“I was up all night, couldn’t sleep, and believe it or not, it wasn’t my leg bothering me. We missed something, Nikki. Sure as shooting we did.”

“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep either, and it had nothing to do with Jack’s being gone. It wasn’t Goodwin, I think he leveled with us yesterday. That only leaves . . .”

“Pam Warren!” Kathryn snarled. “Five bucks says that skunk Lincoln Moss got to her. We need to go there right now. Hop in, girl!”

Myra and Annie appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Where are you two going? You just got here!”

“I screwed up!” Kathryn shouted. “We’re on our way to fix it! We’ll be back as soon as we can get here!” In the blink of an eye, she had the MINI whipped around and was blasting out of the gate, tires smoking on the little compact car.

“What do you think that was all about?” Annie asked.

“Kathryn screwed up,” Myra said, shrugging her shoulders. “The only place she went yesterday was to the tabloid paper. At least as far as I know. They said they got what they went after, so I don’t have a clue what Kathryn was talking about or what she meant about screwing up. If they’re going back there, then it’s obvious something has happened there since yesterday and that Kathryn is involved. We’ll just have to be patient and wait till they get back for the details.”

“I just hate being on hold,” Annie grumbled. “What are we going to do now, Myra? Everyone is out doing something, and here we sit.”

“I thought we were picking out our outfits for the gala this weekend. You’re the one who said we needed to knock everyone’s socks off with our outfits. So, since time is of the essence, we had best get back to work.”

“That is so humdrum. We need to be where the action is. Think, Myra, what can we do?”

“By do, do you mean like visit Nellie and Elias or possibly pestering Pearl? Define the word do, Annie.”

“That’s the problem, Myra. I don’t know. All the bases seem to be covered at the moment. We are at this point in time at ground zero and empty-handed. Unless you have some ideas.”

“Let’s have some coffee. We think better with coffee. Charles can pick our outfits. For some reason, he has good fashion sense, and no, Annie, I have never figured out the why of that.”

While Myra prepared the coffee, Annie paced the confines of the kitchen. “I think we should concentrate on Lincoln Moss. Who do we know who knows him? Think, Myra. I’m sure I must know someone. Do you think Charles knows anyone? Or better yet, do we know anyone who knows . . . or knew his wife?”

“Off the top of my head, the answer is no. But let’s run it up the flagpole and see if either one of us can salute it. There has to be someone. How much have you read up on Moss, Annie?”