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is?” one of them asked in an urgent whisper, more out of curiosity than out of a need for information. Stacy nodded.
    “She’s the maid of honor,” she answered in a voice pained with the sound of surrender.
    I will not throw up , she told herself as she walked up the front steps to face whatever awaited inside the house. I will not throw up… I will not throw up…
    “Miss East, thank goodness you’re here,” Mrs. Perkins yelled, coming out the front door and staggering down the steps. Stacy wondered if the handler was required to live with the queen twenty-four hours a day. She must not, because any handler worth her salt would never have let this hair travesty happen. Mrs. Perkins must have read Stacy’s mind. She was about to ask the older woman why the police had a member of the bridal party in custody, but the handler began jabbering about protocol before Stacy could ask.
    “Mrs. Barber called me as soon as she discovered the problem. The reigning Miss Georgia isn’t permitted to make any significant changes to her appearance without submitting a request and receiving the approval of the state pageant board. It’s in her contract. Her mother called me immediately. Oh Miss East, this is horrifying. What are we going to do?”
    “Don’t worry, Mrs. Perkins. I’ve got Sandrique already on the hunt for the perfect wig. In fact, he should be here already. He’s an absolute magician, I promise. And let’s not be overly dramatic. I’ve heard of bad fashion choices and poor hair style decisions before, but ‘horrifying’ is a little strong, don’t you think?”
    Mrs. Perkins cocked her head slightly and narrowed her eyes, regarding Stacy carefully before she said anything accusatory. She analyzed Stacy’s expression and pressed both hands to her mouth, speaking from behind her loosely clenched fists.
    “Oh my dear, you haven’t heard? Sandrique is dead.”

Chapter 6
    “ W ell , that explains the cops,” Tori whispered as she leaned her head closer to Stacy’s. She’d helped out by driving to the Barber home with a small selection of wigs, and stuck around to provide moral support as the assembled onlookers tried to convince the bride she still looked as beautiful as ever. Stacy tried to pretend there wasn’t a crime scene in the next room as the bride tried on different wigs. After all, the show must go on, dead body or not, specifically a dead body that Stacy had firmly requested not ruin her week.
    “If you think so.”
    “You disagree?”
    “Of course!” Stacy whispered urgently between reassuring smiles at Diana while Mrs. Perkins worked on the beauty queen and would-be blushing bride. “I mean, would you seriously have your sister arrested for something like this, without a scrap of proof? I might never speak to her again if she ruined my wedding, but I wouldn’t have her hauled off in handcuffs and thrown in jail without knowing why she killed someone, or if she even did it. Right this very minute she’s sitting in a holding cell between a meth head and a hooker. Would you do that to your own family member, and then go play dress up?”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t have to. If my sister got jealous and cut off my hair in my sleep—right before my wedding, let’s not forget—and killed the man who had rushed out to fix it, I wouldn’t have to have her arrested. Somebody would be calling the cops, all right, but it would be to investigate the missing person ‘cause they’d never find her body.”
    “You don’t mean that. I’m being serious. Something really strange is going on. I did a tiny bit of investigating before I came out here, and something’s not adding up. Besides, how can Diana and her mother do something so cold as to continue with the wedding at a time like this? No, I don’t understand what got into her sister and I don’t think petty jealousy is enough to cause her to do something this awful, but having her arrested and then moving on like nothing happened? There’s