13In the pub at the mall, which was actually called The Rose of Trelawny, Kate and Harry ordered Bushmill’s single malts straight up, and carried the glasses down to Nothing Underneath, Harry’s favorite Marin boutique for clubbing and going-out dresses.
The manager saw them enter and waved. “Hi, Georgina,” Harry said. “This is the victim, I mean Kate.” He was grinning like a forty-six-year-old schoolboy. Kate and Georgina smiled at each other and shook hands.
“This way,” she said. “We laid out some choices in the dressing area.”
In the private dressing room, Kate saw a half dozen scrumptious cocktail dresses hanging on racks.
“What exactly did you want my opinion on, Harry?” she asked, sensing this was some elaborate ruse on his part.
He smiled. “First, which three would you suggest f
