get the paper to print a retraction, but they said it was a paid announcement, not a news story. I had to get a lawyer before they'd even say it was a *misprint.' Wouldn't even retract it.

"That woman is a complete head case. We never even dated. She stalked me because I sold her some carpet. That sale cost me my St. Louis career. Why would the police care where I am this week, anyway?"

"Because she was murdered," Josie said.

"You don't say." George seemed stunned by the news.

"When?" He could hardly say the word.

"Wednesday night," Josie said, "between six and six thirty."

George sipped his beer, maybe buying time to recover. His tone went from shocked to belligerent. "Go ahead and tell the police. I've got an alibi. I was at the conference meet-and-greet from six to eight that night. A thousand people saw me there.

"Besides, that move to Montana was a blessing in disguise. That's where I met my Renee. Sweetest little girl I ever met. We're engaged for real." His face softened into a smile.

"Congratulations," Josie said.

"I'm sorry Molly got her hooks in some other man, but she's not my problem anymore."

"But you must understand mine," Josie said. "We need to find Molly's real killer, or Ted and I will have to cancel our wedding. Did you take out a restraining order against her?"

"I don't see the point in those things," George said. "A piece of paper wouldn't stop Molly. Besides, I didn't want something like that in the public record. Not good for my career. My boss told me there was an opening at the Billings store and that town was growing, so I transferred there."

"Do you know of any other men Molly might have stalked?"

"I know very little about her," George said. "I knew she had a sister-Emma, Amy."

"Emily," Josie said.

"She seemed decent enough, but she refused to believe her sister has mental problems. She blamed me for *leading Molly on.' I was happy to get away from the whole crazy bunch. I wish I could tell you more, but I don't know anything else. Now I have to go to that c.o.c.ktail party."

"You've been a big help," Josie said.

On the walk back to the parking garage, she realized George had been more of a help than she thought.

He said he was in town the day Molly was murdered. But George never asked how she was killed.

Chapter 20.