For months, theyd see each other at work, but, because they were in different departments, Judy Kelliher and Janice Beetle never really talked.

But finally, late one night, after the newspaper where they worked was put to bed and the old press was done roaring like an agitated prehistoric creature, the first edition of The Morning Union lay open before them at the Tavern restaurant, then in Springfields South End. And in the swirl of conversation, the air dense with cigarette smoke, no one noticing the clock ticking toward the wee small hours, the two young women became friends.

The year was probably 1985. But back then, with youth on their side, who was keeping track?

Bug laughed at all my jokes. Who wouldnt want a friend like that? Judy, now 50, asks. Bug is a great audience.

Judy was funny, Janice, now 48 and a grandmother, says, then adds, She still is.

They bonded over work, and television shows, first LA Law then Law Order. Now House and Modern Family are their favorites. They also share the same musical tastes.

But Bug can never remember the song or the artist, Judy notes. But that doesnt mean she doesnt love the songs any less.

There is an ease to their friendship, the kind that develops when youve shared the journey down lifes varying roads, some of them unpaved and unmarked.

When Janice first married and gave birth to her two daughters, Sally and Molly, she asked Judy to be a birth coach.

Judys compassionate, reliable and tough when she needs to be, Janice says. Shes the kind of friend who really takes good care of you. If you have a friend like that, well, you know what Im talking about.

When they met, both worked low-rung but essential journalism jobs. Judy, a graduate of the University of Massachusetts, was writing obituaries for The Morning Union. Janice, about to graduate from Westfield State, was combing engagement and wedding announcements for typos.

I cant think of better training for a writer, a reporter, than taking obituaries, Judy says. You learn to be accurate. You have to be.

Both eventually would move on to the Daily Hampshire Gazette in Northampton. Judy covered Hampshire County courts, Janice, Northampton schools.

In 1998, Janice founded the public relations firm Beetle Press but continued to work at a host of jobs: overseeing publications at Northamptons Cooley Dickinson Hospital; editing Focus, the alumni magazine at Westfield State; and serving as editor of Pastoral Staff, the bi-monthly publication for the Episcopal Diocese of Springfield.

She was born in Walpole the day after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Her middle name was suppose to be Lee, but when her mother heard the assassins name, Janice ended up with Ripley, a family name in its place. She majored in communications at Westfield, but minored in computer science. She has stories about how large computer mainframes used to be.

Judy is from Springfield. The sixth of eight children, she grew up across the street from Forest Park, where she became a high-school tennis star. She learned basketball at the home of her next-door neighbors, the Sullivans, and was a terrific player for an outstanding Cathedral High team in the late 1970s. Her game was once described as a perpetual motion of positive happenings. She was good enough to be a walk-on for the UMass womens team.

When Judy left daily journalism in 1996, she moved to Eastern Massachusetts, where she worked as deputy communications director for the Massachusetts Bar Association. Later she was associate editor of American Lawyer Media, and at the turn of the 21st century, she found work in health care media relations.

I survived quite a few layoffs, Judy says, but, I was consistently working 14 hours a day, and work became so consuming; I had no quality of life. And, I had some losses.

During that span, her brother Bills wife, Cathy, died after a long battle with cancer. Then her sister Anne Maries husband, Marty Dunn, died from Lou Gehrigs disease. He was 49.

And, I know it sounds like a clich, Judy says, but, I realized how important time is.

In September 2008, Janice remarried. Her groom was Ed Godleski, carpenter, musician and soulmate. Eight months after the marriage, Ed was diagnosed with lung cancer. In July 2010, Janice took family leave from Cooley Dickinson to care for her husband. On Sept. 10, she was told her job was eliminated. Four days later, Ed died. He was 55.

I couldnt even get out of bed, Janice says. I asked Judy if she wanted to come home. Wed work together.

The friends just celebrated their one-year anniversary of working together.

Beetle Press was always a side project for Janice. This time last year, the company had three clients. Now they have 34, including the Eric Carle Museum in Amherst, Boston University Medical School and Brigham Womens Hospital.

Based at Janices home in Easthampton, Beetle Press (When you have a message and need a messenger) is a one-stop shop for communication needs, and is fluent in all things media, from press releases to business plans. Their freelance writing work also appears on the pages of The Republican.

Officially, Janice is the CEO; Judy, the publication director.

But, most importantly, they are long-haul friends. Sisters in spirit.

The butterfly effect theorizes that something as small as the flap of a butterflys wings can create something as large as a tornado halfway across the globe.

Mystery novelist Jessica Speart didnt know too much about the world of endangered butterfly smuggling when she first heard the case of Hisayoshi Kojima, the man who liked to think of himself as the Indiana Jones of the trade. But, as unlikely as it seems that something as small as the delicate flap of a wing can cause such grand results, Speart found herself traveling halfway across the globe into potential danger — all because of a butterfly.

She writes about it in Winged Obsession, her nonfiction book that delves into the world of endangered butterflies and the men who hunt them.

I became as obsessed with this story as Yoshi was with capturing these butterflies and as much as the wildlife agent was with catching Yoshi, she said. It became this interesting circle. Every time I thoI was done, Id find a new piece of information that caused me to start again.

One piece connected to another piece and soon enough it led Speart to the doorstep of her elusive subject. She hunted down Kojima, and much to her surprise, he took her in.

Speart is in the Lowcountry this week to talk about her foray into the endangered butterfly trade. She speaks Jan. 25 at the Coastal Discovery Museum and Jan. 26 at the University of South Carolina-Beauforts Lunch With Author Series.

Speart, a New Jersey native who now resides in Connecticut, has had an interest in endangered animals since a trip to Africa, where she learned of elephant and rhino poachers. She shed her fledgling acting career in New York and began freelance writing. She sold environmental pieces to the likes of Mother Jones and National Wildlife. She went on to write mysteries, producing the 10-part Rachel Porter series. It was around the time the series was ending that she heard about Kojima, who had been busted in Los Angeles for trafficking in butterflies. The more she read about the story, the more intrigued she became with the twists and turns of the case.

The story was so odd that no one would believe it if I made it fiction, she said. It had to be nonfiction.

She connected with Ed Newcomer, the US Fish and Wildlife Service agent who worked undercover to befriend Kojima and build a case against him. He introduced her to the billion-dollar business of butterfly smuggling, where some species, such as the giant swallowtail Papilio homerus of Jamaica, can fetch about $12,000 a pair.

Speart already had a compelling story about the relationship between agent and smuggler (as it turned out, one of the reasons Newcomer was able to develop a strong relationship with Kojima was that the smuggler had developed a bit of a crush). But she kept pursuing the story. Kojima spent 21 months in prison only to return to Japan to start his business once again. Nobody had been able to interview him.

What would really put a period on this story was meeting the man himself, she said. No matter what happened it would be an ending to the story.

Speart boarded a plane to Kyoto. She planned to just show up at his door. She figured she had a 50-50 shot hed actually be there — the chances of him actually letting her in were even more slim.

I knew he wouldnt speak to me if I was Jessica Speart, she said. He was smart. He could go on the Internet and figure out who I was. I went undercover and became his new best friend.

She details the relationship in the book and her personal obsession, the way a story about butterflies stirred something strong within. She disguised herself by relying on her experience as an actress and her research on special agents for her mystery series.

I was living vicariously, she said. You get so caught up in a story, the adrenaline takes over and you think, What a great story. But you dont think, Why am I doing this?

I understand obsession. You can have an obsession with anything. With these collectors, you have to have that butterfly for your life to be complete. It takes over their lives.

She hasnt heard from Kojima since the book has been published. He may be upset; he may be appreciative.

I know he knows about the book. I got emails from people in Japan who (say so), she said. When he was caught, he was embarrassed. But I know he was secretly thrilled. It sort of made him this rock star of butterflies.

I just hope he doesnt show up at my house one day — with a very large net.