Late Edition

by Fern Michaels

  Once she and Goebel were out of earshot, Sophie asked, “What’s your take on Nancy?”

  The elevator doors swished open. Goebel placed a hand on Sophie’s waist, guiding her inside the small space. Fortunately, they were the only two in the elevator and could speak freely. “Are you asking me as a man or as an investigator?”

  “Both,” Sophie said.

  “As a man, I think she’s quite attractive. As an investigator, I think she reeks of foul play. Did you notice how her eyes darted throughout the ballroom all night? Every time someone entered or made an exit, she was aware of it.”

  “I did. The woman gives me the creeps, pure and simple. If she were to get her hands on Ida, that would be the end of her. Ida’s no match for that woman.”

  “Succinct and to the point. I agree. Now, let’s get out of these clothes, and I’ll meet you in front of the restaurant. We have plenty of time. Ted should have the swab now. From here on in, it’s a waiting game.”

  “I’ll meet you in an hour,” Sophie said.

  They went their separate ways, she to the left, he to the right. Inside her suite, which she’d spent only a couple of hours in last night, getting ready for the big event, she really hadn’t had time to take in all the bells and whistles. Sunken tub. A shower that would fit at least ten people, a full array of bath products. Thick towels on a warming rod. Damn, she could’ve spent the entire night in the bathroom alone. This hotel was almost as ritzy as the Beverly Hills Hotel in Los Angeles.

  Sophie took a nice hot shower and washed her hair. She dressed in a pair of beige Ralph Lauren trousers with a matching navy and beige sweater set. Cream-colored pumps added to her height. She applied a swipe of mascara, blush, and her new favorite, black honey Almost Lipstick, as the label read. She grabbed her purse and room key, then grabbed the elevator. She looked at the time. She had five minutes to spare. When you’re good, you’re good, she thought as she waited for the plush doors to open.

  Goebel was waiting exactly where he had said he would. He wore khaki slacks with a black polo shirt. He didn’t look half bad. Now, if he could get rid of the gut, she just might view him in an entirely different light. Maybe. What was the accepted time to mourn? Ten days if you were Toots. Sophie laughed out loud.

  “I’m dying for a cup of coffee, but I swear if I’m seated next to that awful woman, I’m not going to take my eyes off her while I’m eating. I sure as hell don’t want to end up six feet under like Thomas.”

  “I seriously doubt she’s got any vicious plans for you. Just keep acting like the bimbo you pretended to be all night, and you’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  “I never trust a man who says ‘Trust me,’ ” Sophie said as they weaved their way through the dining room to the table where one of the two men was already seated.

  When he saw them, he motioned for them to take seats. “I took the liberty of ordering coffee and tea. I thought we would wait and place our orders when the others arrived,” the man, whose name Sophie couldn’t recall, said.

  “Works for me,” she said. Then, staying in her role of bimbo, she added, “I wonder if they have Froot Loops here?”

  Goebel laughed out loud, and the man looked away, as though her request was an embarrassment to him.

  “We’ll ask. I wouldn’t mind having a big ole bowl of cereal myself,” Goebel said, patting his stomach. “That crap they called food last night didn’t do the job for me.” He turned to the man. “What about you?”

  Again, the man looked as though he was offended by their crudeness. Sophie loved it. The stuck-up snot. Reminded her a bit of Ida.

  “It wasn’t the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” he had to concede.

  A murmur of voices from behind caused Sophie to turn around. She leaned close to Goebel and whispered in his ear, “She just walked in.”

  He looked at his watch, then checked to make sure his cell phone was turned on. It wouldn’t do for him to miss Ted’s call. Goebel had called in a few contacts with the Chicago Police Department, informing them there might be something going down today. He’d given one of his buddies a quick rundown on the events that had led to his trip to Chicago. He promised Goebel that the Chicago PD would back him up. Goebel had programmed their number into his cell phone. In a case like this, seconds could matter.

  “Put a smile on your face, kiddo. It’s gonna be show-time real soon,” Goebel advised.

  Nancy and the others approached the table, all but Nancy wearing casual clothes. Strong-smelling cologne wafted from Rex, the one man whose name Sophie did remember. She wanted to gag but refrained. After they were all seated, a waiter hefting a trayful of coffee cups, two pots of coffee, and a large pot of tea served them quickly and efficiently. They placed their orders, and the conversation picked up where it had left off earlier that morning. Of course, politics came into the equation, and Sophie acted dumber than a box of rocks, but when they changed the topic to a local woman who’d recently been murdered, Sophie figured this was her chance.

  “It’s so terrible! I can’t imagine hurting a flea, let alone a real, living, breathing person. My friend’s father was murdered two days ago. He was supposed to be here last night, but for obvious reasons, he wasn’t,” Sophie announced, hoping to get the reaction from Nancy that she hadn’t last night.

  “That’s tragic. How was he killed?” Nancy asked, a morbid smile on her face.

  Here goes, Sophie thought to herself. “They think he might’ve been poisoned.” There. She’d said what she’d wanted to say last night. She took a sip of coffee, watching Nancy turn three shades of white.

  “Are there any suspects?” Nancy asked, more than curious now.

  Sophie wasn’t sure what to say but figured she was on a roll. “They think his stepdaughter might be involved. Apparently there was an issue over his will. I’m not sure, but whatever happened to that poor man, I hope the person responsible rots in a prison cell for the rest of their life.” Sophie’s eyes never wavered from Nancy’s as she spoke.

  Just as Sophie finished, Goebel’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and stepped away from the table.

  Back in bimbo mode, Sophie knew she had to get Nancy’s attention focused elsewhere. Ida’s life depended on it.

  “That’s probably his boyfriend calling to check up on him. He’s gay, you know. It’s supposed to be a secret, but I told Goebel there was absolutely no reason under the sun for him to hide his lifestyle. His lover, that’s what they refer to one another as, Bruce is his name, he sells antiques in Georgia. I know poor Goebel wants to come out of the closet, but he’s afraid he’ll be banished from the family.” Sophie couldn’t believe the line of trash that tumbled from her mouth. If Goebel heard what she was saying, he might not like her. She smiled, continuing in the vein of family bimbo. “Now, myself, I could never, well, you know”—she looked at the man whose name she just could not remember, hoping to embarrass him further—“kiss another woman, let alone have a romantic relationship. What about you, Nancy?”

  Sophie glanced over her shoulder, saw Goebel’s serious expression, and knew the ax was about to land in Miss Nancy’s face.

  “What did you just ask?” Nancy said. “Are you implying or asking if I’m gay?”

  “Oh, heaven’s no! I’m sorry. I just wondered what your thoughts were on the subject, that’s all. I certainly didn’t mean to imply anything at all,” Sophie said sweetly.

  Nancy shifted her attention to the man seated next to her. “What’s your opinion? Do you support same-sex marriages?” she asked, avoiding having to give an answer to Sophie’s question.

  Sophie threw a glance in Goebel’s direction. He was gone. Now she knew it was up to her to keep the conversation focused, and whatever she did, she couldn’t let Nancy leave the table. Their food arrived just then. That would give her a bit of a reprieve.

  After the waiter served their breakfasts, Sophie picked up where the conversation had left off. “If it’s your way, then I believe same-sex marriages are okay. It�
�s not for me, thank you very much, but it works for some. Look at Ellen. She has her own talk show, and that beautiful wife. They seem very happy together.” Something had best happen soon, or Sophie was going to run out of bimbo talk. She could only act like an idiot for so long. The truth was, she felt that same-sex partners should have all the rights that heterosexuals had.

  Once again, she turned around in search of Goebel. He was still nowhere to be seen. Sophie hoped he was out front, ready to bring in Chicago’s finest. She couldn’t wait to get out of here. Nancy’s evil was starting to get under her skin even more.

  Rex and the other man discussed the pros and cons of gay marriage. Each was fiercely opinionated. Rex seemed to think that if it was your thing, go for it. The other guy thought it was extremely distasteful. Surprise, surprise, Sophie thought.

  A commotion at the entrance to the restaurant caused them to turn around. Goebel, along with six men in blue and another man wearing a gray suit jacket and navy slacks, probably a detective, hustled over to their table.

  Without further ado the man wearing the gray suit jacket read Nancy her Miranda rights, then proceeded to handcuff her hands behind her back and lead her toward the exit. The attention of every single soul in the restaurant was riveted on the sight of a woman still dressed for a charity ball being led from the restaurant in handcuffs. And Nancy’s loud protests did nothing to make her any less conspicuous.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Take your hands off me! Did you hear me? Take your hands off me! Don’t go spouting that gibberish to me, either. I’m not listening to you,” Nancy shrieked so loud that Sophie thought her eardrums ruptured. “You’ve got the wrong person!”

  Goebel stood next to Sophie. “We got her. Ted’s report said the brown stuff on the swab I sent was definitely ricin. Our part is done. Now we’ll have to let the legal system take over.”

  “What was that all about?” Rex asked.

  “Yeah,” said the guy he had been arguing with. “What just happened? What do the cops want with a nice lady like Nancy?” Which only went to show that some people still thought you could tell a book by its cover.

  “That nice lady, guys, murdered one of my best friends’ husbands and intended to kill my friend. Would probably have done so already if she had known where to find her. Just count yourself lucky that you didn’t say or do anything that might have gotten her mad at you. Who knows? Maybe she would have poisoned you, too. My ‘cousin’ and I will be leaving now. You all have a nice day.”

  Sophie couldn’t believe it was over. In less time than it took to prepare a soft-boiled egg, Nancy had been removed from their table and the restaurant, as though she’d never been there. She did leave a few overturned chairs as she was dragged kicking and screaming out of the room. Sophie removed her cell phone from her purse and called Ida.

  “It’s over, sweet cheeks. You’re gonna live, after all. And when you hear what kind of garbage I had to feed a group of people, you are going to faint.” Sophie clicked the END button. She had a few hours before her flight to Charleston was due to take off. She was going to soak in that damned tub if it was the last thing she did. “I’ll see you around, big guy,” she called to Goebel before heading to the elevators.

  “You can count on it,” he said, then turned back to the cops surrounding him.

  And she damn well would.

  Chapter 35

  Six weeks later, Los Angeles, California . . .

  Toots almost cried when they left Charleston, but knowing she would be seeing Abby and Chris soon was enough to hold the tears at bay.

  The day before they left for Los Angeles, she and the girls had spent the day at The Sweetest Things, helping Jamie with her Grand Reopening. Toots had taken out full-page ads in every publication connected to the dessert and baking industry. People started to line up at the door at 4:00 AM to purchase the pralines and cupcakes. Jamie was in her glory. She’d promised to send Toots a weekly e-mail update. Since Sophie’s cleansing, she hadn’t felt anything strange or cold in the old building. Sophie explained this was nothing to be frightened of, should it happen again. Then she promised if it did, she would simply return and perform another cleansing.

  Bernice wasn’t as sad this time, as she had a new project to keep her busy. Jamie and the bakery. Bernice had volunteered to help out whenever Jamie needed her, and they had bonded immediately. Pete would continue to work in the gardens, and Toots made sure he knew that whatever Jamie needed, he was to see that she had it. She’d picked up on his mistrust of the young woman and set his mind at ease when she told him her story, and how she’d practically had to force her to take her up on her offer of a partner. Pete was good with this, telling her he didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her.

  Mavis’s clothing line, Good Mourning, continued to receive orders daily. That was another reason for their return to California. The factory Mavis had hired to sew the patterns while she was in Charleston needed more cloth, more patterns, more workers. Mavis’s idea for a line of clothes for those in mourning had taken off like a rocket. Ida was starting to take an interest in the dead, too, but not in the wardrobe department. For her everything was about color. Why did people have to look like they’d been smeared with Coppertone when they were laid to rest? She was considering a line of cosmetics for the deceased.

  So here they were on a bright, shiny day, back at the Malibu beach house, sitting out on the deck, where Toots and Sophie returned to their constant habit of puffing away.

  “Abby needs something for her column. She said she’s milked every living source she has for something related to the afterlife and has come up with zilch. I think you and Ida need to tell her about Thomas solving his own murder,” Toots suggested.

  Sophie drew on her cigarette. “It’s fine with me. It’s Ida we have to convince. Remember that when we left here, she and that old, perverted fake were headlines. I’m not sure that she even wants to relive this. Nancy is awaiting trial. That alone will be a challenge when Ida is called to testify. I can just imagine what the headlines will be this time around.”

  “Goebel seems to think there won’t be a trial. Said he heard Nancy was offered a sweet plea deal, and her attorney advised her to take it. For Ida’s sake, I hope she does.”

  Curious, Sophie asked, “When did you speak to Goebel?”

  Toots smiled. “I called him last night. Just to say hi, see how the case was progressing. He mentioned something about taking a vacation.”

  Sophie’s ears perked up even more. “Did he say where he was going? When?” she asked, suddenly excited at the thought of seeing the old coot.

  “Not really. Though he did mention something about how he’d always wanted to go on one of those Hollywood home tours,” Toots said. “I would guess he’s thinking about a trip out West. You know, California.” Toots pronounced the state like their previous governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, did. Cal-ee-for-ne-uh.

  “Did he ask about me?” Sophie questioned.

  “No, he never mentioned you. Why?” Toots asked with a giant grin on her face.

  “Kiss off, Toots. Finish telling me about Nancy’s trial.” Sophie wasn’t about to let Toots know she was interested in Goebel, or at least any more than she already knew. She sure as hell didn’t want to be in the headlines.

  “That’s it, really. It will take months, maybe years, for this to make it to the courtroom. The fact that it’s made it this far is a true miracle. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she discovers that Thomas revealed her crime during a séance.”

  “I don’t want to see her face again. She totally creeped me out.”

  Mavis chose that moment to make an appearance on the deck. Normally, she would’ve had a trayful of sliced fruit and healthy food. Today she had several e-mails she had printed out. “You have to see this! I need both of you to advise me on what to do. Read these,” Mavis said, handing half of the papers to Sophie and the other half to Toots.

  “Mavis! This is f
antastic. I think you should do it,” Toots said. “You know I will do whatever I can to help.”

  Sophie shook her head. “We’re a bunch of sick bitches, you know that?”

  Mavis had a stack of e-mails from funeral parlors all over the country inquiring about her line of clothing for the living. Now it seemed morticians, undertakers around the country, thought a line of clothes for the dead would be successful, too. Several of the e-mails stated how they had to slice clothing in the back from top to bottom, many times having to stuff the clothing with plastic and paper to absorb the bodily fluids that often leaked from the body.

  “This is gross, Mavis!” Toots exclaimed.

  “Remember that story I told you about Pearl Mae Atkins?” Mavis asked.

  “I do,” Toots said. “That’s the saddest story. Leaving this world without anyone to tell you good-bye. I think you should consider this. Maybe you could even dress them yourself for a while, teach others how to do this. I truly believe you’re onto something.”

  “That’s what I think, too. I’ve already sketched a pattern for women. And I thought instead of the usual macabre colors, we could use peaches, lavender, and maybe a mint green. I have an idea for lining the clothes with a material, almost like a disposable diaper would feel. That could help absorb the body fluid. Plus, it would fill out the areas that needed . . . you know, plumping.”

  Sophie looked like she was ready to lose it. “I can’t believe you’re even considering something that . . . that bizarre.”

  “It’s no worse than your séances. Aren’t you reading tarot cards now? Abby said Chris was going to send over one of his clients to you for a reading. A midlist actress whose career is about to take a nosedive,” Mavis said.

  “That’s not the same thing,” Sophie said. “Dressing dead bodies! Just think about it, Mavis. You’ll smell like formaldehyde. And you know, people that dress the dead usually wind up doing the hair and makeup, too. Did you know that?”