Two minutes later she saw Lizzie standing next to the hostess as she waited to be seated. Lizzie turned around to look at Maggie and burst out laughing when she saw the shoes in her hand.

Maggie followed Lizzie through the cheerful cafe, which smelled of fresh-roasted coffee and cinnamon, to a secluded table in the back. Lizzie's table. Lizzie, as Maggie had found out, had a table at just about every restaurant in town.

Both women ordered hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon, wheat toast, and a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice with crushed ice. Coffee was poured, and the two women settled down to discuss business, confident they were out of earshot of anyone who might have an interest in the two of them.

Lizzie took the lead. "Myra called yesterday and asked me to meet with you. She wants me to go to Las Vegas to check on something for her. She said I was to fill you in because you might want to send one of your reporters, possibly Ted Robinson, along with me. She said to fire up the Gulfstream if you're okay with it. If not, I fly commercial—it's your call. Having said that, she has an old friend who lives in Vegas. Annie and Judge Easter know this person also. From way back, childhood. They haven't seen or heard from each other in over fifty years. The friend's name is Beatrice. Myra calls her Beats. She, Beats, has seven last names, meaning, of course, that she has buried seven husbands. Her current last name is Preston, as in Alonzo Preston—also known for the shipping empire that he bequeathed to Beats. Beats inherited the whole ball of wax, not just the shipping fleet. She did the requisite ten-day mourning thing and now she's running in high gear because people are after her daughter.

"Before you ask how Miz Beats got in touch with Myra, I will tell you she contacted Nikki's old law firm, who then contacted me. At that point, I turned it over to Charles."

Maggie frowned. "And the story is. . .?"

"The daughter is in trouble. I'm sketchy on details at the moment. I guess I'll find out everything when I get there. All I know for certain is the daughter is in jail, and she's estranged from her mother.

"I want you to get in touch with Martine Connor and explain that I'm out of town. But I don't want her to know why, at least not right now. I can't risk having anything I do rub off on her. A week from now I might feel different. Everything seems to be going well for her at the moment, so why look for trouble. Martine is so far up in the polls I can't imagine anything that could bring her down, but you never know. It's only five weeks to the election, so we all have to be on our toes."