Late Edition

by Fern Michaels

  Bernice was the first to regain her composure. “Surely, you’re not going to throw good money after bad. I know you like sugar and all that bad crap, but this is even off the scale for you, Toots. First you buy a tabloid newspaper. Now you’re telling us you’re buying a bakery, and it’s probably haunted. The owner is a witch, and you think you can make it work simply because you like her pralines?”

  “I agree with Bernice,” Sophie said. “You’re out of your freaking mind. Or you’ve just got so much money, you don’t know what to do with it. I’m inclined to believe that it’s a little bit of both. What do you think Abby will say when you tell her you’ve bought a bakery? It even sounds stupid!”

  “And this is coming from the woman who does séances and talks to dead people? Give me a break! Why do you think I was gone so long? What do you think I did? Just run to the bank, make a withdrawal, hand it to the woman, and say, ‘Here, have at it’? Well?”

  “Yes, actually I do. As I recall it, your gut instinct hasn’t always been right,” Sophie remarked.

  “When?” Toots challenged.

  “Let me think.” Sophie tapped a manicured nail against her temple. “Wasn’t it you who invested one hundred thousand dollars in those charcoal underpants? I remember when you wrote me about that over twenty years ago. You said they would be the next Wonderbra or better. What did you think? That you were going to save the world from obnoxious odors?” Sophie laughed out loud.

  “It was only a hundred grand. It wasn’t that big a loss. And for the record, I just saw an infomercial the other night that was advertising charcoal underwear, so there!”

  “And what was that deal with the flying car? Didn’t one of your husbands invest a bucket load of money in that scheme?”

  Bernice perked up at that. “I remember that. Even though I don’t like to fly, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Yes, I believe that was George. If I recall correctly, he thought of himself as George Jetson when that flying-car deal came around. I didn’t invest the money. It was his to do with as he pleased. So is there anything else you want to rub in my face?” Toots asked.

  “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Sophie replied.

  “Well, while you’re busy thinking, I’m going upstairs to take a shower and change. I’m going to make dinner tonight.” With that, Toots turned on her heel and walked through the kitchen, into the dining area, and up the stairs into her own room. Had she made a mistake? Was she just another old lady with too much money who didn’t know what to do with it? No, she didn’t think so.

  She truly believed Jamie and her bakery could be very successful. Yes, she had invested in a few things here and there, but only because of her desire to help others less fortunate, and so what if she lost a few thousand dollars along the way? It was her money to lose. Though she had to agree with Sophie, the flying-car deal had been a bit out there.

  She quickly showered and changed into a pair of black slacks and a bright red top. She loosened the topknot and let her hair cascade around her shoulders. She went over to her dresser and looked in the mirror. Not bad for sixty-five. She dabbled a little blush on her cheeks, a little gloss on her lips, then slipped into a pair of comfortable sandals and was back downstairs within twenty minutes.

  Bernice and Sophie were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee.

  “Why did you dress up just to cook dinner?” Sophie asked.

  “Because I felt like it,” Toots shot back.

  “I cannot believe you’re actually cooking. The only thing I’ve ever seen you make is a bowl of Froot Loops and coffee, and I think, though I am not positive about it, that you’re good at toast,” Bernice said dryly.

  “There’s a first time for everything. If I’m going to be operating a bakery, I need to learn my way around the kitchen. So tonight I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.”

  “Grilled cheese sandwiches! Hot damn! You’ll have your own show on the Food Network before it’s all over with. Emeril Lagasse, look out.” Sophie slurped her coffee.

  “I have to start somewhere. I remember making grilled cheese sandwiches for Abby when she was little. She loved them. If you don’t like them, you don’t have to eat them.”

  Toots made quick work of putting together a stack of sandwiches. She removed the bread from the bread box, placing the slices assembly-line style along the counter. She topped each slice of bread with a big slice of cheddar cheese and topped that off with another slice of bread. She placed them all on a baking sheet, threw the baking sheet in the oven, and poured herself a cup of coffee before joining Sophie and Bernice at the kitchen table.

  Again, Bernice’s and Sophie’s mouths hung open. “You don’t bake grilled cheese sandwiches, you dummy,” Sophie said.

  “Says who?” Toots asked.

  “Anyone over the age of six,” Sophie added. “You grill them, in a skillet, on top of the stove. That’s why they’re called grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  “She is right, Toots,” Bernice stated. “And I’ll eat one, if they’re not burnt.”

  “I appreciate your support. Both of you. I’m trying, okay? I have other talents besides cooking, just so you know.”

  The words were no more out of Toots’s mouth when the scent of burnt cheese wafted toward them. Smoke billowed from the sides of the oven like a thick fog. She raced over to the stove, grabbed a kitchen towel, and yanked the bubbling cheese from the oven. She looked over her shoulder to see Sophie and Bernice laughing so hard, tears were rolling down their faces.

  With her one free hand, Toots gave them the finger.

  Between laughing and spitting, Sophie spoke up. “Looks to me like those other talents might be something you want to pull out of your apron,” Sophie cackled. “Get it? Apron?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I do, Sophie. I can’t cook, but I’m trying, okay? And whatever you do, don’t you dare tell Mavis and Ida about this incident. Bernice, you neither, or I will fire you.”

  Bernice’s bright blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. You’ve been saying that for thirty years.”

  “You know, someday I might just do it, too,” Toots said as she dumped the pile of burnt cheese sandwiches into the sink.

  The girls were probably onto something. Maybe it was her forte in life just to be the money person, not the actual baker in this case. Obviously, her talents lay elsewhere, such as in decorating. Now, that was something she knew how to do.

  “Okay, I can’t cook. I’m having a bowl of Froot Loops for dinner. Anyone care to join me?”

  Chapter 12

  Ida careened around the curve, sliding off the shoulder, and yanked the steering wheel sharply to the left, almost hitting a vehicle in the oncoming lane.

  “Oh, my goodness! Slow down! You’re scaring the life out of me! When was the last time you were behind the wheel of a car?” Mavis asked as she dug holes in the dashboard with her nails.

  “When I was fifteen. Why? Am I scaring you?” Ida shouted.

  Mavis’s pretty features crumpled into a look of horror. “Fifteen? Are you telling me you don’t have a driver’s license?”

  The sleek Lincoln Town Car lurched around a second curve, only to fly through a four-way stop. They just missed being hit by a dump truck.

  “Ida, I want you to stop this vehicle right now!”

  “Hush! Let me do the driving,” Ida stated as she concentrated on keeping the car between the ditches.

  “Ida, if you don’t pull over, I’m going to . . . tell Toots that you don’t have a license, and you had your thingamajig waxed today.”

  Ida glanced over at Mavis as though she had lost her mind. “How do you know that?”

  “I picked you up from the salon, remember? I heard them say that when they tallied up your bill,” Mavis said smartly. “Now pull over, please, before you kill us or someone else!”

  Knowing this was a battle she wasn’t going to win, Ida pulled over onto the side of the road, barely mis
sing a yield sign as she did so. Mavis got out from the passenger side, walked in front of the car, then slid into the driver’s seat as Ida slipped across the smooth leather seat to the passenger’s side, where she should have been all along.

  “I can’t believe you would risk our lives like this!” Mavis said as she shifted into drive, carefully easing the Town Car back onto the narrow two-lane road.

  “You didn’t offer to drive after you picked me up. And I like being behind the wheel of her car,” Ida said. “As a matter of fact, this is my new goal. I’m going to get my driver’s license and buy the fanciest car on the market.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Ida. Maybe you should consider driving lessons first.”

  Mavis didn’t want to hurt Ida’s feelings, but her being on the road would be like skydiving without a parachute or flying a plane without a pilot’s license. The first opportunity she had, she would explain this to Toots, telling her that not only was Ida risking her own life when she got behind the wheel of a car, but she was also risking other lives. Mavis hated the thought of being a tattletale, especially after all the humiliation Ida had suffered the past several months, but she didn’t have a choice. As Sophie would say, Ida would get over it.

  As Mavis carefully made her way through the winding roads leading to Toots’s home, she admired the giant oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. The camellias were in full bloom along the side of the road, and the sweet smell of magnolias scented the late afternoon breeze flowing in from the crack in the window.

  While Ida had been at the salon getting spiffed up, Mavis had found the local FedEx without any trouble, had shipped nine boxes, then had spoken with the clerk about arranging a daily pickup from Toots’s home. This would save her having to make a daily trip into town. Plus she needed every free moment she could muster in order to produce her clothing for Good Mourning. She had checked her Web site one more time before they left and had seen she had another twenty-three orders. Lucky for her, they were all size tens and twelves. Still, that would leave her barely twenty-four hours to sew, iron, and pack tomorrow’s orders. On a whim, she had told Catherine what she was doing. Catherine had offered to sell Mavis’s designs in her shop, but Mavis had refused, telling her she wanted exclusive rights to her designs. Being a businesswoman herself, Catherine not only understood but agreed this was a good plan. Mavis told her about the factory she’d made contact with in California and also that she might have a supplier for a higher quality material than she was using now. Catherine agreed that soon Mavis would not be able to keep up with the demand.

  If orders continued to come in through the Web site, Mavis would have no other choice. She would have to tell the girls what she was doing simply because she could not hide something that big, especially from Sophie, who already suspected she was up to something. It had been hard not to share her excitement with her friends, but until she proved to be successful or overwhelmed, whichever came first, Mavis decided it was best to keep her new venture a secret for as long as possible.

  Mavis pulled through the wrought-iron gates leading up the winding drive to Toots’s beautiful house. Ida hadn’t uttered a single word since Mavis took the wheel.

  Carefully, Mavis parked the car inside the garage, cramming the keys inside her purse so that she could return them to Bernice for safekeeping. It would do none of them any good at all if Ida were to get hold of the keys and decide to practice her driving skills.

  Mavis and Ida entered the house through the back door that led to the kitchen. Greeted by the scent of something burning, each took a deep breath.

  Toots, Sophie, and Bernice were running around the kitchen like three chickens with their heads cut off. Bernice had a broom in her hand, waving it back and forth in the air; Sophie had two kitchen towels, swinging them around as though they were a lasso; and poor Toots was filling the dishwasher with cereal bowls.

  “What in the world happened?” Mavis asked as she ran over to the sink to assist Toots. She dropped her purse on the counter and raised the window above the sink to allow the smoke to filter outside.

  “Toots made dinner.” Sophie smirked. “She owns a bakery now, and somehow that convinced her she knew her way around a kitchen.”

  “Are you talking about our Toots?” Mavis asked.

  “The one and only,” Bernice added.

  In the prim and proper voice usually reserved for a man she was trying to impress, Ida said, “I don’t believe I heard you correctly. Did I hear you say Toots now owns a bakery? Please tell me it isn’t so.”

  “Unfortunately, if I did, that would make me a liar, and my nose would probably grow,” Sophie said as she continued to twirl the kitchen cloths in the air. Ida thought she resembled a majorette in a marching band, minus the baton.

  Hands immersed in soapy dishwater, Toots called over her shoulder, “I don’t see why everyone is making such a fuss. I tried to make grilled cheese sandwiches. I burnt them. Big deal. It’s not like the house caught on fire. This stink will be out of here in no time.”

  “Yeah, it’s a shame we don’t have any of those charcoal underpants you invested in. We sure could use those right now. Filter out some of the smoke,” Sophie muttered as she continued to march around the kitchen, waving at the smoke with the kitchen towels.

  Mavis and Toots worked together at the sink while Bernice and Sophie continued to wave the smoke away. Ida sat down at the kitchen table, watching.

  “Is it true what Sophie said? Did you really buy a bakery?” Ida asked.

  “She bought that haunted bakery downtown,” Bernice informed her as she swung the broom back and forth.

  “Careful with that! You might hit me in the head,” Ida shouted.

  “Might do you some good,” Bernice muttered to herself.

  “I heard what you said,” Ida replied.

  “I was only teasing.”

  Ida rolled her eyes.

  For the next fifteen minutes, the five women—rather the four women, since Ida refused to offer any help—finished cleaning the kitchen. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, but that was the only remaining evidence of Toots’s attempt to make grilled cheese sandwiches in the oven.

  Once the mess was cleaned up, Mavis stepped into her usual role as caregiver, cook, and general Goody Two-shoes. She made a fresh pot of coffee while Bernice put together sandwiches of cold chicken left over from a rotisserie chicken she’d purchased yesterday. Sophie and Toots declined, saying they were both full. Between the two of them, they’d emptied an entire box of Froot Loops.

  “So while I was trying to make dinner, what were you two up to?” Toots asked.

  “I spent the day at the salon, getting pampered. I haven’t a clue how Mavis spent hers,” Ida said as she admired the pale pink polish on her nails.

  “Mavis? Bernice said Coco cried all day while you were gone. It’s not like you to leave her for such a long period of time,” Toots said.

  “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I forgot poor Coco. Sophie said she would watch her. Where is she?” Mavis looked in the corner of the kitchen where she’d placed her bed that morning, before she left.

  Sophie couldn’t help herself when she said, “We’re eating her.”

  The look of horror on Mavis’s face was worth a million bucks. The little Chihuahua must have heard her mistress’s voice, because she came running down the stairs, her tiny nails click-clacking against the hardwood floor.

  “Sophie, that was a horrible thing to say,” Mavis complained as she stooped down to pick up Coco. The tiny dog slathered Mavis’s face with kisses. “Poor baby.”

  “I agree with Mavis. That’s a terrible thing to say. I thought I told you to put that old bag in the drawer and leave her there. You are one crude woman,” Toots observed.

  As was the norm, Sophie gave Toots and the others the single-digit salute.

  “I’m sorry. That was out of line. Mavis, you should know better by now. I would never, ever harm Coco. I know how much you love her.
Now, is anyone game for a séance tonight? I’ve learned something new, and I would like to practice tonight. Before we left California, I went to this New Age bookstore and ran across an old book that describes the best way to channel the spirit of someone in particular. You think you girls are up for this tonight?

  “I wouldn’t want to force any of you. I think we have a much better chance of channeling whomever we call if we follow the instructions in this book to the letter, or that’s what the lady in the bookstore told me.”

  “So we’re back to séances and ghosts again,” Toots said. “I still don’t know what Mavis did all day. I guess she can tell me later. You will, won’t you?”

  “Of course. Let me feed Coco and get changed. Maybe we can make contact with Herbert tonight.” Mavis, with Coco clutched to her chest like a life preserver, raced out of the kitchen and upstairs to her room.

  “So, is everyone game?” Sophie asked. “Give me a few minutes to prepare the dining room. Then we’ll get started.”

  Bernice and Toots gave Sophie a high five. Ida, still frightened by her last experience, was reluctant to participate in another séance. She said so to Sophie.

  “You can sit next to me, and I’ll hold your hand. And I promise not to let anyone, and I mean anyone”—Toots gave Sophie the evil eye—“hurt, harm, or intentionally frighten you in any way, shape, or form. If anyone does, they’ll have to deal with me.”

  “Oh, all right,” Ida said, “but I can promise you one thing. If I feel the least bit uncomfortable, I’m out of there. Is that a deal?”

  “I say we shake on it,” Toots said.

  As three of them had done for more than fifty years, each placed one hand on top of the others’. When the four women, minus Mavis but plus Bernice, who’d known about their secret handshake for years, had stacked their hands as they always did, they threw their hands into the air and shouted, “When you’re good, you’re good!”