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Toots felt out of sorts after her conversation with Ida and Sophie. Her intention had been to operate The Informer, but, unless she was willing to show her cards, she had to stay behind the scenes. She’d convinced herself that she and the girls could create news stories for Abby, but it wasn’t that easy. She didn’t have any connections in show business, wasn’t an actress, and had never aspired to become one. Purchasing the paper hadn’t been the smartest investment, she was quite aware of that, but it all came back to Abby. What she should do, could do, and would do was anything in her power to keep her daughter happy. Abby’s happiness made Toots happy.

Though she’d buried eight husbands, she still kept a positive attitude, but Sophie was right. Abby didn’t need her to run the paper. She was doing quite well as editor in chief. Having said that, Toots knew Abby’s passion was the reporting itself, chasing the stars in search of the big headline of the day. Now Toots was having doubts, and she didn’t like feeling this way. She’d felt this way when she was in Charleston. And that was why she’d called her dearest friends together. She wanted to stir up trouble, kick some ass or, as Sophie would say, “open a can of whoop-ass.”

“Screw this!” Toots stomped across the room, pulled a denim skirt and bright green blouse off their hangers and grabbed her sandals. She was not going to let a pity party take over her life. Life was for the living. She was going to live it up as long as there was breath in her.

For starters, she was going to call Chris, invite him for dinner, and pick his brain. He ran around with starlets almost every night. If he had the tiniest bit of gossip, she was going to force him to spill the beans. Abby needed headlines. Toots was going to step up to the plate and do whatever she could to see that she got them.

Dressed and impatient as hell, Toots raced down the hall searching for Sophie. She tapped on her door. “Sophie, you in there?” She waited outside. She couldn’t bring herself to go inside that room even though she knew the spirits or whatever the hell they were calling them weren’t bad spirits. They had frightened her something terrible, and she wasn’t ready to go back inside and face her fears just yet. She had too many other important things to tend to. She knocked again.

Sophie came up behind her, poking her in the ribs. Toots almost jumped out of her skin. “What! Oh, you about gave me a heart attack.” Toots’s hands shook. “Don’t ever do that again or I’ll toss your ass down the stairs just like Bette Davis tossed that head down the stairs in Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte.”

“Damn, Toots! Don’t be such a mean bitch. I was teasing, all right?” Sophie elbowed her way around her to the bedroom door. “Go on, get out of here, you’ve pissed me off.” She slammed the door in Toots’s face.

“Wait! I need to tell you something.”

Sophie yanked her door open. “What? I’m still pissed at you.”

“You’ll get over it. Listen, Abby has asked one of her reporters to check out Dr. Sameer.” Toots lowered her voice so Ida wouldn’t overhear.

“You can speak up. She’s not here. The minute her phone rang, she raced up the stairs like a horny teenager. A taxi just picked her up at the end of the driveway. You know where she’s going, don’t you?”

“Dr. Sameer’s place?”

“Yes. Probably going to have hot and heavy sex while she’s there.”

“And that means what?” Toots asked.

“What it means is that we aren’t. Now go on, but I am still pissed at you.”

Sophie was about to close the door when Toots put her foot next to the door frame. It was now or never. Toots entered the bedroom. “I need to get over this now. I don’t want it to take over my life like Ida’s OCD. Now move.” Toots entered her old bedroom and waited for the temperature to change. When nothing happened, she stood next to the bed, knowing nothing would happen, but she needed to do this anyway. The room wasn’t the same as it was before. Sophie had chosen clean whites and different hues of peach. The room looked warm and inviting. Maple furniture. Though Toots thought it out of place in the beach house, she’d given Sophie and the girls free rein to decorate as they pleased. Sophie liked this, and that was fine with Toots.

“Okay, this room isn’t so frightening anymore. I’m over it. You can go back to being pissed at me.”

“I haven’t stopped,” Sophie said.

“So be pissed, then get over it. We’ve got things to do,” Toots insisted.

“I will in my own time, okay? Now go do your thing. I want to take a shower and get dressed. I may go to the beach and hang out today after I contact a Realtor in New York.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point. I’m going to call Chris, see if I can pick his brain for anything gossipy for the paper.” Toots turned around to leave, stopping only when Sophie reached for her arm.

“Just so you know, I will stop being mad in an hour.”

“Good, I’ll look forward to it. Now git.” Toots removed Sophie’s arm from hers, then walked down the hall to her own room, where she booted up the laptop, checking to see if she’d received a reply from Abby. There it was, Abby’s response to the e-mail she’d received from LAT Enterprise:


TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected] 



Thank you for permission to pursue the ghost theory. Also, thank you for your confidence in me, allowing me to act as editor in chief, granting me final approval of The Informer’s content. 



The e-mail continued with a few stories Abby had planned for the back pages. While this wasn’t exactly owning and operating a tabloid as Toots had first envisioned, for now Abby was content, and that made Toots happy. Hers was a one-day-at-a-time business. There could come a day when Abby might have a change of heart and tell LAT ENTERPRISE she no longer wanted the position and responsibilities of being editor in chief. Until that happened, Toots would remain in the background as LAT ENTERPRISE.

Toots answered the e-mail to the point, professionally. Too much, and she might give herself away. For now she was content knowing Abby was happy with her job. At the first sign of her unhappiness, Toots would…she would do whatever needed to be done.

Next on her shit-to-do-list: Call Chris. She used her cell phone to make the call.

“Chris Clay.” He picked up on the first ring.

“Morning, Chris. How is my very favorite attorney today?”

Toots smiled when she heard Chris laughing.

“Okay, old girl, what is it you want? I know you.”

Was she that obvious? Did she only call her stepson when she needed something? She would think, and if she did, then that, too, was about to cease. She loved Chris as much as if he were her own flesh and blood.

“I called to invite you to dinner. You name the time and place,” Toots stated succinctly.

More laughter from Chris. “I must be the luckiest guy in the world, because this is the second invitation I’ve had in the past twenty-four hours to have dinner with a beautiful woman. What gives, Toots? Everything okay with that paper? The house, you’re good with the contractor I recommended?”

“Yes, the paper is up and running, thanks to Abby, and the house is finished on the inside. The contractors were awesome. Who is the other woman that invited you to dinner? Hope it’s not one of those fly-by-night starlets of the moment.”

“If you must know, it’s Abby. She promised me dinner if I did her a favor.” Chris paused. “Like mother, like daughter. I do favors, I get dinner. Good thing I’ve got healthy self-esteem, or I would start to wonder if you two weren’t trying to bribe me.”

“No, well, I am not trying to bribe you. It’s been too long since I last saw you. I want you to see all the changes at the house. I could have Mavis fix something and we could dine in. What do you say?”

“I say yes, but I need to get back with you on the time. Will that be a problem?” Chris asked.

Sort of. Kind of, Toots wanted to say, but didn’t. She needed to pick his brain as soon as possible, but if not, that was okay. Poor Chris, she didn’t want him to feel like he wasn’t appreciated, wasn’t a member of the family. Maybe in her own way she had been using Chris.

“No, it won’t. You just call me when you have a free evening. Mavis has the freezer and pantry so well stocked, I’m sure there’s enough food for fifty. So, you’ll call me?”

“Sure thing, Toots.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, then clicked the END button. Abby hadn’t mentioned Chris lately. Toots assumed they weren’t speaking. The two had been back and forth for years. Abby would rant and rave about what an ass he was, but Toots knew different. She’d seen the way they looked at one another when they thought she wasn’t paying any attention. The attraction between them had just started a few months ago. She’d seen the sparks in their eyes. Abby hadn’t said anything to her, and Toots wasn’t going to ask.

She would have liked nothing more than to see Abby and Chris in a relationship, maybe even marriage. Chris was a wonderful man. If Abby and Chris had a thing going on, then it was fine with her. Maybe she should invite Abby to dinner when Chris confirmed a date. Yes, that’s what she would do. After she picked his brain, she would watch them, see if what she’d observed between them was more than a mother’s imagination.

Another item to be added to her shit-to-do-list.

Chris was about to head for the shower when his cell phone rang for the second time. He picked up on the second ring. “Chris Clay,” he said.

“Hey, Chris, what gives?” His source at the jail.

“Nothing much. Work, work, and more work, you know how it goes.”

“Yeah, I do. Listen, I have that information you asked for. Is this line secure?”

“Yes, go ahead, tell me what you have.” Chris listened while his contact at the Los Angeles County Jail relayed the information to him.

“Hey, I owe you one, thanks for getting back to me so quickly,” Chris said.

“Anytime, man.”

Chris clicked the END button on his cell phone. He wanted to call Abby with the information, but first he was going to pay a visit to the son of a bitch who’d been sending her those e-mails.

He showered, shaved, and dressed in less than ten minutes. Chris didn’t want to waste another minute. He made it to the jail in record time and found a parking place within reasonable walking distance. That in itself was a small miracle.

Inside the jail, he went through the metal detector, and tossed his keys, cell phone, and wallet into a small bowl, stepping aside when a sheriff’s deputy ran a handheld scanner up and down the length of his body to search for any kind of contraband. Once he’d passed inspection, he was allowed to roam throughout the building. Chris found the reception desk and signed in as counsel in order to prevent waiting in the lengthy line. A deputy led him through a maze of doors leading to a long row of chairs that faced a wall of glass. The county jail in LA was no-contact, hence the phone and wood dividers that separated each visitor. This provided a bit of privacy, but Chris wasn’t concerned about protecting this slimeball’s privacy. If anything, he wanted anyone within hearing distance to find out what an ass he was. Maybe he’d get a good old-fashioned jail ass-kicking when the other inmates discovered what he did with his allowed computer time. Chris had learned that a select few inmates were allowed to use the Internet for one hour each day if they were enrolled in a county-sponsored program.

“You can have a seat.” The deputy motioned to a metal chair that had seen better days. Chris wished for one of those disinfecting wipes when he saw a thick white clump of something—he was sure he didn’t want to know exactly what—stuck to the chair. The deputy watched him. “Formula. Mom bringing baby to visit Daddy.”

Chris nodded, then sat on the edge of the chair. He picked up the phone, saw more of the white gunk, and used his sleeve to clean the phone’s mouthpiece. He was glad Abby wasn’t here with him to see what a dump the jail was, but for all he knew she’d seen this before and, knowing her, thought nothing of it. She was a reporter. Chris couldn’t remember if she’d reported on any celebrity jailbirds. A tap on the glass brought his attention to the man wearing the typical LA County Jail one-piece orange designer suit.

Michael Constantine. Arsonist, small-time hood.

Chris spoke into the phone. “Your ass is in a load of crap, you know that?”

Michael Constantine, “Micky” to his friends, lifted the wall phone from the cradle, laughing, which showed his nasty, yellow, nicotine-stained teeth. “Who the fuck are you? I ain’t done nothin’ to you. I don’t even know your ass.”

“No, and I for one am glad. I’ll get straight to the point. You’ve been sending Abby Simpson bogus e-mails when you’re supposed to be studying for your high-school diploma. I’ve advised the jail what you’re doing with your computer time. If the state brings some charge against you, good. If not, I will see that your ass suffers, and I mean that quite literally, if you know what I mean? Stop sending e-mails to The Informer or else. Do you get it?”

“Yeah, man, I get it. You must be the boyfriend of that hot little blonde. Give her a message for me. Tell her I said her ass is mine as soon as I’m outta this place. You got it?”

Chris hung up the phone and walked away. If he stayed, he might’ve been tempted to break the glass and strangle the sleazy dime-store hood. He collected his wallet, phone, and keys, then hurried outside to his car. He dialed Abby’s cell-phone number. It went to voice mail. She’d told him to call her at the paper. He scrolled through his list of phone numbers, found the main number for The Informer, and dialed. He was put on hold, then Abby picked up. “Chris, what’s up? I take it you found my mailer?”

“You’re not going to believe this, Abby. The jerk that tried to torch The Informer. He’s your man.”

“Michael Constantine? How?”

“He’s enrolled in a county program that allows him access to a computer. Apparently he wasn’t using his time just to study.”

“That ass! I…is there something I can do? Legally?” Abby asked.

“I’m not sure. Probably not. I don’t think it’s against the law to send bogus e-mails as long as they’re not threatening in any way.”