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assistance. Since doing business within the Otherworld community didn’t require certification other than a city license, she’d had no reason or right to do an inspection. Today was her first time inside the doors.
    At first glance, it resembled a community meeting center. Small waiting lobby, opening into a large common room; modern, commercial furnishings with plenty of seating; colorful paintings on the walls; and conversational groupings of chairs and sofas, many occupied by chatting clients. This rather casual impression stood in sharp contrast with the smartly dressed receptionist in the partial-glass enclosure in the front lobby and the closed doors that lined the three exterior walls of the meeting area. Each door held an official-looking gold nameplate.
    The receptionist took Ari’s name with an automatic smile. After a cursory glance at the Magic Council ID, she clicked a button and announced Ari’s presence to someone on the other end. The woman’s brisk voice matched her precise demeanor. She listened to her headset a moment. Her attention returned to Ari, and she reported Shale would be with her shortly. She offered Ari something to drink while she waited.
    Ari chose the nearest chair. “No, thank you, Mrs. Binderman,” she said, reading the nameplate on the counter. “I’m fine.”
    The receptionist flashed a sudden smile. The simple use of her name transformed her from cool efficiency to genuine warmth. Human Social Interaction 101. It didn’t always work, but when it did, Ari still found it amazing.
    “It’s Ms.,” Amelia Binderman confided, leaning forward as if imparting a secret. “I’m not married.” She spoke without regret or concern, just a secretarial compulsion for accuracy. Ari made a mental note for future visits. Since they’d broken the ice, Ari probed for a little more information. The clerical staff always knew the company secrets.
    “Nice building. Have you worked here long?”
    “It’ll be a year in October,” Binderman said. “Since the beginning. I was one of Mr. Shale’s first employees.”
    “Didn’t he bring staff with him from some other practice? I had the impression counseling was a long-term career.”
    “For Mr. Shale? Oh, I think so. I was the first employee in this office, but I believe he had one before. Out west, I believe. Or maybe I never heard.” She frowned, as if puzzled at her lack of knowledge. “One or two of the counselors might have come with him, but most of the staff was hired locally. They’re all very good. And the clients keep coming back.”
    “I noticed you’re not lacking for business.” Ari gestured toward the groups in the larger room.
    As they talked, Binderman continued to open a large stack of mail with an ornate letter opener, a miniature replica of a medieval sword. Ari thought it was an unusual choice in office accessories and didn’t fit the secretary’s personality. Perhaps a gift from a favorite young relative.
    “We could use more counselors,” the receptionist continued, “but Mr. Shale doesn’t want us to get too big. He likes to interact on a personal level with his clients and employees, including the clerical staff.”
    Ari nodded her approval. “He must understand the value of a good secretary. What an asset you can be in times like this. Of crisis, I mean.” She waited to see if Binderman would take the opening.
    “I do my best.” Finished with the mail, Binderman cleaned her hands with a bottle of Saniwash and smoothed her hair. “I know why you’re here,” she said, leaning forward and dropping her voice. “It’s about poor Jules. I’m so sorry that happened to him. I hope you catch the dreadful person. It’s been very upsetting for all of us.”
    “Did you know him well?”
    Binderman bobbed her head. “He and Lorraine came in every two weeks. Perfect couple. He was so polite. Always asked how I was. Can’t imagine why anyone would harm him.”
    The phone rang, and the efficient