She was putting the final tape in the machine when Sam appeared in the doorway. “Three minutes to dinner,” he announced. “We can eat in here, but if you’d like to take a break, it will take only a minute to set up out back.”

“Out back,” she said. “I’ll just use the bathroom and join you.”

Sondra and Sam were enjoying goblets of something fruity and dark red on the deck off the kitchen. They were deep in a conversation about someone skiing in Aspen when Josie appeared.

“You look tired. What can I get you to drink?” Sam asked. “Sondra made sangria. Do you want a glass?”

“It’s delicious, but it can be lethal,” Sondra said. “Remember the time we got so drunk at my apartment when I was living down in the Village and neither of us could remember the name of the restaurant where we were supposed to be meeting one of your colleagues?”

Sam laughed. “Sure. We were with that producer and his girlfriend. He kept insisting that we were planning to go for sushi and she was positive we had made reservations at some Thai place.”

“I’ll have the sangria,” Josie announced. Perhaps it would help her get through what was beginning to seem like a long evening.

“And I’ll get it for you while Sam apologizes for telling you you look tired, and then, after you’ve had a glass and are feeling mellow, I’ll apologize for talking about people you don’t know in front of you.” And with this Sondra stood and trotted back into the house.

Sam looked at Josie and grimaced. “Sondra’s right and I’m sorry.”

“She’s nice,” Josie said, hoping the admission didn’t sound as begrudging as she felt.

“She is. I hope John knows how lucky he is.”

“John?”

“Her fiancé. She’s meeting him here tomorrow. His family has that big pink stucco house down near the beach.”

“She’s engaged?” Josie was beginning to like Sondra more all the time.

“Yup. Getting married in a few weeks. I was invited to the wedding-with a date. It’s in the city. I was hoping you’d be able to go with me. We could stay with Mom,” he added. “Or maybe a suite at the Plaza?” he added, a wicked leer on his face.

“How do you know I won’t be in jail for murdering Courtney Castle?” was Josie’s reply. She didn’t mean to be overheard, but Sondra had returned, a full pitcher of sangria in one hand, a clean goblet in the other.

“So you hate her, too, huh?” Sondra asked, pouring the wine and handing the glass to Josie.

“I sure di-don’t like her.” Josie was prompted to change her words by a gentle kick in the shins. She was thankful that soft Italian loafers were Sam’s preferred choice of footwear.

“That’s true of most people who work with her for any length of time.” Sondra took a sip of her drink.

“Sondra was telling me about Courtney while we went through the videotapes this afternoon,” Sam explained, opening the grill.

A delicious scent wafted in the air, but Josie was interested in something other than food. “What about her?” she asked.

“Well, as you saw on the tapes-” Sondra started.

But Josie interrupted. “Explain the tapes first. They didn’t make a lot of sense to me. Was Courtney the star of all those shows?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then why didn’t I ever hear about her?” Josie interrupted impatiently. “I mean, I may not watch a lot of public television, but I watch some. And I see promos for upcoming shows. Generally, I know a fair amount of what’s on.”

“But you only see the shows broadcast by your public station. There are hundreds of stations all over the country and they put different shows on the air. Most of those shows come from the public broadcast network feed; the local stations pay to put them on the air. And some of the shows originate at the station themselves; those shows have a fairly limited distribution.

“Most of the shows you saw on those tapes were locally produced and distributed to a very small audience,” Sondra explained. “They may not have been seen by more than a thousand people-maybe fewer.”

“Why are there so many different shows?” Josie asked.

“Because, up until this last show-Courtney’s Castle or whatever she calls it-she was a complete failure.”

“You’re kidding!” Josie was thrilled.

“Actually, I’m wrong. If she had been a failure, she would never have gotten to anchor all those different shows. Courtney, in the vernacular of my business, is talent looking for the proper vehicle. That is, she was until now.”

“I don’t understand exactly,” Josie admitted.

“That’s because I’m not explaining very well. Maybe I should tell you a bit more about my chosen field.”

Sam served the meal and, Josie’s appetite having returned with the news that Sondra was engaged, they ate while Sondra talked.

“You see, television is a very mobile business. People move from station to station and from job to job within the station. They move up, they move out, they move laterally. It’s the norm. Courtney’s career has been fairly typical of someone who doesn’t make it big right away. You may not have been paying attention to the call letters at the beginning of the shows you just watched-”

“No, not at all.”

“Well, the first few tapes were done at a small station in North Dakota.”

“How did Courtney end up in North Dakota?”

“Who knows? Getting your first job-your foot in the media door, so to speak-can be difficult. If you’re smart-and lucky-you decide where you want to work after graduation and figure out a way to get an internship there. Then you network like mad and hope that someone will remember you when you need a real job.”

“In North Dakota?”

“Doesn’t seem likely,” Sondra admitted. “Usually people go after the jobs at the bigger stations, either New York, Boston, L.A., or Washington. She probably tried those and when, surprise, surprise, they weren’t enthusiastic about hiring a young person with limited experience right out of college, she looked elsewhere. She probably got a job the way the rest of us did: off the bulletin board in the mass-communications department at college. Who knows? It’s probably not important. What is important is that someone gave her a chance to anchor a show.”

“More than one show,” Sam said.

“Yes. Well, that says something, too, of course.”

“What?”

“Probably that she managed to blame the lack of success of the earlier shows on something or someone other than herself.”

“Sounds like Courtney hasn’t changed much since she was a kid,” Josie said.

“Well, go on, tell her what else you know,” Sam suggested.

TWENTY-FIVE

"WELL, I DON’T know anything, but I can guess. Both from the situation and from knowing Courtney-”

“You actually know Courtney?” Josie couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes, for a couple of years, in fact, but that’s jumping ahead in the story.”

“Go ahead,” Josie urged.

“As I was saying, those tapes show that someone-or more than one person-was willing to give Courtney a few chances to succeed as an on-air personality. There are three different shows bearing the call letters of the PBS station in Fargo, so someone there was working to find something that would work for her-”

“Just for her?” Sam interrupted with a question. “Doesn’t what you’re saying imply that the… on-air personality is solely responsible for the success of the show? Surely the topic, the production, other things I don’t know about, are at least partially responsible?”

“Yes, but what we see in those tapes-and they’re certainly only part of the story-is that Courtney survived and the shows didn’t.”

“And you think that means someone was promoting her, not blaming her for the shows’ lack of success,” Sam said.

“Yes. And then after those three shows, she moved on and tried again. Two more shows with short lives-not terribly surprising if you consider the joke about crewel embroidery she used to open one of them. And then, suddenly, success.”