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“Sure,” Abby said.

“I’m sure I saw an image of Marilyn Monroe’s lips moving when she said, ‘It was an accident,’” Toots said.

“The same here,” Ida said.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I saw that, too,” Chris said.

“Same for me,” Mavis said.

“Is this what you saw, Abby?” Sophie asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, I saw it, too,” Sophie said. “I can cut out that scene, and take snapshots, too. A program I have allows you to do that. I’ll need a high-tech computer.”

“We have them at the paper. The new owners haven’t skimped. I’ve got the best that money can buy. Sophie, how soon can we have this?”

“How soon do you want it?”

“Yesterday, but tomorrow is fine. I’ve got an idea; I’m not sure it will work, but if it does, The Informer has just been given the mother of all interviews.”

“You mean to say you’re going to use this in the paper?” Chris asked incredulously.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that this Marilyn Monroe apparition stopped right in front of me? Who better to tell than a tabloid reporter? She had to know this. Don’t ask me how; I’ll leave that to the Big Man Upstairs. I think she wants this told. All the unanswered questions about her death will be resolved.”

“Abs, this is stuff for the sleaziest of tabloids. Do you really believe your readers will believe this? Won’t they put a story like this against, ‘Hey, I saw Elvis eating at Dunkin’ Donuts’?” Chris asked.

“Oh, sure they will. Don’t you see? You’ve just clarified the concept of tabloid reporting. People are intrigued. They buy the paper. They don’t have to believe, but there’s a chance they will,” Abby said, excitement shining in her clear blue eyes, then her eyes changed from clear blue to stormy dark as the sea when she realized what Chris had said.

“I still don’t get it. Why do you want to write about something that most people won’t believe, or will laugh at? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been standing in line at Ralph’s watching people’s reactions as they stand in line reading the headlines on those silly papers. They laugh, make some crude comment, and most don’t bother to buy the paper because they’ve already seen the headlines and they’re so far-fetched, they don’t waste their money.”

“Chris Clay, you are an ass. You have just insulted me, my profession, and my mother’s and my godmothers’ choice of reading material. You’re a real know-it-all. Damn, I wish I knew as much as you did. It must be hard work dragging those third-rate actresses out to all the hot spots you take them to in hopes that they’ll be spotted by Entertainment Weekly, Us, or any other magazine that considers what some two-bit wannabe has for dinner as news! Seems to me we’re pushing the same envelope, just in different colors.”

“I’m sorry, Abby. I was out of line,” Chris said, his voice full of regret.

“Tough, I don’t accept your apology. Leave before I decide to scratch your eyes out. That won’t look good in all those magazines that you spend so much time trying to get your clients’ photographs in. Go home.” Abby stepped outside to the deck. She didn’t want to look at Chris Clay, let alone stay in the same room with him. Once an ass always an ass. She should’ve known better.

She heard his footsteps as he walked across the deck. “I know you don’t want to hear this again, but I really am sorry, Abs. I’m very good at sticking my foot in my mouth.”

“Yeah, well I’m real good at sticking my foot up someone’s ass. Go home, Chris.”

“You’re right, it’s time to call it a night. See you around, Abby.”

Abby stayed on the deck until she heard Chris’s car drive away, then she stepped inside, where her mother and godmothers were all seated at the kitchen table staring at her like she had a third eye in the center of her head.

“Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear it. I’m exhausted after tonight.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, Abby. I am in complete agreement with you. I think your idea to publish what we all know was asked of you is the right decision. I do think you shouldn’t be so hard on Chris. You know how lawyers are? They say the first thing that comes to mind without regard for anyone’s feelings. You should call him and ask him to dinner.”

“Thanks, Mom. I feel this was almost a divine experience. It’s going to put The Informer on top. What about the Bing Crosby and Aaron Spelling story? And I am going to ignore what you said about inviting Chris to dinner.”

Toots nodded. “Whatever you say, dear.”

“Well, I would put that in next week’s edition, don’t know if it’s front-page news, but this is what you do, Abby. And I for one am damn proud of you.” Sophie gave her a kiss and a quick hug. “I’ll come to the paper first thing in the morning so we can work on that photograph. You know what I’m thinking, Abby, we might need to bring Ida along. We could use her expertise.”

“I think it’s a grand idea,” Abby said. “Would you come with us, Ida?”

“I’d consider it an honor. But you all have to make me a promise first.” Ida cleared her throat. “All that stuff that happened with that imposter Dr. Sameer, Patel, a.k.a. panty sniffer, and Mohammed, the drug king who got beaten to within an inch of his life, is going to be in the news, since the real Dr. Sameer pressed charges against them. I can’t forget Amala, the hooker, either. I know I will have to testify against them. Toots, Sophie, Mavis, and you, too, Abby, let’s all take a vacation after my face is splashed all over the country. I have a feeling this is going to be one of those trials that Nancy Grace will cover, and I don’t think I can bear to be the object of her sly innuendo as she ‘sympathizes’ with me as one of the aggrieved victims of their plot to steal millions of dollars. Would you all do that for me? Mavis, you can ask George to come along if you’re still seeing him. What do you say? Oh and the trip is on me. I’ve got an extra $3 million burning a hole in my pocket. Deal?”

One by one they placed their hands one on top of the other. Ida, then Sophie and Mavis, then Toots.

“Come on, Abby, it’s time you learned about our secret handshake.”

“What secret handshake?”

“Toots, you mean to tell me you haven’t told Abby about our secret handshake?”

“Why don’t you tell her, Sophie?”

“I’ll do better than tell her, I will show her. Join us, Abby, in your first official secret handshake.”

Abby placed her hands atop those of four of the most fantastic women she would ever know.

“On the count of three,” Toots said. “One…two…three…”

Just like they had in seventh grade all those years ago, the four best friends, now five, tossed their hands high in the air.

Together, four of them shouted, “Damn, when you’re good, you’re good!” Abby’s echoing shout was a beat behind.

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Epilogue

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Ghostly Encounters

Abby Simpson

When it comes to the ghost of Marilyn Monroe, she’s been around. It is believed that her ghost travels through Hollywood, haunting many locations, places she once felt quite comfortable visiting while she lived.

Many believe she haunts the site of her burial at the Westwood Memorial Cemetery here in Los Angeles. Her ghost has been seen floating around her tomb, waving at other Hollywood stars whose ghosts live among us.

After her tragic death in August 1962, many speculated her death was a suicide, but there are those who believe there was a conspiracy against her. Some even believe that one or more former members of the Kennedy family might have contributed to her untimely death.

The Informer attended a private séance, where Marilyn herself appeared, smiling her famous smile…but she had a message she has asked me to share with the world…. I am honored that she chose me to deliver her message through The Informer…. We are proud to share the ghost of Marilyn Monroe’s words over her untimely death…. And I quote, “My death was an accident.”

See photos below.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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Born Mary Ruth Kuczkir in Hastings, Pennsylvania, Fern Michaels was married and the mother of five before she embarked on her long, successful writing career a career that began with something midway between a challenge and a command. When her youngest child went off to kindergarten, Michaels’s husband imperiously ordered her (in just so many words) to get off her ass and get a job. Long years in the domestic trenches had left her short on marketable skills, so she decided trade off her lifelong love of reading and write a book. Just like that. The domineering, unsupportive husband is history. And Michaels has gone on to pen bestselling romance after bestselling romance. Just like that..

With typical modesty, Michaels does not claim to be a great writer; however, she admits proudly to being a born storyteller. Her bulging bookshelf proves she is all over the map, producing with equal facility hot historicals, lighthearted contemporary capers, adrenaline-laced thrillers, and heartwarming tales of family and friendship. She is especially adept at writing stories about women who prevail in hard times a reflection, perhaps, of her own struggles in her marriage and early career.

Raised to believe that the fortunate in life have an obligation to give back, Michaels devotes a lot of time to philanthropic concerns. She has established a foundation that grants four-year scholarships to needy students and has set up pre-schools and daycare centers for single mothers. She is also an avid animal lover and has been known to own as many as five dogs at a time.

In 1993, Michaels picked up stakes and moved from her home in New Jersey to a 300-year-old plantation house in Charleston, South Carolina. She and the dogs share the house amicably with a friendly ghost whom Fern has dubbed Mary Margaret. In addition to stopping clocks and moving pillows from room to room, Mary Margaret has been known to occasionally leave flowers on Michaels’s nightstand!

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Copyright

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KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.

119 West 40th Street

New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2010 by MRK Productions
Fern Michaels is a Registered Trademark of First Draft, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010920415

ISBN: 978-0-7582-6266-0

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Books by Fern Michaels:

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Return to Sender

Mr. and Miss Anonymous

Up Close and Personal

Fool Me Once

Picture Perfect

About Face

The Future Scrolls

Kentucky Sunrise

Kentucky Heat

Kentucky Rich

Plain Jane

Charming Lily

What You Wish For

The Guest List

Listen to Your Heart

Celebration

Yesterday

Finders Keepers

Annie’s Rainbow

Sara’s Song

Vegas Sunrise

Vegas Heat

Vegas Rich

Whitefire

Wish List

Dear Emily

The Godmothers Series:



The Scoop

The Sisterhood Novels:



Game Over

Deadly Deals

Vanishing Act

Razor Sharp

Under the Radar

Final Justice

Collateral Damage

Fast Track

Hokus Pokus

Hide and Seek

Free Fall

Lethal Justice

Sweet Revenge

The Jury

Vendetta

Payback

Weekend Warriors

Anthologies:

Snow Angels

Silver Bells

Comfort and Joy

Sugar and Spice

Let it Snow

A Gift of Joy

Five Golden Rings

Deck the Halls

Jingle All the Way

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