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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Deadline
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A sharp intake of breath came from the first lady when she saw the glass move ever so slightly to the right. Sophie gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We've made contact.”
“If you are here on behalf of our guest, move the glass to the left.”
Suddenly, the glass lurched to the left.
The temperature in the small room became icy, and the candles flickered as though a gust of air had passed over them.
“Thank you.” Sophie figured it never hurt to let the spirit know its presence was appreciated and welcomed.
“In her dreams, she is in a tunnel filled with people. She tries to run, yet she is unable. There are gunshots. There are faces of two men in her dreams. Are the events that led to your death related to her dreams? If the answer is yes, move the glass to the right. If the answer is no, move the glass to the left.”
All eyes were focused on the glass.
As if an invisible hand swooped down and took the glass, it flew across the room, shattering against the ancient plaster walls.
“Oh my God!” the first lady cried.
Toots, Ida, and Mavis didn't move. They'd come a long way since their first séance.
“This is no cause for alarm. I think the spirit is trying to tell us he is angry. Mavis, there is another glass in the box on the floor behind you. Would you please get it and place it in the center of the table?” Sophie asked.
Mavis slipped out of her chair quietly, located the box, took out the glass, and centered it on the table. As soon as she was seated, Sophie continued, “Let's put our fingers on the glass.”
They did as instructed.
“If you're angry, move the glass to the right.”
Within seconds, the glass moved to the right, stopped, then moved to the right again.
The chilled room was deathly silent.
“I think it's time for us to try another method. I think I only have a few extra glasses,” Sophie said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“I don't understand,” the first lady stated.
Sophie pointed to the legal pad and the stack of pencils on the table. “There is something called automatic writing. This allows the spirit to communicate through the medium. This technique has been very successful in the past.”
Sophie neglected to say that she'd solved a murder using automatic writing. Ida's deceased husband was thought to have died from E-coli from eating a piece of tainted meat. During a séance, his spirit had provided them with enough information to give to law enforcement to prove his death was not an accident.
“All right. Just tell me what to do,” the first lady whispered, her fear evident.
“You don't have to do anything except concentrate and allow the spirit to work through me. Automatic writing is essentially writing that's done in an altered state of consciousness, and directed by the spirits of the dead. The spirit will literally manipulate the pencil in my hand. I will be unaware of what is being written and will ask that you not look at the paper until we're finished.”
“Exactly how does one put oneself into a trance?”
Sophie had never had her methods questioned so thoroughly, but understood the first lady's skepticism and did not resent it at all.
“I'm going to take several deep breaths, then close my eyes. It's like self-hypnosis. Now, you will all join hands, clear your minds, and relax.”
Sophie dropped her head to her chest and began to inhale and exhale. She allowed herself several minutes to reach her self-imposed hypnotic state.
Suddenly, she grabbed the pencil in her left hand. She began to move it across the top of the legal pad. She drew four small squares, two on the top and two below. They were precise, perfectly aligned. Then she drew a large square around the four squares. Her hand whipped across the page, where she proceeded to sketch what appeared to be a small hill. At the bottom of the page, in a childlike scrawl, she wrote in block letters:
O. L. H.
H. O. L.
L. H. O.
 
She dropped the pencil, only to pick it back up with her right hand. Sophie was right-handed. Skipping all over the page, she made dozens of question marks.
She ripped a page from the tablet, and using her left hand again, drew four small squares, two on the top and two below as she had done only minutes before. On the bottom right of the page, she began to sketch slowly, then quickly, as though she was running out of time. Her head lolled to the side, she dropped the pencil, and her body collapsed in the chair.
The temperature of the room returned to normal, and the flames on the candles stopped flickering.
Toots got up and opened the drapes, while Mavis blew out the candles. Ida remained seated. The first lady looked to be in a state of semishock. Sophie stretched her arms out in front of her, then picked up the tablet.
She studied the writing on the second page. “Where is the first page?” she asked.
“Here, you tore it out.” Toots gave her the paper.
Sophie spent a few extra minutes mulling over the papers. “I'm not one hundred percent sure what this means; I don't know how it's connected to your dreams. Maybe you can see something I'm not.”
Handing the papers to the first lady, Sophie watched as the governor's wife reviewed the content. When she spied the miniature drawing of the face on the bottom right corner, she gasped.
“I can't believe it! It's the same face from my dreams! And this, look.” She tapped her finger against the paper. “Do you have any idea what this is? I'm sure this has something to do with my uncle's assassination. Maybe he's been trying to tell me something in my dreams.”
Sophie nodded. Toots, Ida, and Mavis listened intently.
“I wasn't there when it happened, but I've seen hundreds and hundreds of pictures and newsreels from that day. This is the grassy knoll on the hill in Dallas. And this”—she again tapped the paper with her fingertip—“is the window from the depository.” She turned the paper around in order for Sophie to see it. “What do you think?”
The three other women stood behind Sophie while she viewed her cryptic writings.
“I'll be right back,” the first lady stated as she hurried out of the room. In less than a minute, she was back in the room with a large book in her hand. Quickly flipping through the pages, she stopped when she found what she was looking for.
She laid the book on the table next to the paper that displayed Sophie's handiwork. “This can't leave this room, ever. Look, you know who this man is?”
No one said a word. The significance hit the wall like a ton of bricks.
The sketch of the face at the bottom of the paper was a replica of Lee Harvey Oswald.
Chapter 2
T
he next morning, the first lady accompanied them on the ride to the airport, where they would board her husband's personal jet for the return flight to Los Angeles. “I haven't slept as well as I did last night in such a long time, and I have you to thank,” she said to Sophie, who was feeling quite proud of herself.
When the séance had ended the night before, Sophie concluded that the former president was trying to tell his niece there were no complex conspiracies, that the conspiracy theories about his death were just that and nothing more. The face from her dreams, the same face that Sophie had sketched, was that of the man responsible for his assassination.
“I was glad to help,” Sophie said.
If her findings were accurate, she would forever hold a place in history. However, the information would never be made public. Sophie was content with the results even though they had not been quite as detailed as those of some séances she had performed in the past. Maybe those seemingly insignificant things in the first lady's life were just that. Insignificant. Personally, Sophie thought the poor woman's life was filled with too many complex details, which led her to deny the simple truth concerning her uncle's death. Someone was trying to tell her that, hence the nightmares.
Their return to the airport wasn't accompanied by quite the pomp and circumstance of their arrival. The same luxury jet awaited them, and the pilots greeted them as though they were old friends.
From inside her carrier, Coco growled at the two men, then stuck her tiny tongue out as though she were a naughty child. Everyone laughed. The chauffeur assisted the copilot in storing their luggage in the cargo hold of the small jet. Sophie and the first lady said their good-byes, and Sophie shook hands with Toots, Ida, and Mavis, thanking them for their discretion. In a matter of minutes, the four friends were back inside the aircraft and strapped in for the flight to LA.
Arriving back at Malibu, courtesy of yet another limousine, they piled out of the vehicle, glad to return to the beach house. For the past forty-eight hours, Sophie and Toots had refrained from their usual chain-smoking, settling instead for the nicotine gum Mavis was always pushing. It'd been Sophie's idea, telling Toots it probably wasn't politically correct to chain-smoke in the presence of the first lady, knowing she and her husband were health nuts.
“I don't know about you, but if I don't have a cigarette soon, I'm going to croak,” Sophie said as she hustled toward the beach house.
“Oh dear, and here I thought you both were happy chewing your nicotine gum. Why don't you try that for a while? It can't be as bad for your lungs as those nasty old cigarettes you smoke,” Mavis said sweetly.
Toots placed an arm around Mavis's shoulder as the two of them walked up the steps to the beach house. “Our cigarette habit is as bad as your junk-food habit was. I know it isn't healthy, and so does Sophie. At this point in my life, I don't feel like I'm quite ready to give up the habit, but I promise I will continue to chew that nasty rubbery nicotine gum just for you, Mavis. How's that?”
“I suppose it will have to do,” Mavis said. “I do wish you two would stop.”
Ida, who lagged behind, spoke up. “Sophie and Toots don't have the power to overcome their addiction.”
Toots turned around and looked at Ida. “I don't want to overcome any of my addictions, Ida. I like sugar, I like cigarettes, and I like an occasional drink. So there. Why don't you consider giving up men?”
“You can be such an ass.” Ida's words weren't said maliciously, as it was just the type of relationship they shared. Two old women bitching at each other for anything and everything. Toots was quite fond of Ida and vice versa.
Toots flipped her the single-digit salute.
Once everyone was back inside the beach house, they went to their respective rooms. They had established a routine since their temporary relocation to Los Angeles. Mavis was the official chef since she'd lost all that weight, and had become very adept at serving them healthful and delicious meals. Toots, of course, had to have her sugar-laced bowl of Froot Loops at least once a week, but she managed to do so without letting Mavis know about it. Ida, no longer obsessed with germs, had focused her energy on her old passion, photography. Toots admitted that Ida was quite good at it and encouraged her to pursue her interest. Beyond that, Mavis and Ida had become quite successful with funeral parlors throughout the country.
Mavis had designed a line of clothing called Good Mourning. They were clothes mourners could wear not only during the rituals intended to ease the journey of the dearly departed into the netherworld, a world in which Sophie seemed so comfortable, but even after the mourners' loved ones had crossed over.
Ida, a stunning woman extremely skilled at applying makeup, took an interest in Mavis's project when Mavis went to a conference in San Francisco, where she learned how to lay out the dead. In the course of their activities, Ida developed her own line of cosmetics, Drop-Dead Gorgeous
.
Mavis, in her desire to help the dearly departed look their best, had also designed a line of clothing for the dead. Her success was so great, she had had to hire a team of seamstresses, then rent a warehouse from which to operate the company. While most of her orders came from the Internet, she had become quite well-known among morticians and funeral directors.
They had all come quite a long way since Toots had sent them that e-mail two years ago inviting them to Charleston right after her eighth husband, Leland, a wealthy cheapskate, had kicked the bucket. She'd felt herself at loose ends, something in her wanting to make a dramatic change in her life. Abby's phone call telling her that
The Informer
was going up for sale had catapulted her into the life she now shared with her three childhood friends. She was truly a happy camper.
While she and the girls were in California, Bernice, her dear friend and housekeeper for more years than she cared to remember, remained in Charleston. During a visit home, to Charleston, Toots had learned of a bakery that made the most perfect pralines. Bernice, the Queen of Superstition, told her that at the grand opening of the bakery, The Sweetest Things, a man had died of a heart attack while waiting in line. Bernice was sure that anyone who came in contact with the bakery or the young girl who owned it would suffer a tragedy of their own if they purchased any baked goods.
It was all the encouragement Toots needed to go check out the bakery for herself. She, along with Mavis, Sophie, and Ida, met the owner, whose name was Jamie. Toots had taken one bite of her pralines and knew instantly that the young woman had a talent. After she had learned that Jamie was about one week from closing down, thanks to the bad publicity over the man who died while waiting in line, Toots suggested she and Jamie go into partnership together. The venture was now extremely successful. Tourists and locals waited in line for hours to purchase her pralines, which were famous statewide.
And Jamie had been living in Toots's guesthouse ever since. She had offered to move now that she was financially stable, but Bernice had become quite attached to the young girl and insisted she stay. Toots agreed. Jamie was like a second daughter. But she was the daughter Bernice had never had. Having a grown son who spent most of his adult life traveling the world searching for who knew what, Bernice was beyond heartbroken by her son's neglect. Toots suspected there was more to the story but didn't voice her thoughts to Bernice. For now, she was happy and content to help Jamie with the bakery. She knew enough not to mess with a good thing.
Toots unpacked and took a quick shower. She slipped into a pair of old jeans she'd had for longer than she cared to remember, topped with a gauzy pale peach blouse. She twisted her heavy auburn hair into a topknot. Sucking in her cheeks, she filled hollows with a matte bronzer a shade deeper than her skin, accentuating her high cheekbones. A touch of mascara, and her favorite coral-colored lipstick, and she was good to go. Since starting her bicoastal lifestyle, as she liked to think of it, she'd been a wee bit more conscientious about her appearance. She slipped her feet into a pair of Kelsi Dagger embellished leather flats, grabbed her package of Marlboros, and headed out to the deck, where the four friends had agreed to meet.
Sophie had arranged the blue-and-white-covered deck chairs in their favorite positions, side by side, with the giant seashell ashtray on the table between them. Toots reclined next to Sophie, lit a cigarette, and took a deep, satisfying puff.
“I don't see how we managed to do without these damned cigarettes for forty-eight hours.”
“Yeah, well, I can't either, but I thought it proper given the circumstances. Plus, it seemed to make Mavis happy,” Sophie said.
Toots blew out a large stream of light gray smoke, her throaty laughter deep and rich. “You know, we have cut down quite a bit.”
“I know. But you know as well as I do that cutting down isn't the same thing as quitting. I'm thinking about it, really.” Sophie had a smile on her face.
“I suppose if you do, I'll have to give it a more concerted effort.”
At that moment, Mavis stepped out on the deck, carrying a tray full of tropical delights. “I thought you girls might want a snack.”
She placed the platter on the large patio table. Bowls of fresh pineapple, kiwi, and strawberries, were topped with slices of grapefruit—the day's snacks. Mavis had arranged the fruit so perfectly, it would've looked at home on the cover of
Bon Appétit.
Ida, the queen of sophisticated fashion, chose that moment to grace them with her presence
.
She was wearing a feminine, billowy yellow skirt with a matching blouse and gold kitten-heeled sandals. As always, her blond hair was coiffed in a perfect pageboy.
“I just checked my e-mail, and I have fourteen requests from funeral parlors wanting to carry my line of Drop-Dead Gorgeous cosmetics,” Ida informed them as she helped herself to a bowl of fruit.
“That's fantastic,” Mavis said. “I must admit, I looked at my e-mail, too. There were more than a hundred orders. I still can't believe my new career. While it's sad, I feel good about sending people's loved ones off in style. I always thought it was such a morbid thing to have to pick out an outfit in which to bury a family member. Now, funeral parlors can offer my services, saving the family the pain of searching for that final dress or suit. When Herbert died, he only had one suit, so there wasn't really any choice to make.”
“Can we talk about something else besides dead people?” Toots asked.
Everyone laughed.
“Has anyone spoken to Abby?” Mavis asked.
Now that she was editor in chief at
The Informer,
Abby spent most of her time behind a desk. However, when the opportunity arose and she was needed, she pounded the pavement just like the reporters, in search of the next big story.
“I tried to call her right before I got in the shower. All I got was her voice mail. I left a message to tell her we were back at the beach house and would be home all evening if she wanted to bring Chester by to visit with Coco.” Chester was Abby's German shepherd, who just happened to be madly in love with Coco.
On hearing her name, Coco popped out through her newly installed doggie door onto the deck. She growled, then barked. They all knew she had recognized Chester's name.
Mavis picked up the little dog and placed her in her lap. “Coco would love to see her sweetie, wouldn't she?”
Alert, her ears perking up, Coco stared at the door, most likely searching for Chester.
They spent the next half hour discussing dogs, cats, and food. Toots and Sophie smoked three cigarettes each and Mavis went back to the kitchen, where she made a pot of coffee and brought it back out to the deck.
The sun was low on the horizon, a brilliant red and yellow ball sinking into the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Foamy white waves curled onto the bisque-colored sand. The early-evening air was warm, yet the breeze off the ocean provided just the right amount of motion to make everyone comfortable. The four women continued to relax on the deck and enjoy their coffees and light conversation.
As they were about to get into a lengthy discussion on the merits and demerits of plastic surgery, the telephone rang. Expecting Abby's call, Toots had brought it outside with her. She looked at the caller ID and picked up on the second ring. “Abby, you got my message. How are you?”
“I'm great. How are the three Gs?” Abby asked, affectionately referring to her three godmothers.
“Ornery as ever. You should know that,” Toots teased.
“How was Sacramento?”
Abby knew they'd gone to Sacramento, but had no clue why. Toots hated being dishonest or evasive, especially to her daughter. But being a newspaper editor, Abby would know how important protecting one's sources was. What they'd just done required absolute silence.
“It was a quick trip, nothing exciting. We all had a little bit of business to attend to,” Toots explained to her daughter. “Is there any juicy Hollywood gossip these days?”

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