The Scoop (10 page)

T
en million bucks! By the time he paid off the mortgage on
The Informer
plus his gambling debts, he’d still be in the hole for two million.

Rodwell Archibald Godfrey III was in deep doo-doo. Big-time. Unless…

Rag’s brain kicked into overdrive. Part of him wanted to take the money and run. He could head down to the Cayman Islands, where he’d heard there were dozens of banks that didn’t ask questions about large deposits. A new identity, a new lifestyle. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could pull off a disappearing act without losing his ass, or his life. He had a few connections who were as unscrupulous as he was. He’d need a birth certificate, driver’s license, credit card, and passport. He knew in his gut he would never have another opportunity to literally disappear with ten million smackeroos. In the blink of an eye, he decided to go for the whole enchilada. Another part of him, the stubborn stupid part that he hated, said to stay and fight it out. He also knew his biggest failing in life was that he lived for the moment and never thought things through to a satisfactory conclusion. He’d get an itch, scratch it, and worry about the consequences later. That was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath as he weighed option one and option two. A no-brainer for sure. He was going to grab the ball and run with option one, and the devil take the hindmost.

Removing the BlackBerry from his pocket, Rag used the mini roller ball to scroll through his address book. When he saw the name and number he was searching for, he removed a TAC phone from his other pocket and punched in the number.

The phone rang as Rag paced the length of his office, raking a hand through his thinning brown hair. His comb-over was way too obvious, worse than Donald Trump’s because he could feel the slick bald spot at the top of his head. Maybe he’d invest in some hair plugs sometime in the near future. If he was able to keep most of the ten million dollars some crazy person had offered for
The Informer.

Rag took a moment to wonder if the crazy buyer was an alien from outer space. Nothing else made sense to him. He knew a thing or two about space aliens because he published articles about them at least once a month.

Because he was so antsy, Rag started to think seriously about the hair plugs. Maybe he’d get a face-lift, too. At fifty-two, he wasn’t getting any younger. The women who hit on him now were middle-aged, with brittle bleached blond hair, with skin tanned so dark it resembled a wrinkled cigar, and they wore their eyeliner too thick and their lipstick too bright. They were all pretty much the same. When he tried to puff himself up and told them he owned a newspaper, they thought he was Mr. Moneybags and threw themselves at him. Once they learned he owned a third-rate tabloid and was knee-deep in debt, they moved on to the next willing sucker. Rodwell, Rag, as he was referred to in tabloid journalism, thought it time to move on to greener and younger pastures. Ten million bucks almost guaranteed success in all areas. Oh, yeah.

“Yeah?” said a rough-sounding voice.

“I need to speak to Micky,” Rag growled.

“Yeah, so does half the world. He ain’t here.”

“When do you expect him?” Rag growled again. He hadn’t even considered this part, that Micky wouldn’t be available. Shit!

A moment of silence. “Who the hell are you to ask where my boss is? The president?
When do I expect him?”
The last sentence sounded so ominous, Rag felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck move.

Time to suck up. Micky was a good contact he couldn’t afford to lose or mess with. Rag wasn’t sure, but he rather thought Micky had Mafia ties. Shit, that was a lie. He
knew
Micky had mob ties. “It’s urgent that I speak with him; otherwise, I wouldn’t be calling his private number. Tell him there is a very large sum of money involved. He can call this number if he’s interested.” Rag rattled off his cell number, the one he used to call his bookies and other unsavory friends. He hung up, and ten seconds later, his cell rang.

He looked at the caller ID. Micky.

“Hello.”

“You called me. I’m returnin’ the call.” The deep voice sent a chill up Rag’s spine.

Tough guy.
Rag felt a whole second’s worth of guilt hit him before he pushed it aside. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to start over. He wasn’t going to let anything get in his way if he could help it.

“I need some documents. Fast. Like in instant
fast!
Birth certificate, passport, driver’s license, credit card, the whole megillah. How soon can you get them?”

“Wait a minute…we ain’t discussed my fee yet. We always gotta discuss my fee first,” Micky said.

Rag thought him as crass and tacky as the guy who had answered the phone seconds ago. He knew crass and tacky, he lived and worked in Hollywood. What happened to manners in the mob? He also knew if he wanted a class act, he should have gone to JPMorgan Chase and borrowed ten million dollars. “I’ll pay the going rate.” He had no clue what the going rate was, but he wasn’t stupid enough to name a price.

“A hundred grand,” Micky said, then added, “each.”

“Four hundred thousand dollars! You must be out of your mind. I can get fake documents on the Internet for a thousand.” There was no way in hell he was forking over four hundred grand for a new identity.

“Sure ya can, but will they pass customs? I don’t think so. It’s your life and your nickel. Do what you want.”

Damn! “Okay, let’s negotiate. I’ll give you fifty grand for everything. That’s all I have. Deal or no deal?” Wasn’t that the name of a new game show? Rag held his breath, waiting to see if his offer would be accepted.

Silence. “Yeah, for you I guess I can bend the rules a bit, seein’ as we’ve done business before. When do ya want ’em?”

“As quick as you can get them, like as in an hour ago,” Rag said, suddenly more excited than he’d been in a
very
long time. Screw Los Angeles. He was sick of all the phony stars who thought they were royalty, even sicker of chasing after some damned story that wasn’t really a story just so he could one-up his competition, a ploy that never worked anyway. Screw it, he was on his way to bigger and better things, he could feel it. Hell, he could
smell
it.

Christopher Lee Clay, Chris to his friends, had a nagging suspicion something was wrong with the pending sale of
The Informer.
Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was. Rodwell Godfrey had a nasty reputation for being a con man. Chris had drawn up the papers for the sale of
The Informer
for Toots just as she’d asked him to. Was that when he started to rethink the whole deal, or was it when she’d wired the money to the required bank and he knew it was official? He’d gone over the paperwork numerous times; then, as an extra precaution, he’d faxed the papers to one of his tennis buddies, a corporate attorney, just to make sure all the t’s were crossed and all the i’s were dotted properly. Yes, said his buddy, all appeared to be on the up-and-up. Still, Chris felt something was off. He hadn’t told Toots yet, figuring he would wait until she and her friends arrived later that afternoon. Maybe he was just being overly cautious where his stepmom was concerned. Though she had millions, he’d hate to see her bilked out of them unnecessarily. Hoping his paranoia was unfounded, Chris scrutinized the legal documents one last time. It all looked good on paper, but there was something nagging him. Godfrey was making out big-time, that much he was sure of. Maybe it was the outlandish price Toots had paid. Of course she
had
asked him to double any offer that had already been made. Sure, that was what it was, it had to be. Chris knew the paper was worth a pile of dung, but he also knew when Toots set her mind on doing something, there was no stopping her. Her daughter, Abby, was the same way.

Speaking of Abby. Chris remembered when he’d first met his new stepsister. She’d been in her early teens, and he’d just finished his last year of high school. They’d hit it off immediately, but after that one visit, it seemed his visits to Charleston rarely coincided with hers, so they hardly saw one another. After his father died, he’d remained close to Toots but hadn’t seen enough of Abby to have any real genuine brotherly feelings toward her. Toots practically begged him to come home for Abby’s college graduation. Chris figured it was the least he could do for a stepsister that he really liked. Though when he saw her after the ceremony, when she’d removed her cap and gown, she about knocked his socks off. No longer the skinny little girl with towheaded curls. Abby Simpson was a knockout. Pure and simple. From that moment on, Chris never looked at her the same way again. The few times they’d been together, he’d always teased her about being so small, telling her she would never grow up. Well, grow up she had. Abby was gorgeous, much more so than the starlets who clung to his arm seven days a week.

When Abby moved to LA, they got together occasionally for lunch or dinner and usually at his suggestion. Each time they saw one another, Chris felt drawn to Abby in a way that was anything but brotherly. He suspected Typhoon Toots would kill him if she knew, so he kept up the big-brother act. There had been a few times he’d caught Abby looking at him in a way that he was sure wasn’t sisterly love either, though he’d never pursued a relationship with her because it didn’t feel right.

He dated his share of Hollywood starlets. Being an entertainment attorney had its benefits. He’d negotiated tons of contracts for Hollywood’s finest and was paid out the yin-yang for his services. And then there were those special stars who always liked to give him more than his 20 percent share of their earnings, a little added bonus, as they put it. If he was truthful, and truthful he was, at least to himself, he was tiring of LA’s fast-paced lifestyle. The glitter and glamour had worn off a long time ago. At thirty-three, he longed for something more, something real, which always brought him back to Abby.

Abby had made no bones about it, she loved LA, loved her job as a tabloid reporter, and made no excuses for her choices. He’d admired her for her honesty and guts. Compact loveliness, he thought, even though he knew it sounded old-fashioned and silly. When it was time to settle down, Chris knew he wanted a woman like Abby, someone sure of herself and secure with her choices. Sadly, he’d probably have to relocate to someplace like North Dakota if he wanted to find a woman as real as Abby, because real wasn’t something LA was noted for.

Clutching the legal documents in his hand, Chris meandered out to the kitchen for a bottle of Perrier before settling himself on the terrace, which overlooked the ocean. He’d paid a small fortune for the beachfront house, and now he wondered why. It had never felt like a real home to him. Certainly nothing like Toots’s Southern mansion or Abby’s little ranch house. His place was modern with wall-to-wall glass, white pine floors, and absolutely no personality at all. No throw pillows tossed about to lounge on, no stack of magazines placed casually on a side table, no family photos, no green plants growing wildly. Chris reasoned that when he left this behind, all he would need to do would be to pack his clothes and toothbrush and leave. He didn’t really like the furniture, the dishes, the drapes; he didn’t like the pictures on the walls. Actually, he hadn’t liked much of anything about this place since purchasing it five years ago. He blamed the decorator and his own lack of input. He’d given her carte blanche because he was too damn busy negotiating all those nice fat contracts and collecting his equally fat fees. After all, he did little more than sleep here, and with his eyes closed, he didn’t have to look at anything.

He’d hosted a few client dinners with the help of a catering service, and nothing more. No friends came to visit, no Sunday football days with the guys, nothing. To him, his house was simply a place to sleep and shower. Since he didn’t have an office, he spent most of his workdays at various hot spots and clubs, doing business with clients and potential clients who wanted to “be seen.” As he had been voted one of LA’s top ten bachelors, women both young and old hankered to be seen with him. Chris didn’t think it much of an accomplishment in his shallow world of see-and-be-seen. Though there were those who would contradict him, who would trade places with him in a heartbeat.

Maybe with Toots coming to town, he’d actually find time to enjoy himself for a change.

A
s soon as the plane landed and it was permissible to turn cell phones on, Toots called Abby, and just as she’d promised, Abby had a limo waiting for them on the tarmac at LAX. Toots couldn’t wait to see her daughter and take the girls to the Beverly Hills Hotel, where they would all be in need of a bit of pampering. She was so excited she was giddy with the feeling.

The flight had been smooth, and Toots was glad she’d hired a private jet for the trip. She could not imagine Ida on a commercial flight. White-knuckled the entire flight, Ida had remained quietly in her seat. Toots was sure it wasn’t out of a fear of flying. More like a fear of touching. Poor Ida. She had her first appointment with the shrink specializing in OCD tomorrow afternoon. And if the appointment wasn’t productive, then Ida was going to go it cold turkey.

Before leaving Charleston, Toots had made arrangements with Henry Whitmore to wire ten million dollars to Chris’s escrow account for the purchase of
The Informer
. Henry sputtered and snarled, asking her if she’d lost her mind when she’d told him what she was buying. When she spoke to Chris about the pending sale, he hadn’t sounded as confident as usual. She felt a tinge of worry. What if she had to tell Abby she was the new owner of
The Informer?
Would Abby want to work for her
mother?
Toots didn’t think so. But if it came down to it, she would confess to Abby and risk whatever the fallout was.

Putting her concerns aside, Toots waited for the limo driver to secure their luggage in the trunk. Once he’d finished, she stepped aside, allowing Mavis to get in first since she would take up an entire section of the U-shaped seats. Joe had given Mavis a clean bill of health just this morning. The stress test indicated she could start a reasonable exercise program anytime she wanted. Mavis was another one who was going to go cold turkey if she didn’t perform and live up to the promises she’d made to lose her extra weight.

With Mavis seated and Coco snug in the carrier next to her, Sophie piled inside. “I can’t believe it. After all these years, I’m finally riding in a stretch limousine. I see them around the city all the time.” She smoothed her skirt and patted the place next to her. “Come on, Ida. I don’t have cooties.” Sophie laughed, and Toots couldn’t help but join in.

As though she were about to enter a minefield, Ida carefully eased herself into the seat beside Sophie. Toots climbed inside, sitting across from the trio.

A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket with four crystal glasses placed beside it beckoned the ladies. Someone had propped a note card next to the ice bucket. Toots opened it. “This is from Abby.” She pointed to the champagne and scanned the note. “She says welcome to LA and that she will meet us at the Polo Lounge for dinner at seven. Seven will be ten our time, so we’ll have to take a nap, or at least rest a bit. What do you say?” Toots heard the excitement in her own voice, something she hadn’t felt in a while. Not since she’d up and married Leland. Well, Leland was six feet under, and she was alive and well and about to embark on a new adventure. Nothing could stop her from enjoying her life now, not that anything ever had. She’d just been a little more reserved back in the day—sometimes, anyway. Well, this was a whole new day! Toots was simply thrilled to be footloose and fancy-free. And she was damn well going to remain free this time around. No more men for her. Well, no more
marriages,
at least; she hadn’t completely sworn off men. Besides, eight husbands was enough of a track record.

“I say we go for it! I want to get that full-body massage you always rave about. I could use a cut, color, and a wax job, too,” Sophie said with a grin.

“What parts do you wax?” Mavis asked curiously.

“What parts do you think I wax?” Sophie shot back.

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked. I see on TV where women wax everything these days. And I mean
everything.”

“Well, I don’t go that far. It kills me to get my eyebrows done. I can’t imagine what it would feel like…you know”—Sophie looked at her lap—“down there.”

Toots burst out laughing. Mavis and Sophie were so naive. She knew that before Ida’s phobia, she’d done all those things. She looked over at her old friend and was surprised at the grin on her face. Maybe there was some hope for Ida after all.

“She asked,” Sophie commented drily. “What about it, Toots, have you ever gotten a full-body wax job?”

“Of course I have.”

“Where?” Sophie persisted.

“Oh, for God’s sake, stop asking questions like a teenager. No, I haven’t had anything below the belt waxed, okay? And if I had, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to get all pissy on me. I was just curious. Since I never had a full-body wax job, what’s wrong with asking questions. What about it, Ida? You live in the big wicked city. You ever go to one of those fancy salons for a wax job?”

“Sophie!” Toots chastised.

“I meant before she got all wacky with her germ thing.”

“Sophie Manchester, I’ll have you know that I have had that area waxed more than once. Actually, Thomas suggested it after he watched
The Jerry Springer Show
once. It’s not too painful.” Ida had a glazed look in her eyes.

The women stared at Ida in surprise. Coco woke up, barked at the high-volume discussion, her tiny tail straight in the air. Ida had been virtually silent the entire trip. They all tried to envision the Ida sitting across from them admitting to getting a bikini wax.

“I think that’s more than we need to know, Ida,” Mavis mumbled. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am starving. Are we planning a snack before dinner?”

Coco barked again.
The dog must know that the word
dinner
means food,
Toots thought.

“Of course. I’ve arranged for each of our bungalows to be fully stocked with food and alcoholic beverages as well as diet soft drinks. We’ll have a light snack at my place before we have our massages. I even have a dog sitter lined up for Coco.” Toots stopped talking to gaze out the window. “Look at this! All this sunshine, the exotic flowers, it’s simply beautiful here. I’m so glad you girls came along. I say we make a toast.” Toots popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and poured each one of them a glass of the pale bubbly. She had a visitor’s view of the city, she knew, but she was just so damn happy, she wanted to shout it to the world.

“What are we toasting now? Not that I mind. It’s just that I don’t want to get drunk until later. That scotch threw me for a loop this morning. I haven’t had this much since nursing school,” Sophie said.

Toots held up her glass. “I’d like to make a toast to my best friends and to the best three godmothers a girl could ask for.”

For the second time that day, the foursome clinked their glasses together.

Traffic was unusually light, Toots thought, as they arrived at the Beverly Hills Hotel within an hour of their landing. Toots was impressed. As far as she was concerned, this was the way to travel. Top of the line, first class all the way. She had enough money, so why not spend it and enjoy herself? At the same time, she was treating her friends to a wonderful vacation. If something more materialized, all the better. If not, the girls would have a great memory to take back home. If nothing else, Toots was realistic. She knew a thing or two about the best-laid plans of mice and men—women, that is.

Amidst sprawling green shrubbery and a kaleidoscope of lush flowers blossoming from every direction, Toots felt like Dorothy entering the land of Oz as they passed through the private gates and entered the hotel grounds. Toots couldn’t remember ever seeing so many brilliant plants and flowers in one place, and Charleston was known for its flora. Her own grounds as well as her veranda were awash in a rainbow of color, but it was nothing like what she was seeing right at that moment.

“Would you look at this?” Sophie peered out the window as the limo crawled toward the entrance. “I don’t even want to know how much it cost to stay in a place like this.”

Mavis tried to peek out of the tinted window behind her, but she was too heavy to turn around. “Darn, I’m too fat to look! Oh, Toots, I can’t wait to rid myself of this blubber. I’m almost too embarrassed to enter the hotel. I’m sure it’s full of movie stars and Hollywood types.”

Toots saw real fear in her friend’s eyes. “Listen, Mavis, you are as good, no, you’re better than those people. So what if you’ve gained a few pounds? We’re here, and you’re going to enjoy yourself. You deserve this. And if anyone gives you one second of grief, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Mavis’s eyes glistened with tears. “Okay, okay, I can handle this,” she muttered over and over under her breath.

“Remember what you just said when I won’t let you off the treadmill or when I give you a plate of sprouts with a slice of lemon.” Toots grinned.

“I’ll do my best, I promise,” Mavis said. Toots knew her old friend meant it.

“I know you will. Now wipe off those tears, and let’s see a smile on your face. You, my friend, are in Hollywood now. God, isn’t it wonderful! And on top of that, we’re on a mission to make Abby’s life as perfect as we can.”

“And everyone in Hollywood smiles or else.” Sophie grinned as an example.

When the car came to a complete stop, the driver hopped out and opened the passenger door. One by one, the ladies stepped out of the limousine into the bright midafternoon California sunshine.

“Welcome to the Beverly Hills Hotel.” A young man dressed in white from head to toe smiled. “If you will, follow me, please.”

The Beverly Hills Hotel, located on Sunset Boulevard, was
the
hotel where movie stars could be seen on a daily basis, according to Toots’s travel agent, and that’s why she’d okayed the reservation. That, and because she wanted to sleep where Elizabeth Taylor had slept. As the new owner and publisher of
The Informer,
she wasn’t going to miss an opportunity for any news stories about Hollywood. If she had to make them up herself, she was prepared to do so. Abby was not going to lose her job to that gambling, womanizing idiot she worked for. Not as long as Toots had breath left in her body.

“Come on, Toots, we’re waiting,” Mavis called.

Lost in thought, Toots didn’t realize the others were already inside the van that would deliver them to their private bungalows. She climbed inside for the short ride. “I got lost there for a minute. Sorry. Must be all the sunshine,” she said happily.

“And you really want to live here?” Sophie queried.

“Not all the time. At least not at this stage of the game. I plan on spending the next two weeks learning how to run a tabloid. I don’t think the actual running of the paper will be that hard since we’ll hire people to do that. I think it will be more overseeing things than actually operating the paper. What’s going to be difficult is staying undercover and pulling it off without Abby’s suspecting anything.”

Had she bitten off more than she could chew? She certainly hoped not.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just tell her you bought the paper,” Ida said out of the blue. “It’s not like she won’t find out eventually.”

“Get that thought out of your mind right now. And since you’ve been known to be a little too chatty on occasion, you better not tell her, or I will personally dunk your hand minus the latex glove in the nastiest garbage can I can find,” Sophie said.

“I didn’t say I was going to tell Abby. Of course I would never say or do anything to upset her. I just don’t understand why it all has to be kept secret. I’m for being up front and honest. You get into less trouble that way. Don’t threaten me, Sophie.”

Toots put her finger over her lips and nodded toward the hotel driver. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now I want to relax, enjoy the scenery, and have a drink to celebrate our visit. It’s almost a blessing to be out from under Bernice’s watchful eye. She’s wonderful, but she’s way too protective and a tad nosy. Normally, I don’t mind. Crap, yes, I do mind.”

“Oh, that’s not true! Nosy just means she cares about you. Admit it, you love her as much as the rest of us. You told me so yourself in an e-mail,” Sophie said tartly.

“True, but nonetheless it’s good to be on my own with no one hovering over me.”

“I totally understand. When I was teaching, I used to pray for the summers. By the end of the school year, the kids were antsy, and I would get really tired of being the English teacher. I just wanted to go home and relax, not have to worry about someone else. Of course, when Herbert died, I was so lonely I almost considered signing up to substitute. I don’t know why I changed my mind. Maybe if I had continued working, I wouldn’t have gotten so fat!” Mavis laughed at herself. Toots thought the laughter was a good sign.

“Well, you know what they say: The past is prologue. It’s time to move on to bigger and better things,” Toots announced.

“I already have the bigger, but I’m more than willing to take a chance on the better,” Mavis said, smiling from ear to ear.

“That’s the spirit!” Sophie encouraged. “Something tells me we’re all about to experience the ride of our life.”

Toots nodded. “Let’s just hope it’s a smooth one.”

“Teresa, do you really think I can overcome this…this
issue
I have?” Ida looked down at her latex-covered hands. “I know this is crazy, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’ll do anything humanly possible to get back to a normal life. If you help me with this…this problem, I’ll forgive you for stealing Jerry away from me.”

“You’ve already taken the first step. And of course I plan to be with you every step of the way until you can dunk your hand in a garbage can just like Sophie said. That’s what friends are for. We stick together. And, Ida, I did you a favor by marrying old Jerry. How many times do I have to tell you that? He couldn’t even…well, let’s just say that most of our married years, we had nothing more than a platonic relationship.”

“I suppose I should thank you, then,” Ida said, with a slight tilt to her lips.

“Forget Jerry, Ida, and move forward with your life. The past is gone. We aren’t getting any younger, and I, for one, intend to savor my so-called twilight years.”