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Abby didn’t bother to stop off at her house on the way to the office. She had showered at her mother’s house before she left. Lucky for her, she always kept an overnight bag stuffed inside the trunk of her car. She’d been doing that for years. In her business, she never knew when the need might arise for a fast change of clothes or an unexpected overnight trip. Abby’s bag contained a perfect little black dress that never wrinkled no matter how she wadded it up, a pair of black trousers made of the same material, a black turtleneck top with quarter-length sleeves, and black heels that worked with the dress or trousers. She carried the usual mishmash of female toiletries and a copy of her passport, which looked almost identical to a driver’s license. She also had a small bag of stuffed dachshunds for Chester and a plastic bag filled with doggie treats. Once a week she replaced her six-pack of water with fresh bottles. She liked being prepared for anything. That morning it had saved her at least an hour.

As soon as she got Chester fed and settled in his chair, she made a pot of coffee, clicked on all the television sets, and booted up the three computers on her desk. She needed news. Not that shitty stuff that made the back pages. She needed front-page, blockbuster news. Otherwise, she was seriously going to have to consider her mother’s idea. Not that it was bad; it wasn’t. Abby just needed something timely. That was always the key in tabloid reporting. Entertainment news had to be timely. If the news was old, no one cared about it. She needed news that coincided with movie premieres, celebrity divorces, trips to spas where one might find a star trying to knock off ten pounds before a public appearance.

The aroma of coffee filled the room. Abby filled her cup and took several quick sips before sitting down to check her e-mail. She hoped to find an e-mail from the Pitt/Jolie publicist. Abby figured that was wishful thinking at this stage of the game. Even if the interview and photography session were to come to fruition by some stroke of luck, Abby wouldn’t have a chance to make all the necessary arrangements in time for next week’s edition. She simply had to move on to another story. She opened her e-mail account, scanned through the subject lines. Nothing from the publicists, just as she’d expected. Expect nothing, and you would never be disappointed. Someone had said that to her years ago, and she’d always remembered it. How true it was today.

Abby answered three e-mails from the staff and two from a local TV news show that had been trying to get an interview with her since Rag’s disappearance. No way was she going to grant them an interview. She knew what it was like to be turned down repeatedly, but Abby was in no position to give interviews connected to Rag. His case was being handled by law enforcement. That kind of trouble she didn’t need. She hit the DELETE button, then blocked that e-mail address. One less worry.

Abby saw an e-mail from her mother. Strange, she’d just left her house. She saw the time stamp on the e-mail. She’d already been gone half an hour when her mother sent the e-mail. She quickly read through it, then again.


Abby—



I didn’t have a chance to catch you alone last night as we were all tired and a bit sappy when we went to bed. Ida has been dating Dr. Sameer. As you know, they kept this a secret until a few days ago. The day before you came over, they had their first open date, but something happened and Ida came home very early and very upset. Sophie and I are having second thoughts about him. I know Dr. Pauley recommended him, but there is something not right, though I am not exactly sure what it is. A gut feeling. Could you, on the QT of course, look into his background? I know you have all kinds of contacts at The Informer. If not, I will call Chris and have him check his background. Also, we are planning another séance next week. I would love to see you there.

Mom

P.S. Poor Ida. She is devastated over losing the opportunity to photograph the stars!



Abby hit the REPLY button: 


Mom—



You were still sleeping when Chester and I left—sorry! Didn’t see the need to wake you. Tell Ida I’m sorry, too. Maybe something else will come along. I’ll see what I can find out about Dr. Sameer. His credentials are impeccable, but…I will get on this right away. Yes to the séance—call me with details.

Abby



She hit the SEND button.

Abby made a note to ask a staff member to check into Dr. Sameer and the Center for Mind and Body. Maybe there was a story there. Abby was getting desperate.

Now she had to write the e-mail she’d been dreading for days. If this got her fired, then so be it. She couldn’t postpone this any longer.


LAT Enterprise:



It is with regret that I write this e-mail. I have been informed that the Jolie/Pitt interview is off. I am currently working on a story that I hope to be of equal interest to our readers.



That was nothing but a big fat lie. Abby hated lying.


It involves a story concerning a dead actor. While not breaking news, I believe that The Informer’s readers will be open to the possibilities of our take on the supernatural.

I ask your permission to proceed with the story.

A. Simpson.



Abby didn’t even bother reading through the e-mail before hitting the SEND button. It was too bizarre. She was sure this would be her last day as editor in chief. She looked around her office. She could be out of here in minutes provided she had assistance with Chester’s recliner. Saddened at the thought of losing her job, Abby had an idea. If she could find out who and where those e-mails had come from, she might be able to use them in her defense when she was fired. It couldn’t hurt. Before she changed her mind, Abby reached for the phone on her desk. She dialed the three-digit number that would connect her to Josh, their resident computer guru.

“Yeah?”

Abby heard computer keys clicking away in the background.

“Josh. Abby. I need you to come upstairs to my office as soon as possible. I need your expertise.”

The clicking stopped. “Sure thing, Abby. Give me ten minutes.”

“Thanks, Josh,” Abby said before hanging up.

If anyone could find out the origins of the publicist’s e-mail, it was Josh. Rag had hired him right out of high school, and he’d been here ever since. One of the few things the jerk did that had paid off.

If the e-mail really was from the Pitt/Jolie publicist, Abby considered what kind of story she might be able to get out of that. It wasn’t much, but she was scraping the bottom of the barrel, anything to fit beneath the banner that read EXCLUSIVE!

A knock sent Chester bounding to the door. “Good boy.” Since the fire, Abby hadn’t left Chester at home. He was her own personal bodyguard. Josh jumped away from the doorway when he saw Chester. “Man, I didn’t know you had an attack dog in your office.” He hesitated before stepping inside.

“Don’t tell anyone, but he only bites on command. Go sit, Chester.” The German shepherd immediately jumped back in his recliner.

“Good, now what is it you needed me to do?”

“I’ve been receiving e-mails, and I’m not sure they’re from the person who sent them. Can you find out where they’re being sent from?”

Once she had that information, she would launch her own investigation.

“Easy to do. You want me to find out now?”

“That’d be great. Here”—Abby pulled out her chair for Josh—“I use this computer for The Informer’s business.” She pointed to the computer in the center of her desk.

“This should only take a minute,” Josh said, and began to type with bionic speed.

While Josh’s fingers flew across the keyboard, Abby sat on the edge of her desk, waiting for a miracle. If the e-mails originated from the publicist, her job would be safe. No way would LAT Enterprise fire her. She might not have the headline news, but she wouldn’t be without a job. Abby could ask for her old job back in San Francisco, or she could move back to Charleston, but that wasn’t what made her happy. Life and work were all about being happy. Her mother swore by those words. Abby thought she’d lived by them, too, for the most part.

“What the—”

Abby leaned across the desk to look at the computer monitor. “What is that?” The screen was filled with computer codes no one in his right mind should be able to read, let alone understand.

“Computer buzz,” Josh answered without taking his eyes off the screen. He continued to type with amazing speed.

“Of course, I don’t know why I asked,” Abby said. While she knew her way around a computer, she had absorbed only what she needed to know. Codes, encrypted files, logarithms, she could live without the knowledge thank you very much. She had enough stuff floating around upstairs in the gray matter.

“This is weird,” Josh said.

Abby slid off the edge of her desk to stand directly behind her chair so she could view what Josh called weird. “What?” Abby hated waiting around doing nothing. “What did you find?”

Josh’s hands flew across the keys, “Man, this is some serious shit.”

“Josh, if you don’t tell me what you’ve found right now, I’m going to go downstairs and start smashing all those computers.” Abby was smiling, so she knew he wouldn’t take her comment seriously.

“It looks like arrest records. Here”—he slid away from the desk so she had a better view of the monitor—“take a look.”

Abby skimmed the pages. “I don’t get it. These are booking reports. I’ve seen a few in my day. I don’t understand how or why this could show up in an e-mail. It doesn’t make sense.”

“My guess, and remember this is just a guess, I would bet someone in jail with access to computers sent these e-mails. I don’t know if they’re computer geeks, or it’s possible the system this came from has a virus and managed to attach them to your e-mail without the sender knowing.”

Abby raked a hand through her hair. “In a nutshell, you’re telling me it’s possible someone is sending me e-mails from jail? Do inmates in the county jail have access to computers?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’d safely go with ninety-five,” Josh said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Okay. Then the next step is to find out if anyone I know is incarcerated. I don’t personally, but professionally I suppose anything is possible. You can go back to your command center. I’ll make a few phone calls. Thanks for your help, Josh.”

“Anytime, Abby. You know where to find me,” Josh said.

Alone, Abby plopped down in her chair and whirled around so that she faced her monitor. Her first thought was that Rag had been apprehended, but she ditched that idea immediately. She would’ve been told if that were the case. No, it had to be someone who held a grudge against her and the paper. But who? Abby racked her brain in search of an answer, but she came up empty.

Chris would know. Without thinking, she dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring.

“Chris Clay,” he answered in his most professional voice, the one he reserved for clients.

“Chris, it’s Abby.” She waited to hear the dial tone. When she didn’t, she continued. “It seems I’ve been receiving some bogus e-mails from an inmate in the LA County Jail.”

“Hello, Abby.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. Knowing he couldn’t see her, she smiled back. “Hello, Chris. How are you? How was the ice cream?”

“That’s better. You really need to work on your telephone etiquette.”

“I will, I promise, later. Did you know inmates had Internet access?”

“Yes, and it’s a shame, too. How is your mother? I haven’t talked to her lately.”

“She was fine when I left her house this morning. Could you just listen to me for one minute without being such an…ass? Sorry, but I need to find out what person I know is residing in the county jail, someone with a grudge against me, or the paper. Don’t you have connections there? Someone who can look up a name without a major ruckus? I have my sources at the jail, but I don’t feel comfortable using them, since I don’t know what or who is behind these e-mails.” Her heart was beating so fast she had to take a deep, cleansing breath. This was business, nothing personal.

“I do, Abby, but I must advise you if I go to all the trouble to call and ask around, you’re going to owe me. Big-time.”

“Owe you? As in money, owe you?”

“No, as in you’ll have dinner with me.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all. Sure I can have dinner with you. We’ll go to Pink’s, and I’ll bring Chester along. He loves hot dogs, too.”

“Yes, I remember you telling me that. With mustard and relish, I believe.”

Abby couldn’t help but laugh. Chris had a killer memory to go with that killer body.

“So you’ll go to dinner with me if I find out who is sending you e-mails from the county jail? I want to make sure I’m hearing you correctly because the last time I saw you, you weren’t all that friendly.”

No, she hadn’t been a bit friendly, but that didn’t matter now. “Okay I was a bitch. I must’ve had PMS or something that day. Now, if you’ll find this information for me, I’ll buy you dinner, you pick the place.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. Let me get back to you. Keep your cell phone on,” Chris said, reminding her that she’d left the charger at home last night; therefore it was highly probable her battery was dead.

“I think the battery is dead. Call the paper or my house if you can’t reach my cell. I really do appreciate this, Chris.”

“I’m sure you do, Abby. Glad to help. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have an answer.”

“Works for me.” Abby placed the cordless phone back in its charger.

A dinner date with Chris was the last thing she’d expected when she called, but she had been rude to him that day in the grocery store. He didn’t know how he’d hurt her when he told her he really liked her, then never called her, never mentioned it again. She could forgive him for representing her mother, the whole conflict-of-interest thing.

Even though it was highly possible she could lose her job for jumping the gun with those teasers, Abby felt like shouting to the world how fantastic her life was. Especially since she and Chris were going to dinner again.

“Whoopee!” She did a little dance, stopping when she saw Chester’s head tilted in question.

“It’s called happiness, old boy. Happiness.”