Sat.u.r.day, October 27 George Winstid said he had a thousand witnesses to prove he didn't kill Molly Deaver.

Josie wondered if he had any.

She felt a slight flicker of hope: George had given her some useful bits of information, but she didn't see how they could free Lenore.

She slammed on her brakes at a red light. While she waited, Josie tried to a.n.a.lyze what he'd told her.

George had a thousand witnesses only if he'd been onstage at the convention center.

But he wasn't. He'd been at a c.o.c.ktail party. The convention center was bigger than an airplane terminal. George could have flitted around and said h.e.l.lo to a dozen people, slipped out, shot Molly, and returned before he was missed.

No one was watching him the whole time.

The traffic light changed and Josie's car crawled another block. St. Louis didn't have Sat.u.r.day traffic jams unless there was a game downtown. What was the holdup? She had to be at Ted's in an hour.

She was making the big move tonight-carrying her first things to his place. This was also a romantic evening, maybe their last chance to be together. Next week, they'd be swept into the wedding whirlwind.

Jane had warned her daughter. "You need to spend time with Ted before he forgets why he asked you to marry him," she'd said. "Don't worry about Amelia. I'll watch her. We'll start packing her things and then we'll have a cooking lesson."

Josie was touched. "Thanks, Mom," she said. "You're thoughtful."

"I'm not too old to forget what it's like to be in love," Jane said.

Poor Mom, Josie thought. Amelia calls you the princess bride because your wedding picture is so beautiful. Too bad your prince turned into a toad.

What my father did wasn't right or fair. He promised to love and honor you. You promised to be a full-time homemaker. Then he ran off and started a new family in Chicago, and you had to take a dreary bank job and raise a daughter on your own.

"You deserve your happiness, Josie," Jane had said. "I'll feel a lot better when I walk you down that aisle and give you away."

"You and me both," Josie had said. "Mom, what if we can't get married because of Lenore's arrest?"

Josie's small mother wrapped her in a protective hug and said, "You will get married. Don't even think about the alternative."

But Josie did. Constantly. Lenore's arrest could ruin her chance for happiness unless Josie got the Rock Road Village police to reopen Molly's murder and find the real killer.

Josie's Honda crept forward. She still couldn't see what caused the slowdown. Wait! The road suddenly opened up. If she moved quickly, she'd make it through the intersection.

Then the light turned yellow and Josie saw the warnings for the red-light cameras. So did the blue BMW in front of her. The Beemer slammed on its brakes. Josie did, too, nearly rear-ending it. Her seat belt yanked her back.

So much for safety, she thought. Red-light cameras were spies on stilts, causing more problems than they prevented. Now she saw the holdup in the intersection-a fender bender blocked traffic.

While Josie waited for the light to change, those cameras nagged at her. Who had been talking about cameras? The police! They'd been angry that the security cameras in Ted's clinic lot were out of order. They didn't capture Molly's killer on tape.

Now Josie remembered: There were cameras inside the clinic.

They would have recorded the bizarre, b.l.o.o.d.y chain reaction that started with bridezilla cutting Ted with a scalpel and ended with the cat scratching Molly and the bride's blood dripping on Lenore's suit.

Those tapes would tell the true story, unbiased and unedited. The police would have to reopen Molly's murder investigation.

The traffic light changed again, but the cars still didn't move. Josie's fingers felt on fire when she punched the SPEED-DIAL b.u.t.ton for Ted's phone.

"Please don't cancel on me tonight," he said before she even said h.e.l.lo.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Josie said. Just the sound of his voice made her feel tingly.

"I'll come over and help you move," Ted said. "You shouldn't carry those boxes."

"Amelia can help me," Josie said. "I have other plans for you."

"That's a s.e.xy giggle," Ted said. "Want to tell me about them?"

Ted sounded so hot, he almost melted her cell phone. Josie remembered the feel of his strong back and broad shoulders and nearly forgot why she'd called.

"I had a brainstorm," she said. "Your clinic has security cameras inside. Were they working when Molly barged into your TV taping?"

"I think so," Ted said.

"How long do you keep your tapes?"

"The security company has them for a week," Ted said.

"Then they caught Molly," Josie said. "Lenore's lawyer doesn't need those Channel Seven tapes. Have your security company e-mail the files to Shelford Clark. The light's green. Gotta go. Love you." She clicked off her phone and sailed through the intersection at last.

At home, she found Amelia in her room texting. How does my girl get her thumbs to move so fast? she wondered.

Josie changed into Ted's favorite white blouse and her black clam diggers, put on fresh lipstick, and slipped her overnight bag into the top box.

Where was her purse?

She checked her room, the bathroom, living room, and finally found it on the kitchen table. She also saw three liters of Diet c.o.ke stacked next to the fridge.

"Amelia!" Josie called. "When did you start drinking Diet c.o.ke?"

"I'm not drinking it," Amelia said. "It's for a science experiment. It will be gone shortly. Can I help carry your boxes to the car?"

Amelia was volunteering to help? The National Weather Service couldn't track Amelia's changing moods. Might as well enjoy this sunny spell.

"They're stacked by my bedroom door," Josie said.

"Grandma's teaching me how to make round steak tonight," Amelia said, balancing two boxes. Josie took two more.

"Good," Josie said. Round steak was maybe her least favorite meal. They went back for the next load.

"Can I paint my new room purple?" Amelia asked as she carefully stacked the last boxes in Josie's car trunk.

"When we buy our new home," Josie said.

"I mean at Ted's place," Amelia said.

"No, he's renting," Josie said. "That room has to stay *renter white.' But we aren't going to live there long."

"Whatever," Amelia said, and shrugged.

That word had more inflections than Mandarin, but Josie decided this one was neutral.

She kissed her daughter good-bye. "By summer, you'll have your own room in our own house with our own wedding pictures. Now go see your grandmother."

Josie hoped she could keep that promise. She gave Ted such a warm welcome, they didn't get around to ordering pizza for more than two hours.

"What time is it?" Josie finally asked.

"Almost ten o'clock," Ted said. "How about dinner?"

"Mushroom and pepperoni for me," Josie said.

"Same here," Ted said. "I'll order two large." He found his jeans on the floor and put on his shirt.

"I don't know if I can eat a large pizza," Josie said.

"I can," Ted said, sliding into his shoes. "The leftovers make a good breakfast. I'll carry in the boxes. Don't get dressed. I like you the way you are."

Josie unpacked the boxes and put her clothes in the dresser drawers Ted had cleared, then hung her clothes in her half of his closet. Now it was their closet. Almost.

Thirty minutes later, Ted brought in their pizzas, along with the wine and two gla.s.ses. They ate pizza in his bed.

"What will we do if your mother is in jail on our wedding day?" Josie asked.

"She won't be," Ted said. "Mom didn't kill Molly."

"Innocent people go to jail," Josie said.

"Most are black, poor, or had bad lawyers. That's definitely not my mother."

"But-," Josie said.

Ted's phone rang and he checked the display. "It's Shelford Clark, Mom's lawyer. I bet he's seen those tapes."

"On a Sat.u.r.day night?" Josie said.

"Believe me, he's being paid for his time," Ted said. He put the phone on speaker so Josie could hear their conversation.

"My a.s.sociate e-mailed me those tapes," Clark said.

"Good, huh?" Ted said.

"Bad," the lawyer said. "There's no sound and I can see the cat jumping off the table, but there's no blood except yours. It's very clear that crazy bride is attacking you, Ted. All those tapes will do is show the jury why your mother wanted to kill that woman."

"Oh," Ted said.

Josie felt like someone had let the air out of the room.

"I may have an expert enhance them," Clark said, "and see if the tapes can help establish reasonable doubt. But for G.o.d's sake, we can't let them near the prosecution until the last possible moment. Then I'll send a mountain of material and pray they never find those tapes."

"Maybe we could just forget about them," Ted said.

"Can't. I play by the rules," Clark said. "Anyway, you left a paper trail when you called the security company and requested the tapes. Too late to unring that bell."

Ted and Josie sat wrapped in heavy, hopeless silence.

"I'd like to speak to your bride, Ms. Marcus," Clark said.

"I'm here," Josie said.

"Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall has asked me to convey to you her dismay over your bridal registries."

"My what?" Josie said. Lenore was worried about wedding gifts when she was facing murder one? "Which one? Honeyfund is a good online service. We're also registered at Crate and Barrel, Macy's, and Williams-Sonoma."

"But not Tiffany and Co.," the lawyer said.

"We don't need anything from Tiffany," Josie said.

"No one does, my dear. Except my wife." Clark chuckled at his own joke.

"In Mrs. Scottsmeyer Hall's circle, a proper bride registers at Tiffany." Clark's tone turned avuncular. "Humor her. What harm can it do? All it costs you is a little time. I think you can register online. Pick out a few things."

"But we don't live a Tiffany life," Josie said.

"You want my advice, Josie?" Clark asked.

She didn't, but she knew she'd get it anyway.

"Even if you never use those gifts from Tiffany," Clark said, "you can sell them on eBay. And you'll make Ted's mother happy during a very trying time."

What about me? Josie wanted to say. This is supposed to be my day. But I have to pick my battles. This one isn't worth fighting. "I'll do it," Josie said.

After Shelford Clark hung up, Ted asked, "Is it a problem to register at Tiffany?" He was back finishing his pizza.

"It's not a big deal," Josie said. The problem, she thought, is Lenore is trying to control our life long distance.

She stared at her pizza as if the answer were written in pepperoni.

Long distance. Who else had a long-distance mother?

"That's it!" Josie said. "George's mother is in St. Louis. If your mom can be arrested for murder, so can his. Molly stalked George so persistently, he had to leave the city."