Read Online Death of the Office Witch by Marlys Millhiser - Free Book Online

if you had as little information as I do. What was Gloria hit with and where is that weapon? I mean in front of all of us Richard mentioned she’d been bopped, and you didn’t contradict him, so I assume someone hit her with something. How did she get from the private hall on the fifth floor, dead, past all the people who are around that time of the day, to that back alley entrance and then up into the bushes? Where were her friends and relatives at this time, like her husband, Roger, for instance? What do the guys down on valet parking have to say about all this? There’s nearly always an armed security guard hanging around somewhere, too. What about the people in the coven she claimed to be part of? I mean she was into séances, Ouija boards, you name it. The questions are endless, Lieutenant, and unless you’ve got all the answers, you have your work cut out for you. And so do I. Please? Unless you’ve decided to arrest me this minute, I need to get back.”
    â€œOn one condition.” He picked up the check. “I want you to walk with me to the end of that fifth floor hall again.”
    Much to Charlie’s relief, Gloria, or someone pretending to be Gloria, did not speak to her when she and the lieutenant walked to, stood around and waited in, walked from, turned back and repeated the process, and then left that particular VIP hall on the fifth floor of the FFUCWB of P building. David Dalrymple was noticeably disappointed. But as far as Charlie was concerned, David Dalrymple was seriously weird.
    Thank God Irma Vance was at the front desk when Charlie snuck behind her by way of the back hall with an unseen salute. Charlie, having come in via the VIP stairs, was now officially back on the premises unnoted, which might mean she might get something done—like work.
    â€œHas Keegan called? Get me a line to Keegan. Hold everything else except McMullins, Ursa Major, Alpine Tunnel things. Line up how many calls I need to get through to New York otherwise. And, Larry, hurry, that damned Dalrymple has put me so far behind already—”
    Charlie was actually through his cubicle and behind her desk, her pumps kicked off, her computer booting up, before she registered what her eyes had seen while her mind had been so organized. She rushed back to the cubicle that protected her office. “Larry? What’s wrong? Larry?”
    Charlie hadn’t realized how high the stacks of screenplays, treatments, teleplays, manuscripts, and proposals had grown since last she’d noticed. Larry was a large person. There was his chair behind his computer keyboard, a small visitor’s chair just inside the door, a towering drop-leaf file cabinet alongside it stuffed with proposals filed alphabetically by author, and a narrow path to Charlie’s office door. Every other inch of space was stacked with material as yet unread and unalphabetized.
    Larry was slumped over a pile of submissions next to his keyboard, his head buried in folded arms.
    â€œWe’ll call in Harry and Lucinda to screen some of this, and I’ll help you organize the rest right away. Hey, this is doable, trust me. Larry?” Harry and Lucinda were outside readers the agency hired on contract to help Charlie and Larry paddle through the flood. Most of the paying business came from contracted work like Keegan’s, but every now and then there was a possible Alpine Tunnel in the pile worth wading through the muck to get to.
    She closed the door to the hall. “I just hate to see a beautiful man cry.”
    He finally raised his head to stare at her dry eyed. “And I just hate people who say things like ‘doable.’”
    â€œIt’s not the backed-up work load, is it?”
    â€œNo, it’s Gloria.”

7
    â€œThe backed-up work load would have been easier.” Charlie slumped into the visitor’s chair.
    â€œI don’t see how you and Richard can just blow this off and continue