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Hell has no fury like a woman scorned.

It was the only thing George could think as he stared at wild-eyed Dallas Jean, her platinum hair dangling from curlers like Medusa around her red cheeks and flaming stare.

Folding arms covered in rubber duckie pajamas, she jabbed a manicured finger into his soft chest.  He plastered himself against his front door, slapping her hand away.  “Dallas, I already told you!  I didn’t tell Clementine Jane anything!  I’m not the one who put this crazy notion into her head!”

“George, you talk more than a school girl in Sunday school!” Dallas Jean snapped, her head shaking so hard several curlers tumbled a few inches lower around her chin.  “Let me guess.  You were having lunch at the club and all your buddies were there smoking and drinking their toddies, like you do every evening.  Clementine Jane popped in for God knows why, you get to bragging in front of the boys, she thinks you’re serious and sets off on some sort of wild goose chase.  You should know better than anyone the girl takes this campaign crap seriously.”

“And you don’t?” George puffed out his chest and eyed Dallas Jean.  “Why else would you be banging on my door at this unholy hour”–

“It’s only midnight,” Dallas Jean retorted.  “I know very well you have a big snack around this time.  You’re just mad I interrupted your fridge forresting.”

George’s sagging cheeks turned pink and he cleared his throat.  “Well–err– that’s not the point, Dallas!  The point is, I didn’t tell Clementine Jane a dang thing.  In fact, I told her to drop it.  I told her that her granddaddy was one of the finest men I’d ever known, and that you and Grayson were fine, upstanding individuals.”

His wrinkled face crumpled and his eyes suddenly grew misty.  “In fact, we never even got a chance to have lunch.  I was so disturbed by her commitment to the paper I went back to my office.  I was trying to explain to her that some things were better left unsaid, that a lot of people still wouldn’t understand…but she seemed so crazed to do a story on it!”

Dallas Jean sighed.  Leaning against the doorway, the curlers swung sadly around her eyes ringed with dark shadows.  “If you didn’t tell her, Adelaide didn’t tell her,  Grayson didn’t tell her, and I didn’t tell her, who did?”

George grinned.  “Your daddy?  Maybe she’s being haunted by his ghost.  The ghost of politics past!”  He laughed and wheezed, slapping the doorway with his wrinkled hand.

Dallas Jean grinned and rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, George.  I’m sure Daddy went to all the trouble of climbing out of his casket to haunt my cub reporter of a daughter.”  Tapping her manicured nails against her lips, a habit George had always hated because it looked so painful, she mused, “Who else could have known?  Who else?”

“It’d have to be someone close to you for her to take it so seriously,” George pointed out.  “Like a friend, aunt or uncle, teacher…maybe one of the maids?”

“Manager,” Dallas Jean breathed, her eyes lighting up and narrowing simultaneously.  “Norman!  That son of a…”  She trailed off and gave George an angelic smile.  “Get back to your peanut butter sandwich, George.  I got bigger fish to fry.”  She kissed him on the cheek.  “Come over for supper tommorow night, after my press conference.  I’ll fix your favorite!”

“Lasagna?”  George asked hesitantly.  “You’ll fix it or…”

Dallas Jean snarled.  “Of course I won’t make it, George, the cook will!”

“Oh good,” George exhaled, rubbing his belly.  “I accept then.  I’ll be there at seven.”

“I’ll never understand why you people think I can’t cook,” Dallas muttered, fumbling in her oversized pink bag as her cell phone rang.  “As soon as I murder Norman I’m going to go to culinary school–Adelaide?  What’s wrong?  Clementine Jane?  What happened?  Where’s she at?”  George watched in silence, his white knuckles gripping the doorway.  Dallas Jean’s face paled and her knees buckled against the doorframe.  “I’m coming over.”  She slapped the phone shut and shook her head.  “Clementine Jane is missing.  Call the sheriff.”   Bolting to her hot pink VW bug, she fired up the engine and floored it.

Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned.  Or in this case, terrified to the tops of her pink glittery toes.

***

The tiny fist slammed against the thick wooden door until a light flicked on.  With a creak, the heavy oak door swung back to reveal a scowling Norman stifling a yawn.

“Clementine Jane, I hardly think it appropriate to request a media interview at midnight,” Norman drawled, raising an eyebrow.  “And if you’re here to invite me to a sleepover or pajama party, I respectfully decline.”

“Shut up, Norman,” Clementine Jane snarled.  Slapping her reporter’s notebook into his chest, she took a step towards him.  “Listen here, Norman.  I know you’re up to something.  I don’t know what you’re trying to do to my mom’s campaign, but I won’t print lies.  And I won’t ruin her for your campaign goals either.”

“I never wanted you to ruin your mother,” Norman lied, his voice as slick as oil.  “I just wanted to make you aware that certain information”–

“What’s funny, Norman, is that my father is part of that certain information you want me to discover so bad,” Clementine Jane interrupted.  “Why would you throw your own candidate under the bus?”

Norman smiled.  “Who says your father knows anything about this?”

“He not only knows about it, he was part of my grandfather’s poker games,” Clementine Jane snarled.  “I’ve got several sources that confirm this.”

“Of course he was there,” Norman laughed.  “But just because someone is there doesn’t mean they know everything.  Think about it.  Do you know everything about your parents?  Do you know their secrets, even though you live under the same roof?  Do they know yours?”

Clementine Jane flushed.  “I don’t have any secrets.”

“Everyone has secrets,” Norman informed her.  “Some are just more interesting than others.”

Clementine Jane gritted her teeth.  “I know you’re up to no good, and I’m going to find out what it is,” she threatened, slamming her notebook against the door frame.  “And you can bet when I do, it’s going to press!”

Norman lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug.  “The truth will set you free,” he murmured, a wicked smile spreading across his lips.  “And as a member of the Fourth Estate, I know you want the truth.  Especially if it’s about your own mother….”  He laughed as Clementine Jane turned white.  “Good night, Clementine Jane.  See you at the press conference.”  Shutting the door, he grinned.

It was all working out the way he planned.  Picking up the phone, he pressed the numbers on the pad.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  There’s a Valentine’s Day treat tomorrow and next week, more delightful whimsy!  Stay tuned!