I was born in California and spent thirty years working as a private investigator. I am also a CEO with expertise in security and executive protection, and I have long served as an advocate for victims. Ten years ago, I relocated to Las Cruces, New Mexico, where I have continued my investigative work alongside my writing.
I have been involved in security and executive protection at prestigious events like the Golden Globes, the Academy Awards, and more. Additionally, I was a member of several organizations, including The Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, The National Center for LGBTQ Rights the California Association of Licensed Investigators, The Doris Tate Crime Bureau, Citizens Against Homicide, Peace Over Violence, The National Center for Victims of Crime, Project Sister, and The Doris Day Animal Foundation.
People often ask whether being a private investigator is fun and glamorous. Fun? At times, absolutely. Glamorous? Not really—unless, of course, you are a Hollywood P.I.
As a child, I was relentlessly curious, always paying attention to things I probably should not have noticed at such a young age. I saw and overheard more than most children do. Playing spy was my favorite game, though I never imagined it would someday become my profession.
The news offers a filtered glimpse of the world’s darker side, but nothing compares to witnessing it firsthand. I have seen young boys using drugs and drinking alcohol before school. I have observed sexual acts carried out openly—by homeless individuals on the street and by cheating spouses in parked cars. I have stood in phone booths while intoxicated strangers relieved themselves nearby, unaware or unconcerned that I was there. Some cases—particularly those involving child abuse or deeply disturbing behavior—left me so shaken that I cried myself to sleep.
Even my vehicle has not been immune. During surveillance, people have spat on it, smeared mayonnaise across the windows, thrown objects, deflated my tires, and even attempted to steal it while I was inside. Once, two men leaned against my van and bragged about manipulating women with false declarations of love to get sex. Every instinct told me to confront them, but preserving my cover always came first.
These experiences have tested my faith and patience in ways I never anticipated. Many times, I have had to ask God for the strength not to take justice into my own hands. Through it all, I came to appreciate life’s simplest blessings: green grass, quiet streets, clean air, domestic animals, wildlife, and genuinely kind people.
Why stay in a profession that exposes you to so much darkness? Justice. I have the privilege of helping victims and survivors find answers, uncovering the truth, and holding dishonest people accountable. For those who feel lost or powerless, I can offer clarity, direction, and support.
Not every day is grim. Surveillance has also given me a front-row seat to the beauty of the world—crows demonstrating remarkable intelligence, squirrels darting with purpose, dogs and cats wandering freely, and breathtaking landscapes stretching across deserts, mountains, and coastlines. I was once even attacked by peacocks in Mendocino County, California—an occupational hazard I never anticipated.
Being a female private investigator comes with advantages. People rarely suspect me. Security guards open gates with a smile. Children and adults alike confide in me because I appear approachable, often dressed in Disney-themed clothing rather than something intimidating.
My work took on an unexpected level of public attention when Kirby Dick and Eddie Schmidt of Chain Camera hired me to investigate the Motion Picture Association of America’s rating system (MPAA). At first, I did not fully grasp the magnitude of what I was stepping into. The deeper I went, the more disturbed I became. The Classification and Rating Administration routinely rated extreme violence more favorably than something as innocent as two fully clothed women kissing.
As a lesbian, a mother, and a rape survivor, I found this deeply troubling. What message does that send to our children—that violence is more acceptable than love? The bias extended further, with gay and lesbian films consistently rated more harshly than their heterosexual counterparts. That injustice strengthened my resolve to expose the truth.
The experience forced me to reflect on the concept of “normal.” What defines a normal family? Some may not see my life with Cheryl and our family as fitting a traditional mold, yet we raised two remarkable children and now cherish our grandchildren. To me, family is defined by unconditional love, understanding, and showing up for one another. Embracing who I truly am allowed me to find the happiness I had long deserved—happiness grounded in love and sustained by faith.
As I continue my work—whether uncovering deception or helping someone heal from betrayal—I remain grateful. This career has shown me humanity at its worst, but it has also taught me to cherish everything I have. None of it would have been possible without Cheryl and God by my side.
I have been in a loving relationship for thirty-five years. Together, we are helping raise our grandson and granddaughter, a source of immense joy in my life. I recently self-published a children’s book, Oolygalees, co-authored with my granddaughter. I am currently completing my novel, Brutal Awakening, with two additional children’s books and my grandfather’s story, Kid from Hell’s Kitchen, planned next.
Brutal Awakening is both a personal reckoning and a broader examination of power, silence, and survival—offering readers an intimate, uncompromising perspective from someone who lived the reality behind the headlines.
My manuscript weaves together my personal history with the stories of my cases over the past thirty years. These include investigations involving domestic violence, child abuse, rape survivors, murder, terrorism, and kidnapping, as well as work within the entertainment industry. Notable cases and professional associations include Randy Quaid, Marilyn Monroe’s assistant Pat Newcomb, comic-book legend Stan Lee, producer David G. Riggs, the exposure of the MPAA through the documentary This Film Is Not Yet Rated, and my longtime friend Peter F. Paul.
Brutal Awkening is both a personal reckoning and a broader examination of power, silence, and survival—offering readers an intimate, uncompromising perspective from someone who lived the reality behind the headlines.
