“How much do I owe you?” I asked Amy. I shuddered to think I was actually going to have to pay to look this awful.

“Ms. Tobolowsky is taking care of it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly let her do that. It’s out of the question. How much do I owe you?” I repeated, whipping out my credit card.

“Seven hundred dollars.”

Seven hundred dollars??? On second thought, maybe I could let Kandi do it. After all, she had the money, and I didn’t. Besides, even if I wanted to, I don’t think my good pals at MasterCard would let the sale go through. I was perilously close to my credit limit as it was. A $700 charge would put me over the top, by about $699.

So I just smiled weakly and put my credit card away.

“I thought you might do that,” Amy said, with a knowing smile. “Your dress will be ready tomorrow.”

“Goody. I can’t wait.”

“Ms. Austen, let me tell you what I tell my other customers. I know you’re unhappy with the dress, but just think how lovely the bride will look in comparison to you. Look at it this way. Wearing this dress will be your gift to her.”

“Frankly,” I said, “I’d rather give stemware.”

I got home and plopped down on the sofa next to Prozac, who was hard at work licking her privates.

“Oh, Pro,” I moaned. “There ought to be a law against puffy sleeves.”

Prozac looked up from her genitals and sniffed.

Do I smell potato chips on your breath?

“Yes,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, “but they happen to be all-natural yam chips. Hardly any calories.”

Hah.

Was it my imagination, or was she actually smirking?

“Just because you’ve stuck to your diet for a few days doesn’t make you wondercat. Big deal. I’ve stuck to diets for weeks at a time.”

She looked up from her genitals and shot me a look.

“Okay, days at a time.”

She kept on staring.

“Okay, minutes at a time.”

By now her eyes were practically boring a hole in my forehead.

“Okay, so I’m an abject failure at dieting. Just quit staring at me like that, willya?”

With what I could swear was another smirk, she went back to licking her privates.

One of these days I’m going to get myself a big, slobbering, uncritical dog.

In the meanwhile, though, I had bigger fish to fry.

I closed my eyes to concentrate on Marybeth’s murder, but suddenly all I could picture was fish frying. Yes, wouldn’t a nice big plate of fried shrimp be great right now? I could run out and get a Hungry Man Fried Shrimp TV Dinner. With French fries and extra tartar sauce. Yum.