My name is Carol Childs. I'm a reporter — or more correctly — I'm a middle-aged mom in transition from my role as a sales exec with KCHC, a talk radio station in Los Angeles, to that of a news reporter. Most of what I do is a balancing act. My daughter Cate is in college, and my fourteen-year-old son Charlie is more preoccupied with sports than he is in need of mothering these days. Thankfully, I have a new relationship in my life, a hot FBI agent named Eric Langdon. He seems to think I've got it all together.

KCHC recently had an opening in their news department and I convinced management to give me a chance. The only problem was KCHC's news director Tyler Hunt, a one hundred and twenty-five pound boy-wonder who considered anybody over thirty-five ancient. He didn't want me for the job but offered it to me on a probationary basis. To him, I was the world's oldest cub reporter in need of a good story. And now, right in front of me was exactly what I needed, a damn good story.

I'd been asleep or at least in that twilight state, floating blissfully when I heard a banging on my front door. Tucked safely in Eric's arms, I was tempted to ignore it, but the knocking was persistent. I lifted my head, careful not to disturb Eric, and peeked with one eye at the clock. It was barely six forty-five.

"Did you hear that?" he mumbled. The soft early morning stubble of his beard tickled my ear.

"No," I said, snuggling back against his chest. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"Nothing's sounding very determined." He sat up and I was suddenly disengaged from the crook of his arm. Without a word I slid out of bed, grabbed my robe and stumbled down the stairs toward the front door. The incessant knocking was getting louder.

"Carol! Carol! Are you home? Please, it's an emergency."

I opened the door to find my neighbor, Samantha Millhouse, barefoot and disheveled in a pair of sweat pants and a stained t-shirt, clutching her cell phone. Her short dark hair, usually so neatly styled, showed evidence of hot rollers on one side while the other was like an untamed bush growing out of the side of her head.

"My aunt died," she said flatly. She sounded more annoyed than disturbed. I tightened the sash around my robe and opened the door wider.

"Pepper?" My voice must have raised an octave. "I just saw her on TV last night at the Silver Screen Awards."

"She's dead!" she said as she stepped inside the door. "Her housekeeper found her, looks like she drowned. I need to use your phone. My cell died while we were talking and I'm going to need to call my assistant, Andrew."

I nodded in the direction of the kitchen. Sam pushed by me. "Arminta said she found her body in the tub. When she came into the house this morning she heard music coming from my aunt's bedroom upstairs. She went to check on her and there she was, drowned."

"Are you okay?"

Sam exhaled and reached for the phone. I watched as she took the receiver off the hook then swung around and looked at me. "You know there was never any love lost between us."

I knew Sam's relationship with her aunt was rocky. It was apparent to me the two didn't get along the day I moved into the complex with my son Charlie. Sam's Aunt Pepper had stopped by with one of her clients, a young starlet named Amber Marx, who happens to be my son's big celebrity crush. For about two seconds I think he thought Amber, not Sam, might be our new neighbor. She was standing outside Sam's place smoking as we came up the walk, trying very hard to avoid the scene going on inside. Pepper was raging. I don't think there was a soul in the neighborhood who couldn't hear her screaming.

I glanced over at the coffee pot on the kitchen counter. In another minute it'd turn on automatically. I needed a cup. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

She looked like she was about to answer when Eric's cell phone rang. I turned to see Eric, standing at the top of the stairs, barefoot with a towel wrapped around his waist looking like he was ready to model for a fitness magazine. He held his cell to his ear and from the serious look on his face I knew the call was from the FBI.

Sam looked back at me apologetically. "I'm sorry, Carol, I thought you were alone."

I glanced up at Eric. I've got this. With my thumb and little finger to my head I motioned I'd call later, then turned my attention back to Sam. She was on the phone with her assistant. I could hear her giving instructions on what to do and who to call. I waited for her to finish. I was chomping at the bit to learn more. News of Pepper Millhouse's death was big. I needed to call the station.

Tyler Hunt has a constitution I could set a clock to. I called to give him a heads-up on Pepper's death but he wasn't answering. When I got to the radio station, I saw Tyler heading to the men's room with his newspaper and crossword puzzle, as was his habit this time of day. I raced down the hall after him, but too late. The door swung closed in my face. I debated whether or not to knock, then decided I'd given it my best effort.

After leaving Sam, I verified with the paramedics the circumstances surrounding Pepper's death and interviewed her housekeeper. I'd missed my window of opportunity with Tyler and I wasn't about to go further. If Tyler didn't like me breaking news of Pepper's death in the Kari Rhodes Show, he'd let me know. It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. But for now, this was my chance. Without a moment to spare, I slid into the news booth and began my report.

"This just in — Hollywood agent Pepper Millhouse was found dead in the bathtub of her Beverly Hills mansion this morning ... this after an eventful evening at the Silver Screen Awards at the Beverly Hilton where her client, Amber Marx, won best supporting actress for her role in The Long Summer. In an exclusive report to KCHC radio and this reporter, Ms. Millhouse's niece, Samantha Millhouse, says her aunt's body was found by her maid when she entered the home earlier today and heard music coming from her employer's upstairs bedroom. Paramedics called to the scene report that the initial cause of death appears to be an accidental drowning."

I barely finished my report when Kari Rhodes, KCHC's entertainment reporter, glared at me over the top of her red designer framed glasses and mouthed, Stay put!

Already the switchboard was starting to light up. That's the way it is with talk radio. When news breaks, particularly when somebody important dies, listeners pick up the phone and want to talk. Suddenly the airwaves turn into a shrink's couch, allowing fans to phone it in. It doesn't matter who's on the air; it can be some oversized personality with all the empathy of an anteater, but in a city like Los Angeles, where people spend more time in their cars than they do one-on-one with their friends and family, radio's their immediate go-to.

"Dead?" Kari's voice resonated out over the airwaves, full of vibrato. Not a surprise for a former Broadway gypsy who'd sung and tap danced her way into talk radio after blowing her knee out on stage years ago. Her midday show was like a coffee klatch with news and celebrity gossip she dished out like a Jewish yenta.

"Carol, I can't believe what you're reporting. Pepper Millhouse dead? Not only am I surprised, but you realize of course, this makes three?"

I stared through the glass that divides the...