I flicked the TV on and surfed, killing time before Bill Curtis came on with a new episode of Cold Case Files. He should really think about suing that lame Jerry Bruckheimer show. They’d stolen his title under the guise of “fair use” and that chick on there sucked. Her hair was always disheveled, as if having messy hair made her more real. I was home in time for the news, and Paul Moyer’s voice boomed out at me. “She was bright, beautiful, and had a promising career, and now she’s dead. Our Beverly White is live from Hollywood with this breaking story of a rising actress murdered in her own home. Beverly?”

“Thanks, Paul,” Beverly said. “I’m here in the exclusive Beachwood Canyon area of Los Angeles, home to many movie stars and recording artists. They move here for the privacy and the serenity of the canyon setting. But now they are questioning all that—with the news of this talented young actress’s shocking murder.”

“Oh, give me a break!” I complained to the TV.

The piece went on and on. The coverage of Chloe’s death consumed a full four minutes at the top of the show. There was nothing like the news in LA. I couldn’t believe people were getting killed in Iraq and this was the lead story. When Beverly started going into Chloe’s credits and got to her work with Scorsese, I knew it was time to change the channel.

“Lucy, let’s move into the bedroom.” She was purring in stereo and knew exactly what I was talking about. As soon as I stood up and switched the TV off, she was racing down the hallway toward the bed. I lit the candles on my nightstand and the dresser. I used to buy them to light my liaisons, but when those never materialized, I lit them for Lucy and me.

Pouring my second glass of champagne, I flicked on the bedroom TV. Lucy jumped up onto the bed and settled in next to me. When Bill came onscreen to intro tonight’s real cold case, I smiled. This was bliss.

As usual, I passed out during the show. The next morning I woke up with the sun streaming right onto my bed. I threw back the duvet and glanced at the clock. I couldn’t believe that I’d been asleep for ten hours. I raced around the apartment, yanking on jeans and searching for a bra while brushing my teeth. This was going to be tight. I sped through all the yellow lights on Barham and raced into the office on time, but just barely.

I spied Azita walking into the copy room. When she saw me, she said, “Hey mama, there’s someone in your office.” My first thought was that the detectives were back, but when I pushed open my office door I was surprised to find Lauren waiting for me.