"Tell her I'm sorry," Elena called from the distance. "And Clay apologizes for being rude."

"I do?"

"Profusely."

"Take it outside," Jeremy said. "The babies are trying to sleep, and you could both use the fresh air."

"Sorry," Jeremy said as their voices faded. "They've been cooped up inside, worrying about the babies, and they're going a little stir crazy. Elena told you they're doing better?"

"She did. But Clay still seems worried. Maybe you should-"

"He'll be fine, and I'll be on my way soon. So how was the party?"

I tried to emphasize the humor of the situation, but when I finished he asked whether there was more.

"You sound tired," he said. "Which I could chalk up to the late night, but…"

"Sounds more like a sleepless night, huh?"

I told him everything.

"If you can't contact Eve, try Paige and Lucas," he said. "Elena talked to Paige last night, and they're both home. I could-"

"You concentrate on getting here. I'll make the calls."

He promised to phone back when he had an ETA, and we signed off.

I SPENT TOO MUCH TIME fussing with my wardrobe that morning. I was supposed to be wearing a burnt orange crepe tank top with a chocolate brown pencil skirt and a matching fitted jacket-the kind of thing you'd see in an old noir film. Sexy and sophisticated with a fun, retro twist. The look suited me, which is always a relief. There's nothing worse than finding a fabulous new style in the fashion mags and rushing out to track it down, only to realize it made you look like a frumpy middle-aged suburbanite or, worse yet, a frumpy middle-aged suburbanite who still thinks she's a smoking twenty-year-old.

But should I wear it today, when I might not see Jeremy until evening? Or save it for then? Not so much a burning dilemma as a way to postpone facing my colleagues until I was certain I was awake and focused on the task of winning them over. Finally, after taking it all off and trying on a couple of alternatives, I put on the original outfit and went downstairs.

!

AS I approached the dining room, the silence made me check my PDA to make sure I hadn't screwed up my schedule. Another three steps and I caught the murmur of low voices. Angelique sat alone on one side of the table, Grady and Claudia on the other, whispering together and ignoring Angelique.

The dead man now hung through a plate of melon slices. I tried to ignore him.

"Good morning," I said as I slid into a seat.

Grady hesitated only a moment before good manners won out and he poured me a coffee. I thanked him with a dazzling smile, then reached for a piece of cantaloupe. As the dead man's fingers brushed the fruit, I decided I was more in the mood for muffins.

Angelique's eyes went round. "You still eat carbs? Oh, my lord, you're so brave."

"Not really," I said with a laugh. "I'll pay for it when I can't do up my skirt later."

I took a big bite and chewed with relish. Angelique tried not to drool.

"I'm a sucker for comfort food," I said. "And after last night, I need it. I'm used to getting a lot more advance warning than that. My nerves are still recovering."

Grady thawed enough to speak. "It was rather more sudden than I like."

"I hope to God there won't be any more. No one mentioned warm-up seances to me."

"Nor to me." Claudia cut a muffin in half and took one piece. "I'm going to have a talk with Becky."

"Good. I'm not used to working that way. I felt awful about interrupting Angelique." I turned to her. "I'm very sorry. My nerves were just frazzled."

She studied my face, as if looking for a catch, then slowly nodded. "I might have been a little jumpy myself. I'm not used to being on camera."

"You specialize in live shows too, don't you? TV is a whole different medium, and I don't do a lot of it yet." I grinned over at Grady. "But we have a pro on the set. Maybe if we're nice, he'll pass some tips our way."

"Oh, good, everyone's here," Becky said as she swung through the door. "Did you all get breakfast? I'm so sorry I'm late."

She collapsed into the chair beside mine. I filled her coffee cup.

"Thank you. You have no idea how much I need this. I've been up half the night. First, calling Mr. Simon, who insisted on hearing the results of the Tansy Lane seance. Then he had me get the researchers to work confirming Jaime's facts."

"And how does it look?" Grady asked.

Becky slid a worried glance my way. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of ill news but-"

She reached over to a telephone on the side table. The top line was flashing. A press of the buttons and…

"They're all here, Mr. Simon."

Shit. Becky had no problem chewing out Angelique last night, but apparently I deserved different treatment-a direct reprimand from the producer himself. I braced myself.

"Only got a minute, folks." Simon spoke so fast I had to concentrate to keep up. "First, let me say how absolutely devastated I was that I couldn't be there last night. I was dying to meet you all. Heh, heh, that's probably not the best phrase to use with you folks, is it? Jaime. Jaime, hon?"

"Uh, here, Mr. Simon."

"Todd. Call me Todd. I hear you struck a home run last night. Hit the ball out of the park."

Becky grinned at me.

Simon continued. "Every question right, our researchers tell me. That is fucking amazing, pardon my French, folks."

As Grady and Angelique's faces hardened, I chastised myself. I had to be careful when I really did contact ghosts as part of a show- getting enough answers correct to maintain credibility, but not so many that colleagues would accuse me of rigging things.

Simon continued, "So I just wanted to call and say 'atta girl.' You're the real deal, Jaime Vegas. Soon the whole world will know it and believe me, no one is more thrilled about that than I am. You ever been in Vanity Fair, Jaime?"

"Urn, no."

"Well, I'm lining something up for you right now. Know some people. Making some calls. My gift to you."

"Uh, thank you."

"Angel? Brad?"

"Yes, Todd?" Grady said.

"That's Mr. Simon to you, sir." Simon gave a laugh that could be interpreted as "I'm kidding," but suggested he wasn't. "Angel, sweetie, I gave you this big chance to get your pretty little ass out of the corn fields, and you aren't showing me the love."

"I-" she began.

"Brad, you're going to get your chance soon, and I expect results. That salary of yours is killing the budget. Don't make me regret it. Comprendes, amigo?"

"We understand," Claudia said.

"Good, good. Just so we're all on the same page, folks. Now, gotta run, gotta run, but I will be watching. Do me proud."

The line went dead. It took sixty seconds for Angelique, Grady and Claudia to remember previous engagements and clear the room. So much for smoothing things over.

I HAD a magazine interview at nine sharp-barely enough time to brush my teeth after breakfast. The interview part went smoothly. Then they wanted to take pictures… in the garden. Of course they'd want the garden-the house was half furnished and partially under construction.

All I could think about was photos of me, wide-eyed and jumpy as those damnable spirits tormented me. I panicked. I started babbling excuses about bad lighting and allergies. The harried photographer, who probably had a full schedule ahead of him, decided he didn't need to start his day this way and suggested the article could run without my photo. That wouldn't be good. Hit a certain age, and if your picture is missing in an article, people start to suspect there's a reason, especially when your costars' photos are there.

So I gave in… and it was every bit as hellish as I'd imagined. The spirits poked. They prodded. They whispered in my ear. And I had to ignore them and look like I was having the time of my life, which only made them poke and prod all the harder. By the time the session was over, my nerves were shot.