“I hate to interrupt, but watching Tyler wolf down pizza was a real appetizer. I’m starving. What do you suggest?”

“Everything is good. Everything is fresh, but the penne al mare and filets de daurade à la julienne de légumes are my personal favorites.”

“I’ll have the penne,” Josie said.

“And I’ll have the sea bass,” Sam said. “Now what about wine?”

Sam’s last question required a serious discussion with Basil, and Josie looked across the room at Bobby Valentine. He seemed to be enjoying himself, eating some sort of pasta and drinking what looked like a martini as he chatted with the cameraman, the woman who set up the lights, and someone she didn’t recognize.

Josie stared and wondered if he knew about Courtney’s death. If so, he didn’t seem terribly distressed. Did that mean he really thought her disappearance was normal? Or was he just a good actor?

“You’re staring.”

Startled, Josie looked back at Sam. “I… I guess I’m sort of curious about the TV people,” she admitted.

“I’m a little surprised you don’t get enough of them during the day.”

Sam’s tone of voice was odd and Josie frowned, then grinned as she realized what she was hearing. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? You’re jealous of Bobby Valentine.”

“I know it’s foolish-”

“Oh, Sam, don’t say that! No man’s ever been jealous over me.”

“That’s a compliment. It means you’re trustworthy.”

Josie suspected it meant she rarely had one man in her life and never two at once. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Sam. “You’ll understand more when I tell you what’s going on, but…”

A young man, wearing a conventional suit but sporting a tie shaped like a fish, brought the wine Sam had ordered and began the elaborate opening and tasting process that Josie sometimes found so irritating. This was one of those times. Until…

“You’re so lucky to be working on a television show,” the young man gushed. “They’re fascinating, aren’t they?”

“Well…”

“I’ve been changing my station every night to make sure I wait on them. Just listening in on their conversation is an incredible opportunity. That producer-”

“Bobby Valentine.” Josie supplied the name.

“He told me to call him Bobby,” the young waiter said proudly.

“You were saying…” Josie prompted.

“And pouring wine,” Sam reminded him.

“Oh, sorry.” He poured a bit and offered the glass to Sam.

Sam tasted, nodded, and smiled. “Fine.”

While their glasses were filled, Josie encouraged the waiter to chat. “They’re interesting people, aren’t they?”

“Yes, especially Courtney. I thought she was just another carpenter, but she’s done everything! All those different types of shows…”

“What sort of shows?” Sam stopped sipping long enough to ask.

“Lots of things! A painting show-not the stuff you hang on the walls, but the type of things you put in the walls-”

“Faux finishes.” Sam offered the correct term.

Josie, as always, amazed by the depth of Sam’s knowledge as well as curious about who he might have dated who knew these things, asked a question. “She did a show about faux finishes?”

“Yes. It was very successful, according to her. But she even talked about her failures. She said she hosted some sort of needlepoint show that was a complete disaster.”

“Really?”

“Yes, she said sewing just wasn’t her thing, that she would leave it to the less artistic types.”

“Very cool of her,” Sam commented, smiling.

Josie was suddenly reminded of fifth grade. The second week of school Miss DeFrancisco had announced that they were going to elect class officers: a president, a vice president, a secretary, and a treasurer. Courtney had, of course, run for president. But her opponent had been an unknown quantity: a new girl who had, only a week earlier, moved to town from Southern California. The girl claimed to have met many famous actors and rock stars-Bruce Springsteen among them-and, using these supposed connections as any seasoned politician would-had won. When the results were announced, Josie had been thrilled, covertly glancing across the room to where Courtney was seated, hoping to spy a tear trickling down her pale cheek, or at least a grimace. But Courtney had leaped from her seat, hand out, to congratulate the winner.

“I guess the best man won,” she had said, and then giggled. “The best woman, I should say.”

But Josie had seen the blush on the winner’s embarrassed face and known Courtney’s barb had met its mark. And, for some reason, the new girl had become less and less popular as the year went on.

She wasn’t listening to what their waiter was saying.

“… and she never refuses to sign an autograph. She signed a photo for me the first night they were all here and the next night she signed one for my father. He’s a big fan of Courtney Castle’s Castles.”

“Wait a second. Where did you get all these photographs?”

“Courtney herself. They’re publicity photos.”

“She carries them with her?”

“Yes. Well, not exactly. They were in a large briefcase, but I think someone else on her staff actually carried them.”

“Doesn’t that seem a bit conceited?”

“She’s a celebrity. That’s what celebrities do.”

“Oh, I guess. I haven’t known a whole lot of celebrities.” Josie picked up her wineglass and took a sip. “Do they come in here a lot?”

“Every single night since we opened.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You can go get an autographed photo if you want.”

“But Courtney’s not here.”

“No, but I noticed the briefcase lying on the floor.”

“You mean they pass out her photos even when she’s not here?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, nice, huh?”

“Do you wait on them every night?” Josie asked.

“All except for the first night they were here. I hadn’t figured out how to trade stations then.”

“And when did Courtney disa-stop coming in?”

“A few nights ago. It was weird.”

“Why?”

“Her crew was planning to have some sort of celebration for her. Champagne was ordered. Basil was planning a special dinner. Then she didn’t show up.”

“You’re kidding!” Josie exclaimed.

“Nope. They waited for over half an hour, then Bobby insisted everyone drink the champagne and eat. It was odd.”

“And she hasn’t been here since then?” Josie asked.

“Nope. And that’s strange, too, because Bobby was sure she’d be back. He said she never, ever missed a day of shooting.”

“Really?” Then he had lied to her. Josie smiled and drained her glass.

TWENTY-ONE

THE WAITER WAS called away to another table and they were left alone. “I think you have a lot to tell me,” Sam said, glancing down at his watch.

“I have no idea where to begin,” she said honestly. Or how much to say, she added to herself.

“Why don’t you start by telling me where Courtney is.”

“Where she is? Why do you think I know?”

“Just an impression I got when you and the waiter were chatting.”

“How? What did I say?”

“It wasn’t what you said but what you didn’t say. You wanted to know when she stopped coming here and what Bobby Valentine said. You didn’t ask if anyone knew where she had gone.”

“Oh.”

“I know you, Josie. You were quizzing that young man. If you hadn’t known where she is, you would have asked him.”

“Do you think he noticed?”

Sam smiled. “Nope. I think he was absolutely thrilled to talk about Courtney.”

“Yeah, he was, wasn’t he? It’s weird how much people like to talk about her.”

“It’s because she’s a celebrity. Some people love getting close to celebrities; it makes them feel that a bit of that fame rubs off on them.”

“I suppose.”

“So where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Josie…”

“No, it’s true, Sam. I did know, but now I don’t.”

“Then I’ll change my question. Where was she?”