“They list all the names!” Regan gasped.

“It’s unfortunate,” Alfred said, as he sipped his coffee.

“How did they get the names? You knew that Tracy, Victoria, and Shauna didn’t want their names mentioned. Especially Tracy.”

“I don’t know. Honest. I don’t know. I didn’t tell them.”

“Then who did?”

“I didn’t tell,” Charisse said breathlessly. “The reporters called back a couple times last night while we were working on your dress, Regan.”

“It’s coming along beautifully,” Alfred interjected.

Regan ignored his weak attempt to smooth things over. “Was there anyone else with you last night?”

“Our assistant who works with us once in a while. He came up for a couple of hours. He answered the phone for us while we were working. So many people were calling. There was so much excitement.”

“There’s your leak,” Jack said matter-of-factly.

Regan shook her head and looked down at the paper. “I hope Tracy doesn’t sue you.”

The names of the brides were there for the world to see: Regan Reilly, Brianne Barth, Tracy Timber, Victoria Beardsley, and Shauna Nickles.

The article continued:

Regan Reilly was on the scene yesterday. Reilly, who happens to be a private investigator, is set to marry the head of the NYPD Major Case Squad, Jack Reilly, next Saturday afternoon at Saint Ignatius Loyola Church in Manhattan. She is the daughter of mystery novelist Nora Regan Reilly…

“How did they find all this out?” Regan asked. Jack raised one eyebrow. “The same way you do, my sweet.” The elevator door next to the greenroom opened. Brianne hurried off, followed by a guy who looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

Brianne introduced him. He was Pauly, her fiancé.

Pauly said hello and immediately headed for the food. He helped himself to a donut and a glass of juice, inhaling both, then helped himself to seconds.

“Regan, have you heard anything more about Joyce?” Brianne asked.

Regan shook her head. “Did you see the paper this morning?”

“No. It’s so early. I’m surprised I made it in time.”

Regan showed them the article.

“Look at that, Pauly,” Brianne said with a smile. “I’m famous.”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled as he read the story over Brianne’s shoulder.

What’s with him? Regan wondered. He seems so nervous.

“You’re the head of the Major Case Squad?” he asked, pointing at Jack.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

A producer’s assistant appeared in the doorway. “We’re ready for Regan and Brianne in makeup. Right across the hall.”

“Make them look bridelike,” Alfred advised. “Nothing too harsh or dramatic.”

The assistant pretended she didn’t hear him.

A makeup artist and hair stylist worked side by side in the small room. Regan was always amazed at how fast those people could bring out the best in whoever ended up plopped in their chairs. Over the years she’d been to plenty of these studios with her mother. The hair stylist, armed with a blow dryer, round brush, and can of spray went to work on Regan’s crowning glory while the makeup artist skillfully and quickly touched up Brianne. Then they switched places. Within minutes they were being shepherded into the freezing cold studio.

In one corner of the vast room, a seating arrangement for six had been set up. A life-size photo of one of Alfred and Charisses’s dresses was in the background.

Alfred clapped his hands when he saw his creation. “Marvelous!” he cried.

The attractive young hosts, Patrick and Jeannie, were set to do the interview together. Jeannie was tan and blond, Patrick was black-haired and blue-eyed, with chiseled features. They were dressed in their “weekend clothes”-designer blue jeans, boots, and sweaters. The show was trying to capture the segment of the Sunday morning television audience that would enjoy starting their day with the two fun and easygoing anchors. As viewers at home sipped their coffee and read the newspaper, Patrick and Jeannie would be doing the same, shooting the breeze with each other and their guests.

Today’s guests were seated and miked.

Patrick and Jeannie hurried over from the anchor desk with big smiles. They sat down and adjusted their mikes. Patrick winked at the group.

When the cameras rolled, Jeannie introduced the segment.

“It’s wedding season,” she began. “A time when brides are running around trying to get everything done. Well, how would you like to be a bride who, on top of all the other things that can go wrong, learns that her wedding dress has been stolen just a week, one week, before her wedding? It happened to two of our guests.”

The camera focused on Regan and Brianne as Jeannie gave their names.

I feel like an idiot, Regan thought.

“We also have the incredibly talented designers, Alfred and Charisse, with us. In the last couple of years they’ve had write-ups in numerous fashion magazines because the wedding dresses they design are so gorgeous. Take a look,” Jeannie said, pointing to the life-size photo. “But, unfortunately for them, they made the wedding dresses that were stolen. Still, when I get married, I want you to make my dress!” Jeannie giggled.

“We will,” Alfred promised with a big smile while Charisse waved demurely at the camera.

Jeannie told the viewers the tale of the robbery, then turned with a look of wide-eyed sympathy to Alfred and Charisse. “How are you two doing today?”

“We’re exhausted,” Alfred said. “We were up all night sewing. No matter what, we will have the dresses ready for Regan and Brianne. They’ve both been so wonderful and patient.”

Patient? Regan thought. Brianne’s father threatened you, and I got two hours sleep last night because I’m out trying to solve this case. I don’t call that patient.

Patrick leaned in. “We know that Brianne walked into your salon to find her wedding dress in a heap on the floor all slashed with drops of blood on it. Tell us what that was like, Brianne.”

“Oh, please,” Brianne said, rolling her eyes. “It was unbelievable.”

“I understand that you went home and dug out your mother’s wedding gown but it was full of bugs?”

Brianne smiled and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. “My mother was so upset,” she began.

After Brianne finished sharing her anecdotes, Patrick looked at Regan. “And here we have bride-to-be Regan Reilly, who is also a private investigator.”

“Eeeww,” Jeannie said. “How fun!”

“You’re working on this case, right, Regan?” Patrick asked.

“As you can imagine, I have more than a passing interest in it,” Regan joked. “The NYPD is also investigating.”

“Your fiancé is a member of the NYPD. I see here that he is the head of the Major Case Squad, Jack Reilly.”

“Yes,” Regan answered with a genuine smile.

Patrick looked earnest. “So you’re kind of a crime-fighting duo. The two Reillys!”

Jack’s going to kill me, Regan thought. “We both enjoy our work.”

“Tell us about this investigation.”

“Basically, we’re looking for two men who came into Alfred and Charisse’s loft, tied them up, broke into the safe, stole a large amount of cash and jewelry, and made off with the dresses.”

Jeannie’s face looked quizzical. “How did they get in?”

“There was no sign of forced entry,” Regan answered.

“I’m always losing my keys,” Alfred confessed dramatically.

Regan became convinced Alfred would do anything to get camera time.

“Gotta be careful about that, folks,” Patrick warned. “See what can happen when you lose your keys.”

“Change your locks!” Jeannie urged the viewers. Then she turned to Alfred and Charisse. “Weren’t you scared when the intruders tied you up?”

“Poor Charisse was terrified,” Alfred answered.

Patrick looked down at his notes. “Three other brides were affected by this crime. Tracy Timber…”

Regan cringed.

“Victoria Beardsley, and Shauna Nickles. Where are they this morning? I’m sure they have interesting stories.”