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The seventies-style brown paneling had been replaced with modern white walls. The wall that formerly held the old plywood bookshelves now featured custom-made shelves from which six LCD flat-screen televisions glared at her. A giant flat-screen monitor provided constant updates from the Associated Press, even though it was rare that she actually used the information coming through. But one never knew.

A custom-made desk sat in the middle of the room. On top were three iMac computers, all top-of-the-line. One came equipped with high-speed Internet, the second gave her instant access to stories in progress at The Informer, and the third was hers to use as needed.

Though it was old and shabby, Abby had insisted on bringing the old blue Barcalounger from her former office across the hall. She was thankful it hadn’t burned during the fire, grateful a good cleaning was all it had needed since Chester, her ninety-seven-pound German shepherd, had practically grown up in that chair. Come hell or high water, she wasn’t about to part with it. Abby felt sure that Chester wouldn’t appreciate a replacement either.

With Chester sleeping in his chair, Abby checked her e-mail to see if she’d been one-upped on any breaking news. She skimmed through a dozen messages and, seeing nothing earth-shattering, checked the Associated Press wire. Again, she came up empty as far as tabloid news went. Then she used the master remote control to flick through all of the local TV stations. Apparently it was going to be a slow news day. Abby hated days like that, wished she could zap up some headline-making news herself. If only. Deciding there was nothing that required her immediate attention, she read through tomorrow’s copy one last time before it went to press. Half an hour later, she figured it was as good as it was going to get and decided that she and Chester were due for a quick break.

“You ready for a trip outside, Chester?”

At the sound of his name, the big dog sprang into action. “Woof, woof!”

Abby laughed. What would she do without Chester? He was her best friend in the world, at least he was her best male friend in the world. She didn’t want to think about men right now because doing so brought Chris Clay to mind, and she absolutely, positively did not want to have thoughts about him. Her brow furrowed in disgust as she followed Chester to the exit.

“Woof!” Chester held the leash in his mouth as though he were walking himself. Abby always got a kick out of this. He was such a smart animal. When she was working a story, she’d always taken him with her. He was her very own second-stringer/doggy guard.

Abby led Chester to the fenced-in parking lot, still amazed every time she walked outside. With its lighting at night, plus security cameras, Abby felt very safe there now. Before the fire, anyone could walk in and out of the back door leading to the offices. No more. The new owners had hired a well-trained security crew that worked around the clock. Abby guessed they weren’t taking any chances on their investment. She and her staff were very well protected. No crazy-ass wannabe arsonist or anyone else who wasn’t authorized could get past the tight security. The building was very old, and Abby truly respected its history, but she was smart enough to realize some things simply had to be brought into the twenty-first century.

The new owners had insisted on keeping the original printing presses downstairs and asked that they remain untouched. Abby didn’t know what their future plans were, but that was fine by her, since she rarely went downstairs anyway. The last time she’d been downstairs, she’d given her mother and godmothers a tour. That was right before the fire.

After Chester personally anointed each and every newly planted shrub, he ran back to the entrance. “Okay, boy, let’s get back to work.” Abby bent down to allow Chester a doggy kiss, then headed inside to her office.

As soon as Abby returned to her desk, Chester jumped on his chair, and she sat in her own plush leather chair behind her sleek onyx desk. With news so slow, Abby logged on to her e-mail account and what she read about blew her away. She read it a second time, then a third time. No frigging way! Tabloids and legitimate magazines across the country were offering millions for this story. She instantly became suspicious. Was it possible that Rag, wherever the hell he was, was screwing with her? This seemed like something he would do, but Abby wasn’t sure he’d go this far just to mess with her.

She was being offered an exclusive interview, with pictures, of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s new kids!

Why The Informer? Why not People magazine, or Time. They’d offered millions for a story and pictures in the past and the couple had turned them down. Abby read the e-mail again. It was from their publicist. She recognized the name, so at least that part was true.

An interview like this could put The Informer back on the map. What back on the map? Shit, it hadn’t even been on the map, but with this, it would be all the push Abby would need to put it on top and keep it there.

“Chester, we just hit pay dirt!”

“Woof,” Chester responded to his name.

Abby swore he was part human. “We’ll stop at Ralph’s on the way home for a big juicy steak.”

“Woof, woof!”

Abby laughed because she was 100 percent sure that Chester knew Ralph’s was a popular grocery store in California. He must associate the name with beef.

For the fourth time, Abby read the e-mail from the Pitt/Jolie publicist. They were offering an interview with pictures—that was the part Abby found difficult to believe, because most of Hollywood’s biggest stars usually wouldn’t allow photos of their offspring unless millions were being offered. Something didn’t seem quite right, but then again, Pitt and Jolie were well-known for their charitable acts, so it was highly possible this was just another act of charity. She hoped so, because there was no way The Informer could pay for such an exclusive. If the e-mail proved to be for real, Abby had her work cut out for her. She’d need an absolutely first-rate photographer. For some crazy reason, she thought of Ida, her godmother. In her day, Ida had worked as a photographer in New York City. Abby had seen some of her work, and it was fantastic. Maybe…no, she couldn’t. Her mother would kill her if she asked for Ida’s help and not hers. Certainly something to think about. She made a note to ask anyway. It couldn’t hurt. The photographers currently employed at The Informer were just so-so. Too bad she didn’t know the new owners. She could have asked them for a top-notch photographer. Abby felt sure they would have fit such a request into their budget, but for the moment there were other details to attend to.

Annoyed by the distraction, Abby clicked off the television set. Something was nagging at her, something she couldn’t quite put a finger on. Was it possible the new owners had arranged for this interview? Were their connections that great? She thought it odd that she’d been contacted by e-mail. Wouldn’t a publicist for such an A-list couple at least call her up and ask? No, something wasn’t right, but until something changed, she planned to act as though a major scoop were an everyday occurrence at the paper.

A simple interview with your average B-list celebrity would be as easy as scheduling a luncheon at one of LA’s top eateries, or, if they wanted to show off a newly purchased McMansion, Abby would simply hop into her bright yellow MINI Cooper. Of course, she assumed that Chester would be welcome as well—she routinely brought him along unless the celebrity specifically said not to. Chester was not just any ordinary dog. If something were to go awry—and with some of the celebrities she’d interviewed it had been iffy, almost scary—Chester would act as her protector as well. Something told her that Chester wouldn’t be allowed to attend this interview.

Abby knew an exclusive interview with the Pitt/Jolie clan would be anything but simple. First, there would be security. Not just some off-duty cop looking to earn an extra few bucks to send his kid to college. No, the security for the Pitt/Jolie interview would be equal to that of the president of the United States. She scribbled a note to herself to make sure and ask about security arrangements when she responded to the publicist’s e-mail.

Abby knew the interview would not come without strings, but she couldn’t seem to stop wondering what they were and why Pitt and Jolie had chosen The Informer. She was smart enough to know not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so her first order to herself was to stop questioning why and begin her preparations.

Abby clicked on the e-mail from the publicist and read through it one last time before she answered.


Dear Ms. Simpson:



Your publication, The Informer, has been chosen for an interview with Mr. Brad Pitt and Ms. Angelina Jolie. Photos of the children will be allowed. 



The e-mail named the date, though no location was indicated. All she needed to do was reply.


Dear Ms….



The Informer accepts your offer to interview Mr. Pitt and Ms. Jolie. I will await further instructions concerning the location and security. 



Ms. Abby Simpson



There. She hit the SEND button, and the rest was up to fate and the publicist. She wanted to tell someone but was afraid if she did, she would jinx the interview. No, she decided she would go about her day just as she ordinarily did. As it was a slow news day, she decided to place a call to Ida, feel her out, see how she was doing. Just in case.

Abby dialed Ida’s new cell number. She was about to hang up when the phone was picked up, and she heard a breathless “hello.”

“Ida, are you okay? You sound terribly out of breath.” Abby heard a male voice and what sounded like the rustle of covers. “Are you alone?”

“Oh…Good morning, Abby. It’s wonderful to hear from you. Of course I’m alone. I was…running around the room, making the bed. I have the television turned on to this new soap I’ve become addicted to. I wouldn’t dare leave the bed unmade, you know how your mother likes a neat and orderly home.”

“And you don’t, huh?” Abby laughed, recalling her godmother’s former affliction with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

“Not anymore. If it were left up to me, I’d never change the sheets.” Ida laughed.

“And we both know that’s not true.” It was good to hear the happiness back in Ida’s voice. A few months ago she would barely come out of her room without spending hours scrubbing her hands and every object she touched. Now, with the help of Dr. Sameer, a specialist in treating obsessive-compulsive disorder, Ida sounded and acted like the godmother Abby had always known and loved.

“Then let’s just say I only change them once a week and leave it at that,” Ida teased. “Abby, would you hang on for a minute?”

“Sure.”

Ida must have forgotten to place her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece, because Abby could’ve sworn she heard muffled giggling and lips smacking in the background. Must be standing next to the television set, where the soap stars were going at it hot and heavy. Abby thought nothing was left to the imagination anymore.

A minute later, a winded Ida was back on the phone. “Sorry. I just wanted to get that bed in tiptop shape. Now what is my favorite godchild up to these days?”

“In search of the next big story as usual. There isn’t much happening in Hollywood today.”

“Why don’t you just make something up? Isn’t that what all those tabloid papers do anyway?”

Abby laughed. “Yeah, some of them do, but that’s not my way. I’d like to think there is some truth to the stories I write.”

Abby paused, deciding whether or not she should tell Ida about the Pitt/Jolie interview and her need for a photographer. She realized it couldn’t hurt anything. Also, she would call her mother as soon as she finished telling Ida; it wasn’t like she was betraying anyone’s confidence. She knew she could trust Ida; she’d never failed her yet.

With a trace of the mischievous in her voice, Abby said, “You’ll never guess who I’m going to interview.”

“You’re right, I won’t, so don’t keep me in suspense. Just tell me,” Ida singsonged.

Abby wasn’t going to let her off that easy. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think you would care anyway. Mom loves the tabloid news much more than you do.” A grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s spread across her face. She could just imagine the look of utter shock on Ida’s face. Abby had been a terrible tease throughout her life with sweet, gullible Ida.

“If that’s the way you feel, fine. I do have things to do, Abby. I don’t have time for this chitchat game today.”

Dear old Ida was getting a bit snippy in her old age. Abby laughed. “Oh shit, I can’t do that to you anymore, can I? I’m too old for the game anyway. So”—Abby paused—“do you really want to know who I’m going to interview, or would you just rather I tell Mom instead? As a matter of fact, call her to the phone now, and I’ll tell her myself.”

“No, you can’t do that!”

“Oh, yes, I can,” Abby teased.

“No, you cannot, Abby. Please whatever you do, do not call your mother,” Ida stated adamantly.

“Why not? Is there something that you’re not telling me?” Suddenly concerned about her mother, Abby realized she’d spoken more harshly than she’d intended. “Sorry, Ida, but if there is something going on, I have a right to know. I talked to my mother yesterday, and everything was just hunky-dory. Spit it out.”

“Oh, you sound just like Sophie.”

Abby couldn’t help but smile. Sophie and Ida were complete opposites. Prim and proper Ida always the lady while Sophie was her polar opposite. She said what she thought and usually she wasn’t one to mince words. No, if something were seriously wrong with Abby’s mother, Ida would’ve told her. Hell, all of her godmothers would’ve called her by now. This was Ida being Ida, the noted drama queen.

“I guess I deserved that, but seriously, if there is something going on that I need to know, I want you to tell me now, or I’ll get in my car right this minute and drive over there to see for myself.” Abby saw Chester’s ears spike at the word car. Alert, he sat up in his chair and waited patiently to see if they would be going anywhere.

“If you must know, I am not at your mother’s house,” Ida offered reluctantly. Abby had to strain to hear her words.

Instantly alarmed, Abby asked, “What? Then where are you? Are you okay? You’re not in any trouble, are you?” She couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble Ida could possibly get into, but there was always the slim chance that trouble had found her.