Deadline (8 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Deadline
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“I heard a report on the drive over. If he doesn't show up soon, or call someone, and if Laura Leigh isn't located, theories about Chris's involvement are just going to garner more and more attention. And that is not something someone in Chris's position needs.”
Toots teared up again. “If he's able to, Abby. For all we know, he could have been in a car accident. He could be lying unconscious somewhere, or, God forbid ... I won't even say the words out loud. Are they looking for his vehicle, too?”
“I don't know, but I'm certainly going to find out. Or at least give it my best shot. My source at the police station should be on duty now. Give me a minute.”
Abby reached for her cell phone. She punched in the number and walked to the edge of the deck, out of hearing distance. Protecting her source.
The tension was as thick as the puffy clouds burgeoning above the ocean as they waited to hear any news. No one said a word while Abby was on the phone.
As soon as she finished speaking, Abby rejoined them. “Officially, they're not searching for Chris's car, but my source says not to rule out a BOLO—be on the lookout—for his car if he doesn't show up soon.”
Crestfallen, her pretty face distorted with worry, Mavis asked, “What does that mean?”
Leaning on the railing, Abby sighed and shook her head. “I don't know. It could be they're simply looking for him as a witness, or they have something more than they're reporting, keeping it under their belts. I don't know. It just pisses me off! I've said it a hundred times, and I'll keep saying it; this is not like Chris. He can be an ass, but he wouldn't deliberately cause any one of us to worry unnecessarily.”
Toots placed her arms around her daughter. “I know he wouldn't, but we have to hope for the best. Sophie said her gut wasn't giving off any bad vibes. And you know how reliable her instincts are. She's always on the money.”
Abby smiled, but the emotion didn't reach her eyes. “That's encouraging.”
Sophie spoke up. “Goebel kicks ass and takes names later, Ab. He cuts through the flesh and goes right for the bone. He's got a lot of contacts all over the country. We just have to be patient and not think the worst. Okay? And I told you, I really don't have a bad feeling about Chris, or the girl, for that matter. If I thought the police would listen to me, I'd tell them so myself.”
Abby nodded. “I suppose you're right. I'm going to the office; I've still got a paper to run. Mavis, do you mind if I leave Chester for the day? He's been cooped up in the car too much.”
“I would love to have Chester stay. I'll take him for a walk on the beach.”
Abby blew her godmother a kiss. “Thanks. Mom, if you're going to hide in the séance room, let me know in advance, okay? I've got enough to worry about just now.”
“You're becoming me, dear. Yes, I'll make sure to call. You be careful, Abby. If you're going to stake those clubs out tonight, let me know.”
“I will, I promise. Tell Goebel I'm looking forward to meeting him.”
Abby said good-bye, gave Chester a rub between the ears, which, with Coco curled against him, he totally ignored. “Okay, Bud, you be good.”
She knew Chester was in good hands. Her mother and the three Gs were safe. Now, if she could only locate Chris, her life would be close to perfect.
Chapter 8
T
oots, Sophie, and Mavis had just finished a light breakfast when they heard a car door slam. “The queen of cosmetics has returned,” Sophie said.
Coming to Ida's defense, Mavis piped up, “Stop it, Sophie. She's doing a wonderful job. The customers love her.”
“They're dead, Mavis. Of course they love her,” Sophie teased.
“The morticians,” Mavis explained. “She has a way with them.”
“Both of you stop,” Toots interjected.
No one uttered a single word when Ida entered the kitchen. All three women stared at their friend, looked at each other, then doubled over with laughter. Ida glared at them, her eyes practically bulging out of her head, her breathing as rapid as if she were hyperventilating.
“You!” she accused, pointing at Sophie. “I know you had something to do with this! Look at me, I am ruined! It will be weeks before I'm able to show my face in public! How could you?”
The three women looked at Ida, their mouths hanging open like three treasure chests. Her normally perfectly coiffed pageboy had been replaced by a pixie cut, and her formerly platinum-dyed hair was bright pink.
They giggled, pointing at her magenta-colored hair.
Between their wild hooting and laughter, Toots managed to say, “It wasn't Sophie.”
The old cliché about a picture being worth a thousand words didn't begin to do justice to the expression that came across Ida's face.
Ida's complexion went from white to an ashen gray
. Not a good match for her new hair color
, Toots thought, as she struggled mightily to keep a straight face. “I did it, Ida. It was me. Sophie had absolutely nothing to do with it.” Toots risked a glance at Sophie, whose ear-to-ear grin displayed her glee at Ida's plight.
Truly at a loss for words, Ida stood gaping at them, her mouth an angry red slash. “Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. I called Neil George Salon and told them to give you the latest Hollywood hairstyle, my treat. How could I know they were going to turn you into one of those little pink baby chicks we used to get at the carnival?” Toots looked again at Sophie and Mavis and tried to get her bearings so she wouldn't burst out laughing again. “No, I did not. How could I?”
Ida threw her hands up in the air. “I don't believe you. I know you too well.”
Toots aimed her index finger at Ida. “That's your choice. I simply asked they give you the latest, most popular hairstyle. I didn't specify your age, which I suppose I should have, given the circumstances. I will call the salon and tell them they've made an awful mistake. As a matter of fact, if they can, I'll see if we can drop you off when we leave for the airport.”
“And miss Goebel's arrival? I don't think so,” Ida said, before stomping upstairs. “And don't talk about me behind my back. My hearing is quite good,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Toots turned to the others, whispering. “She's up to something. And it isn't good.”
“If she thinks she's got a chance with Goebel, she'd better think again. He is not impressed with her kind. Told me so himself. He'd rather date ...
Bernice
than Ida,” Sophie said forcefully. “I don't understand where she thinks she can just move in on someone's territory! She's a true slut.”
“Bernice wouldn't give Goebel a second look, just so you know. She's had the hots for Malcolm Moretti for over twenty years. He owns the butcher shop she frequents. Says he gives her his best cuts of meat,” Toots said, wiggling her eyebrows Groucho Marx style. “Actually, she's been seeing him on the sly and doesn't know that I know, so when we're in Charleston, keep this between us.”
“So does this mean you're planning a trip south?” Mavis asked. “Hello.”
“Absolutely not. Until I know what's happened to Chris, I'm staying right here,” Toots assured them.
“There is a simple explanation. I just know it.” Sophie grabbed her pack of cigarettes from the kitchen table and went to the sliding glass doors. With one foot inside and the other on the deck, Sophie lit up, blowing the smoke outside.
“I hope there is. If he's off with some bimbo, he is really going to be in a heap of shit with Abby. She's crazy about him, and I could see the worry etched in her face. Those two have something going on, big-time. If they'd only acknowledge it and make me a grandmother, I would be the happiest woman alive.” Toots brushed past Sophie and stepped outside, whereupon Sophie stepped fully onto the deck.
“I think they're cute together, but don't tell Abby I said that,” Sophie said.
“She's too independent for her own good,” Toots observed. “At this rate, I'll be six feet under before she decides to settle down, let alone get married and have children. Of course, I want her to do the marriage thing once. Not eight times. Why do you suppose I felt the need to marry so many times?”
Sophie took a deep draw on her cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nose. “I think you're the nurturing kind. You attract men you can take care of. Or at least that's my take on it.”
Toots appeared to be in deep thought. “Who knows? I do know that I won't be adding a number nine. I don't have time for a relationship anyway. Speaking of relationships, just how close are you and Goebel?”
“I haven't slept with him if that's what you're asking. I'm sixty-six years old, Toots, I'm not sure I could ever again have an intimate relationship with a man. It's been my experience when you give that part of yourself, he thinks he owns you. I wasted too many years of my life on Walter. I enjoy Goebel's company, he's a great friend, and for now I'm not looking for anything else. Does that answer your question?”
Toots crushed her cigarette out in the seashell ashtray. “Yes. Now, if we don't get our asses in gear, Goebel will have to take a taxi. Do you want to invite Ida along for the ride?”
“Sure, why not? I thought she was going anyway. Just because her hair is hot pink, why should that matter?” Sophie teased.
Toots stood brushing the ashes from her slacks. “It shouldn't, but maybe you don't want to be seen in public with her.”
“I don't care, but I have to ask, did you really tell her hairdresser to give her the latest style, or did you give them specifics?”
“Let's just say I gave them the idea and leave it at that.”
The two women looked at one another before both hooted with laughter.
 
After sending her two ace reporters Brandy Collins and Chuck Pierce to stake out Hot Wired and The Buzz, Abby called May Marchand, who'd spent the night staking out Laura Leigh's apartment.
“Anything to report?” Abby asked, concise and to the point.
“Absolutely nothing. Not even a newspaper delivery. The media is all over the place, though.
Entertainment Tonight, E!,
and
Inside Edition
all have their big guns out. Sure looks like this is turning into a major media event,” May said.
Abby took a deep breath.
Damn.
She knew this was going to happen. If the major networks were parked and waiting, then the story was going international. They didn't send the big guns out for petty news. Against her better judgment, she decided she had to cover the story herself. Rules be damned. “Stay there until I arrive, then you can call it a day.”
Before she had a change of heart, Abby sent LAT Enterprise an e-mail.
 
The Informer
is covering the disappearance of Laura Leigh. It has been brought to my attention that this same story is being covered by
Entertainment Tonight, E!
and Inside Edition. Sadly, as I'm sure this has been or will be reported, I have a personal relationship with a party who is being named a person of interest in Miss Leigh's disappearance. Therefore, I will be covering this story myself. Joshua Walden will be acting editor in chief should this story require my daily absence from the paper.
 
Respectfully,
Abby Simpson
Editor in Chief
Before she had a chance to change her mind, something she seemed to be doing quite a bit lately, Abby clicked the
SEND
button. Now, all she had to do was tell Josh, her resident computer guru, that he might have to act as temporary editor in chief. He was going to love that.
She called his office. “Yep? Whacha need?” Josh asked.
Abby suddenly wondered if she'd made a mistake, but it was already too late. She'd give Josh a quick course in telephone etiquette and the duties of the editor in chief. “Hey, Josh, can you come down to my office ASAP? I need your help.” Abby placed the phone down before he had a chance to respond.
He really doesn't have a choice,
she thought as she cleared the clutter from her desk.
Minutes later, Josh knocked on her door. “What's so important?”
“Josh, tell me your level of education.”
“I have a master's degree in computer science. I thought you knew that.”
She did.
“I don't know if you've been hiding in the Batcave the last few days or watched the news or if you've read
The Informer.
That actress, the one in that silly vampire flick, Laura Leigh, is missing. I'm not going to go into any detail, but this is a story I have to cover myself. I need you to act as editor in chief in my absence.”
Josh, tall and lanky, with dark brown hair to his waist and a pierced tongue, did not begin to fit Abby's idea of what an editor in chief should look like, but right now he was all she had. He knew the inner workings at the paper as well as she did.
“Are you serious?” he asked, taking a seat in Chester's Barcalounger.
“As a heart attack. You won't have to deal with the public; I just need someone here to oversee the assignments for the junior reporters. You can tweet me with any questions you have.”
Josh smiled. “I didn't know you were tweeting. You're really stepping into the twenty-first century, Abs.”
She hated it when he called her Abs
.
“I'm glad you approve. Now this is my plan.”
Abby spent the next hour going over future assignments for
The Informer,
instructed him that all e-mails from LAT Enterprise should be forwarded to her immediately, no matter how trivial they might seem to be. He was to answer the phone properly.
She explained that he would be acting editor in chief until further notice. With the new responsibilities, Josh's slang cleared instantly.
There is hope after all,
Abby thought as she went down a detailed list of upcoming events for Hollywood's finest.
“If you need me, don't hesitate to call my cell,” Abby admonished as she stood and headed for the door.
“Okay.” Josh plopped down on her just-vacated chair.
Abby smiled. “Don't get used to that chair, okay?”
Josh laughed. “It's too small, Abs. I won't.”
Abby shook her head and wiggled bye with her index finger. She trusted Josh. Yes, he was a bit rough on the exterior, but he had the IQ of a genius. He just needed to work on his people skills. Hopefully, she would find Chris soon, and the mystery surrounding Laura Leigh's disappearance would be solved. She crossed her fingers.
Back inside her MINI Cooper, Abby ran down her mental to-do list. First, she needed to go to the police station. Depending on what she found out from her source, she would decide her next move. She wanted to go back to Chris's condo to question his friend, certain he had seen the news by now. If he knew where Chris was hiding, she would get it out of him or die trying.
Winding through the noontime traffic, Abby arrived at the Los Angeles Police Department main headquarters in record time. She checked her cell phone for any text messages, tweets, or e-mail before entering, knowing that her cell phone would be scanned and probably scrutinized by the police officer who manned security. They were noted for being nosy.
Inside police headquarters, the unforgettable odor of burnt coffee tinged the stagnant air. A sense of hopelessness clung to the ash gray walls. Fluorescent lighting cast a pallor on the aging officer who oversaw the scanning machine. He tossed a round plastic tray toward Abby as she stood in line behind a deputy district attorney who was known as a female ballbuster. Abby liked her.
Without being told, Abby placed her cell phone, car keys, and watch in the circular tray. She placed her treasured briefcase on the conveyor belt and watched the cop use chopsticks to poke and paw through its contents before placing it back on the belt to make its way through the scanner. She really thought that was unnecessary, but she knew most of the officers at that particular post were downright nosy. Briefly, she thought they'd make ace reporters, then decided not. What they were was hateful.

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