Death of the Office Witch by Marlys Millhiser

ritual murder?”
    â€œIn an alley behind a bank?” Charlie began to see why everyone had accepted her last-minute invitation. Once again she was the center of attention. But not for the reason she wanted to be. “She was always claiming strange powers and going to strange meetings with stranger people. Nobody at the agency paid much attention to it all.”
    Until she starts talking to you from the end of an empty hallway after she’s dead. Is that a strange power or what?
    That was a very alive person playing a very cheap trick, Charlie reminded herself.
    At least she was able to sleep that night. After the heavy dinner and the champagne, and after closing her door tight to be sure it latched and kept Tuxedo out, she had barely closed her eyes before the alarm went off. A short time later, Libby perched on the nearby clothes hamper while Charlie stood in front of the bathroom mirror preparing hair and face to meet the world.
    â€œMom, what are you now, thirty-two?”
    â€œThirty-one. Don’t make it any worse than it is.”
    â€œHere you are, thirty-one years old,” Libby drew it out mournfully, “with a fifteen-year-old daughter. Don’t you think it’s time you thought about getting married?”

6
    â€œI know you’re under a lot of stress, and I’m sorry if I upset you just now, okay Mom?” Libby blocked Charlie’s exit from the john.
    â€œI’m in a hurry. We’re late. And what makes you think you upset me?”
    â€œYou just sprayed your hair with bathroom deodorant.”
    All the way to Wilshire on the interminable freeway, did Charlie scheme and fantasize and rejoice in the possibilities about to come out of the Alpine Tunnel deal? No.
    Did she consider the ramifications of a murder at the agency and mull over the possible candidates for murderer? No.
    Did she get on the car phone and call New York? She did not.
    Charlie spent the entire time trying to figure out the connection between two-hundred-dollar Rollerblades, cheerleading, high school sororities, and her own unmarried state. She knew Libby. There was a connection somewhere. And whatever it was, it would cost Charlie bucks.
    This weekend when she wasn’t trimming the yard, cleaning the house, getting rid of the cat, doing the laundry and grocery shopping—she and Libby were going to have to take the time for a long talk. Charlie had never known the bliss of matrimony, nor had she known the desire. Motherhood was already more than she could handle. Libby had made it this long without a father figure, couldn’t she hang on just a few more years?
    Jesus, some kids have to go without food.
    Riding up the public elevator to the fifth floor of the FFUCWB of P with Maurice Lavender, Charlie received the requisite hug-grope and continued congratulations on the Alpine Tunnel deal. And then Maurice raised a handsome brow. “What is that wonderful perfume you’re wearing, sweetie? It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it.”
    â€œ Eau de Potty ,” Charlie, who wasn’t wearing any, told him and sidled away to the door just as it opened.
    She stepped right into Lieutenant Dalrymple’s chest. “Miss Greene, here you are. I was hoping for a few words with you before all the excitement starts. Have you had breakfast?”
    Before she’d even set foot in her office, Charlie found herself, instead, facing the Beverly Hills Police Department over omelets and coffee at Sidney’s.
    â€œHave you had any thoughts about who might have killed Gloria Tuschman and why?” he asked pleasantly and as if they both had all week to laze around the breakfast table.
    â€œNot really. That’s your job. I have one, too, you know. Lieutenant, do you have a family?”
    â€œA wife and two grown children, why?”
    â€œDid your wife work outside the home while raising the children?”
    â€œOnce they were in school, certainly. You