“Yeah, but it didn’t bother me,” said the man. “I like to do my own thing. With jewelry, you’ve got to guide them. But clothes, it’s whatever works for you.”

Beth Holloway reemerged wearing a chocolate-brown sweater over her dress. Her eyes were puffy. Her lips looked bruised.

“What happened to Kat?” she asked.

Milo said, “We don’t know much yet. Can you spare some time?”

“You bet. Whatever it takes to find the animal who did this.”

“Any candidates come to mind?”

The man in the dark suit had sidled closer.

Beth Holloway said, “I wish, but no.”

Milo said, “Let’s take a walk.”

When the three of us were outside, he pointed to the coffee emporium.

Beth Holloway said, “I’d throw up. Let’s just walk.”

She took off, arms swinging. “What I really need is a ten-mile run.”

Milo said, “We’d need the EMT rescue van for me.”

“You should get into it. It’s therapeutic.”

“Kat into exercise?”

“Not a lick. And I tried.” She slowed down, picked up speed again. We hustled past storefronts, dodged pedestrians. Beth Holloway forged through the crowd like a woman with a plan.

Milo let her dissipate energy for a block and a half. “Anything you want to tell us before we start asking questions?”

“Kat had a thing for losers but I can’t imagine anyone that evil.”

“How about some names?”

“There was Rory — Rory Cline. With a C. Works in the mailroom at the CRP agency, thinks he’s going to be a big-shot agent. Must be forty but he tries to look younger. Kat met him at a club, I don’t know where. She was attracted to him but he had no interest in sex, just wanted to hold hands and listen to music. That made her feel unattractive.”

Milo wrote down the name. “Next?”

“Next was Michael… what was his last name…” Tapping her hair. “Sorry, it’s escaping me. Michael… unlike Rory, he loved sex. All the time. Kat said he was a stud but turned out he was married. An accountant or something… Michael Browning, there you go.”

“Did Kat stop seeing him when she found out?”

“Nope. But she got bored. With him and the sex. All quantity, no quality, she said. The third one was a real asshole — some hick who worked on Rolls-Royces.”

Milo said, “Clive Hatfield.”

Her shoulders tightened. “You suspect him?”

“Riana gave us his name so we went over to talk to him.”

“And?”

“No Prince Charming. Unfortunately, he’s got a tight alibi. Any others?”

“No,” she said. “Rory, Michael, and Clive, the loser brigade.”

Milo had her recount the last night of Kat Shonsky’s life. She was forthcoming about her “growing serious” relationship with Sean the surfboard sander. “It’s a real connection, you know? I mean I’m sorry Kat had to drive home alone, but that’s not my fault, right?”

“Of course not.”