Exclusive

by Fern Michaels

  “Just candles,” Sophie said. “Spirits don’t do lights, but I was able to pick up some movement with the camcorder. I’ve ordered a motion detector and an infrared camera.”

  “Okay, I want to see the video, but later.” Abby paced the length of the dining room several times, always returning to the table. It was as if there was a magnetic force pulling her toward it. “Where did this table come from? I know it’s not yours,” Abby said to her mother.

  “It was here when we moved in. I can ask the Realtor if she knows its original owner. What are you thinking, Abby?” her mother asked.

  “This table looks very old. I’ve always believed things, such as furniture or clothing or a house, can hold a person’s spirit. Maybe this table is connected to the spirits in some way.”

  “You’ve never told me that,” Toots said.

  “You never asked, and the issue never came up,” Abby said to her mother. “Let’s just say I have always kept an open mind. Growing up in Charleston, you can’t help but know something about ghosts. All those old plantations that are supposedly haunted, Fort Sumter, the ghost tours. Didn’t we take one of those when we first moved to Charleston?” Abby asked.

  “We did; if memory serves me right, you were scared to death. I can’t remember why, only that when it came time for you to go to bed that night, you wouldn’t let me turn out the light or close your door.” Toots smiled at the memory.

  “I do remember that. What was I, ten or twelve?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So do you want to join us at our next séance?” Sophie asked.

  “I think so, but I’m not sure. It depends on how things go at the paper. I’m probably going to get fired, so I’m sure I’ll have a lot of free time on my hands.”

  “Let’s go in the kitchen. I’ll make us a drink and, Abby, you can tell us why you think you’re about to be fired,” Toots said.

  “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

  Toots turned to her daughter. “Trust me, I do.”

  Chapter 16

  Toots, Abby, and her three godmothers were seated at the white country French kitchen table with their drinks and a plate of fresh fruit with cheese and crackers courtesy of Mavis.

  “I was so excited about the prospect of interviewing the famous couple, I lost sight of important details, such as actually meeting with the publicist. I admit it was totally unprofessional. If I lose this job, it’s my own fault. I don’t know why I fight so hard to hold on to the damn job in the first place. It’s not real news. Just silly stuff of no importance.”

  “Don’t you dare say that, Abby Simpson! Those tabloids got me through many a lonely night between husbands. I cherished every word I read. Don’t think I’m the only one in this room who thinks that way either.” Toots looked at Ida, Sophie, and Mavis. Their heads bobbed up and down like Halloween apples in a barrel of water.

  “We grew up in an era in which movies were magic, and so were the stars that played in them. Every Saturday the four of us would trek to the matinee. Then we’d spend the rest of the day wishing we were movie stars,” Ida said, her face softening with the memory.

  “There are a lot of us out there, Abby. Don’t sell yourself short. What you do has value, you just don’t hear about it.” Toots reached across the table and took Abby’s hand in hers. “Is there anything we can do to help you?”

  “Short of kidnapping the Pitt/Jolie crew?” Abby shook her head. “I don’t think so, but thanks. It’s nice to know that, between ghosts and séances, you’re willing to help me out. If only I had some magical way to create the news, I’d be a happy girl.”

  Sophie’s eyes brightened. Toots grinned.

  “Maybe we can help out. What if you were to write about this?” Sophie gestured toward the dining room.

  “You mean write about the séances? Bing Crosby’s ghost?” Abby asked.

  “Why not? It’s Hollywood, where anything is possible,” Toots said.

  “I don’t know, Mom. This generation probably doesn’t have a clue who Bing Crosby is. I’m not sure I would, if not for you watching all those old movies. I doubt if my boss would go for something so…out there.”

  “You could ask them. It can’t hurt. The Enquirer writes about aliens, and it hasn’t hurt their reputation,” Toots advised her daughter. She wanted to tell her right there on the spot that she owned the paper and she read the tabloids. It was an excellent idea. With all the new television programs on ghosts and haunted houses, Toots was sure that a ghost story would be quite popular with the public, but she couldn’t reveal her ownership to Abby. Not yet; maybe someday, but not anytime soon. Abby loved her job, and Toots would do whatever needed to be done to keep her daughter happy.

  “I suppose I could ask. I’m sure that after they realize the mess I’ve made with all the teasers leading up to this so-called exclusive interview, I’ll be on the chopping block anyway. I might as well go out with a bang.”

  “Nonsense! I bet they would love the idea,” Mavis said, smiling encouragingly at Toots and Sophie.

  “I agree. I think it’s a wonderful idea for a story.” Ida paused. “And I don’t read the tabloids as often as your mother does. I do enjoy a good romance novel, though.”

  Sophie shot Ida a dirty look. “I bet you only read the sex scenes.”

  They all burst out laughing.

  “Lucky for me, I don’t need to fantasize about a sex life. I have one,” Ida replied haughtily.

  “You’re a real rip,” Toots said.

  Mavis clapped her hands together to get their attention. “Stop it before it starts. I swear you three are worse than some of my former students.”

  “Oh stop trying to change the subject, Mavis. You know we’re going to ask if you’re boinking George. You might as well spill the beans,” Sophie teased.

  Mavis blushed. “It’s none of your business. I was taught it wasn’t polite to kiss and tell.”

  Abby stood up. “I would love to sit here and discuss your sex lives, but while I still have a job, I’d best go home and get a good night’s rest. Chester, are you ready to go?” The dog dropped to the ground. He whined, then licked Coco. “Let’s go, Chester. Go! Now!” Abby pointed to the door, grabbed his leash. He wouldn’t budge. “I guess he doesn’t want to go. I’ve never seen him like this. It must be true love.”

  “Leave him here for the night. Coco would love to have company,” Mavis said.

  “I can’t. He’s sort of like my security blanket. I don’t feel safe without him,” Abby explained. “Sorry.”

  Toots took over. “Why don’t you and Chester stay here tonight? It’s too late for you to drive all the way back to Brentwood alone anyway. We have plenty of room. And who knows, you may be graced by old Bing’s ghost while you’re here.”

  Abby looked at her mother and her three godmothers. It’d been forever since they all had been together for an entire night. She could get to work from Malibu just as easily as from her house in Brentwood. “You’ve talked me into it. But if I stay, I want to sleep in the room where Mom saw the ghosts.”

  “That would be my room,” Sophie said. “The bed is huge. You can bunk with me.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal. Now how about another drink? I want to hear more about these séances you’ve been conducting. How do you know about this stuff anyway?”

  As usual, Sophie was delighted to be in the limelight, especially when Abby was involved. “Back in New York, I had a friend who had an interest in anything paranormal. She told me all these creepy stories. After a few years with Walter, ghosts started looking really good to me. I spent some time learning how to read tarot cards. I used to read cards for a few of the girls in the office. I’ve always been fascinated with ghosts and ghouls. Haven’t you heard about all the haunted hotels here in Los Angeles?”

  Abby nodded. “Sure, but I never truly gave them much thought. They’re part of the Hollywood legend. All those old hotels have a ghost story connected to them. A few of
them are said to be haunted: the Roosevelt, the Knicker-bocker.”

  When Sophie got excited, anyone who was remotely acquainted with her knew to stay out of her way and let her do whatever she wanted. She became so animated, arms flapping all over the place. She’d knock over anything in her path. She was getting overly excited now.

  “Yes, the Roosevelt. I’ve seen it, but I haven’t been inside. I want to go there before I leave. I hear Marilyn Monroe’s haunted mirror is still hanging on the wall in the lobby. I remember reading where some of the hotel’s guests said they saw a blond woman’s reflection in the glass. Some die-hard fans believe that her life was so sad that her image was permanently impressed in the glass.”

  “I hope you’re not stupid enough to believe that,” Ida said.

  “After what I’ve seen the past three weeks? Are you kidding? I’d be afraid to say I didn’t believe. You better watch what you say. You never know when they’re listening. I wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of a ghost.”

  “Tone it down, Soph,” Toots said.

  “Why? Am I scaring you, too?”

  “No, you only do that in the morning,” Toots commented dryly.

  “Kiss my ass,” Sophie suggested.

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Mother, you two stop it. I swear, you act like two schoolgirls.”

  “I know it may be hard to fathom, but dear old Sophie and I were schoolgirls. Once. A hundred years ago.”

  They all laughed.

  “It’s getting late. I’m tired, and I’ve had too much to drink. Come on, Abby.” Sophie stood up and stretched. “Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of a spirit tonight.”

  “Okay. Mom, Ida, Mavis, I’ll see you in the morning. Chester, I assume you’re sleeping with Coco tonight?”

  “Woof!”

  “I’ll take that as yes,” Abby said.

  “Night, Mom.”

  Mavis cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Toots locked all the doors and turned off the lights. Ida made her way up to her room. She was going to soak in the tub and think about lending Sammy $3 million.

  Chapter 17

  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.”
<
br />   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.