Annie let loose with a shrill whistle. The room went silent. “Just because Amalie Laurent’s picture is in the paper doesn’t have to mean anything. When it’s a slow news day, they print my picture. Just to fill up space. I know how that works since I own the Post. Is there an article? What does it say?”

“I don’t know; 390 just sent the picture.”

Kathryn’s fist slammed down on the table. “I thought we agreed no more numbers! Who the hell is 390?”

Pearl flinched as she looked around the table. They all wore the same expressions Kathryn wore. “Audrey Blake is 390. She was one of my first ‘saves.’ She’s my third in command after 389, my second save. Her name is Beverly Hopkins,” Pearl said as she saw Kathryn raise her arm to bring it down on the table again.

“Don’t just sit there like some ninny, Pearl. Send her a text and ask her to send you the article or have her fax it here. You have the fax number.” Myra looked at Charles, and said, “Give her the number again, dear.” Charles obliged, as Pearl’s nervous fingers tapped out a text.

Pearl read off the return text that said Audrey had to make a copy of the article, then she would scan it to Charles, who would then put it up on the big screen for them all to see.

Ten minutes later, they were all looking at the beautiful woman named Amalie Laurent, aka Patricia Olsen. The text was a rehash of her modeling career, her marriage to Lincoln Moss, and her passion for privacy. Then came the clunker in the form of a question as Isabelle put it. Why would one of the most beautiful women in the world want to undergo plastic surgery to change her appearance? If true, who is going to be the next face of La Natural? Our intrepid reporters here at In the Know want to know.

The article went on to say that the thousand-dollar monthly bonus and a five-year free subscription to the paper for hot news would go to someone named Jane Petrie, but only when she submitted proof that surgery had taken place. Translation—before and after pictures that had not materialized as the paper went to press.

Readers were invited to call in, write in, or text if they had a sighting of the beautiful model. All sightings when confirmed would receive a year’s free subscription to the paper.

“Who the hell is Jane Petrie?” Ted asked.

“I’m checking Google and Facebook right now,” Dennis said, his thumbs flying over the small keyboard in front of him.

All eyes turned to Pearl. “Do you recognize the name, Pearl?” Myra asked.

“No. But that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it’s a made-up name, which would make sense if she’s selling confidential information.”

“That makes sense,” Jack agreed.

All eyes turned to Dennis, who was mumbling as fast as he was typing. “She’s a nurse. She’s single, and she works out of a registry that fills in for medical help on a temporary basis. She’s twenty-eight. According to Facebook, she says she never married, and that’s by her choice. Frees her up to take a trip to Europe twice a year. She lives in a town house in Crystal City and drives a Corvette. On-call nurses must make good money for her to afford her lifestyle. She graduated from Catholic University with a business degree but said that wasn’t for her, so she then went to nursing school, and said it was very rewarding. She claims to be a health-food nut and also an exercise nut. Those are her words. Her whole life is here on Facebook. And here is her picture!” he said triumphantly. “I’m uploading it to you, Charles. You can put it on the big screen.”