Death of the Office Witch (20 page)

“I never heard of
Legionnaires' Disease
. Well, I've heard of the disease, but—”

“You never heard of
Leg
—that was box office. Smash. Hit. I can't believe what I am hearing. And what's that Dalrymple doing here? Don't I pay enough in taxes I shouldn't have to put up with police gate crashers?”

“Take it easy, Richard.” Charlie's boss could be a belligerent drunk. She tried to deflect his attention. “Who are the Oriental types?” She'd noticed three more.

“Japanese. They just bought Ursa Major.”

“God, did I not notice that, too?”

“Won't be announced till tomorrow. You making any headway tonight? I'm counting on you, Charlie. Congdon and Morse has got to get the cops off its back and itself back to business.”

She wanted to ask how he could count on someone who devastated and disappointed him, but was growing weary of the smart-ass repartee. Probably just the time of the month.

The timing of the party had been a major blunder from the beginning, and she watched Richard Morse walk off with a disconsolate droop to his shoulder blades. Things were not going according to plan. The entertainment press here was probably quizzing guests on their reactions to the murder at the agency and the strange disappearance of Mary Ann Leffler instead of the fantastic possibilities of
Phantom of the Alpine Tunnel
. This kind of blunder was not like Richard.

He's desperate, Charlie. That should be telling you something. Just because you don't want to hear it, doesn't mean it isn't so.

Where would she and Libby be without him?

Wind rippled the surface of the pool and sent goosebumps climbing Charlie's exposed spine and puckered her nipples into hard little tingles. There were other agencies, and she was good at what she did. Besides, she could always go into real estate.

The four Japanese businessmen stood together in front of the lemon tree on the other side of the pool. It was lighted from under water, and the night was dark enough that she saw their hands holding drink glasses or gesturing out in front of their bodies more clearly than the faces attached above.

Edna Thurlow's daughter, Tessie, and grandson, Sonny, stood apart, appeared to have little to say to each other, looked like they'd rather be home in bed. Charlie didn't recognize most of the people in between. Until she saw Edward Cement-Mixer Esterhazie, a glass in both hands, leaning over tiny Cyndi Seagal's no-longer tiny cleavage. They stood just inside the door, and Cyndi was doing her sexually vulnerable gig.

Sorry Dorothy, but Oz will never be the same.

Dr. Evan Podhurst was here. That did seem odd. He leaned sideways in a predictably awkward stance to hear Irma Vance, who gestured widely with the hand not holding her drink. Her blue full-length dress had long sleeves and a high neck. Sensible Irma did not shiver in the wind. The gesturing hands had big knuckles and crabbed fingers—witchlike.

You've got witches on the brain, Charlie.

Gloria might have decided she deserved part of Irma's winnings, too. Sounded far-fetched, but so had damn near everything since Gloria's murder what … a week ago Tuesday. Only nine days. And so much had happened—

“Hi, Charlie. That dress looks so great on you, I hate you.” Linda Meyer, Dr. Podhurst's receptionist, stood at Charlie's elbow.

“You're here, too? What is this?”

“Mr. Morse needed extras for milling. Irma Vance even asked me to bring a ‘companion.' But my boyfriend's out of town, and she didn't ask us until this morning. So Dr. Podhurst and I came together.” Linda was cute in long curly hair just a shade darker than Charlie's and a sequined skirt a lot shorter than Charlie's. Like every other third person in L.A., Linda was being a receptionist only until she was discovered.

“I suppose Richard told Irma to promise you producers and directors and casting agents and stars and the moon.”

“Hey, free food and drink—I'm not complaining.”

“But how did he get Dr. Podhurst to come?”

“The doctor likes to be able to say he was at a Hollywood affair the other night. Some of the glamour might wear off on him. He could sure use it. He can say he spoke with Cyndi Seagal and … who's the old lady with Maurice? Does commercials for cornmeal and American Express.”

“Ellen Maxwell. Linda, did you go to a party at the Tuschmans last Halloween?”

“Yeah, it was a real bash. Everybody was wiggin' out. You know, that's where I met Mary Ann Leffler? I'd read her newsletter, and after I met her I read
Shadowscapes
. First novel I ever read. Bet I've read it three times since, and every time I find something new. I wrote to her when she went back to Montana and asked her about the things in it I didn't understand? And she wrote back. Nice, nice lady. And some guy just asked me if I'd heard about her being missing.”

“Mary Ann Leffler was at Gloria's All Hallows' Eve party?”

“Yeah, she was sort of the witch of honor. Gloria took it real serious, too. Me, I just figure the witch stuff's another excuse to party.” Linda Meyer did a wiggly little dance step and shook out her hair, shoulders, tits, and ass. “You know?”

“So it wasn't the witch stuff that made you read her book three or four times in less than a year?”

“No, it was the people, the people in the story. I couldn't forget them. I couldn't keep from thinking about what was happening to them after the story ended. And how all of it came together—oh, I don't know. But I saw it like a movie. I laughed and I cried. And it was just a book. And I kept seeing myself as different women in the story and wondering if I'd do what they did when I got that old.”

Charlie couldn't help asking, “So did you start reading lots of novels after that?”

“No, just that one. It's pretty exhausting. There's always the boyfriend and TV, working out, dance lessons, acting lessons. I just know nobody else can write like her. I sure hope you find her alive and up to writing more books for me.”

Linda started to walk off, but Charlie caught her by the thin strap of a shoulder bag. “You hope
I
find her alive?”

“Well, I just heard Mr. Morse tell someone that he'd hired you to look into Mary Ann's disappearance and Gloria's murder. I didn't know you were a detective
and
an agent, Charlie. How do you find time for everything?”

“Listen, did you know about Gloria's funeral, or what passed for one? Were you even notified of the Memorial Séance and Dance?”

“No. But that's no surprise. I didn't make a very good witch. They were always saying stuff at their little ceremonies and cracking me up. And you know how jealous older women get. If Gloria had been alive,
she'd
have asked me to her funeral.”

Charlie let Linda go this time, grinning over those last words. David Dalrymple popped up in front of her again to ask anxiously, “Are you getting anything? Vibes or telepathic thoughts? Auras? Anything?”

Charlie wouldn't know an aura if one goosed her, but she played along, “I'm working on it, Lieutenant. I need to know one thing. What was Gloria struck with? Well, okay, two things. How do you know she died up in the hall on the fifth floor?”

“One, a blunt object. Two, she would not have somehow led you to believe she was in the janitor's closet there. She can't escape that hall until you clear up her death. Simple?”

“She was wrong a lot when she was alive. She can't be wrong when she's dead? Lieutenant, Gloria doesn't even know she's been cremated.” If Congdon and Morse's ex-receptionist really was a ghost, it hadn't improved her intelligence. “And she spoke through Marvin Grunion at the séance in her condo. Why aren't you after him to psych this out?”

“But she thought she was still at the agency on Wilshire. He was able to contact her through her material possessions then. Perhaps because you were present. He's had no luck doing so since.” He was talking to Charlie while his eyes scanned the people present.

“Have you found Mary Ann yet and whoever bugged my office?”

But before he could answer, Tweety pushed her face into Charlie's. “I'd like you to meet James.”

Tracy'd had too much to drink. James looked hired. In L.A., dates or companions were important enough to pay for.

“I'm delighted to finally meet you, James. Tracy speaks of you constantly. Has for years.”

“Charlie handles screenwriters for the agency,” Tracy told her date, her tone bestowing on Charlie's position a great deal more prestige than it had yesterday afternoon at the office. “And this is Lieutenant—”

But David Dalrymple, still uncharacteristically nervous, slipped off between two Ursa Major execs who stood eyeing the gentlemen from Japan. Would the new ownership bode well or ill for the
Alpine Tunnel
project? Was Dalrymple so anxious because maybe the Beverly Hills P.D. was getting tired of his off-the-wall methods? Charlie sure was. Maybe if he kept refusing to answer her questions, she wouldn't tell him if she did discover something.

“Well, will you?” Tracy and the handsome rent-a-date looked expectantly at Charlie.

“I understand you were at Gloria's Halloween party last year,” Charlie answered.

“So? I didn't know what it was till I got there. Not that I shouldn't have suspected, knowing Gloria.” Tracy wore a black shapeless dress and huge gold earrings. “Us secretaries beneath your notice, Charlie? And therefore our friends? You didn't even answer James.”

“Did you ask me a question, James?”

“He asked if you'd look at a screenplay he'd written. He's even got it out in his car.”

“Uh, have him call Larry, okay?” And Charlie slipped away, too, but not before she heard Tracy begin to explain to James in detail why he would want nothing to do with Larry Mann even on the phone.

Keegan Monroe stood alone on the other side of the pool, a short distance from the four men representing the new owners of Ursa Major. They in dark suits, faces hidden by the pool lighting. He in formal Western dress, standing in such a way that the light at the corner of the pool caught his face and eyeglasses rather than his hands and drink glass. Charlie decided to join him and discover if this was the best vantage point. She didn't know about the Japanese, but Keegan Monroe was very likely to seek out such a place in this world to be quiet and to study it.

“Nice dress, nice body, I'll take the
Alpine Tunnel
project if offered enough. I've got
Shadowscapes
wrapped and with me.”

“You're such a good boy. So, where's Mary Ann Leffler?”

“Under wa-a-ater-r-r in her ca-a-r-r.”

“Very funny. Why didn't you just deliver the script to Carla at Goliath?”

“I thought she'd be here. Printed it out maybe half an hour before I left home. I thought everybody who was anybody would be here—according to Irma Vance. This party's half extras, Charlie.”

Charlie watched Shelly Maypo step from the shadows at the side of the house with an empty tray balanced on his fingertips. He began filling it with empty glasses and plates left on ledges and tables and a stone planter that divided the patio. He moved slowly, not meeting people's eyes, attracting little attention to himself. He stopped just behind Lieutenant Dalrymple, who had returned to poolside to have a confab with Detective Gordon. Charlie may not have convinced Richard to give her a raise, but she had convinced him to convince the caterer to put Shelly on the kitchen crew.

“Keegan, why did you and Mary Ann suddenly decide to cooperate on the script after all the trouble you two had been the day of the murder?”

“We told you—”

“Mary Ann told me she worried she could be suspected of the murder because the Tuschmans wanted part of the proceeds from
Shadowscapes
for assisting in her research, but what was your problem? I can't believe it was concern for Mary Ann Leffler. You're the one who thought I should look into things. Did the Tuschmans think you should share the wealth, too?”

The odor of pool chemicals mixed with that sweet tang of lemon tree to fill the void left by his silence. And lemon blossoms reminded her of orange blossoms, which reminded her of the grove behind the Tuschmans' condo complex. “Keegan, did you go to Gloria's All Hallows' Eve party last year?”

The nod of his head was nearly imperceptible.

“That's where you met Mary Ann, isn't it? Even before Carla got you two together on the screenplay.” Why was it everyone wanted her to find answers only as long as they didn't have to reveal their own particular secrets? Somehow Mary Ann still seemed too down to earth to be a witch type. “Tell me about Mary Ann. She's a stranger to me.”

According to Keegan, Mary Ann Leffler was simply an ordinary housewife who managed to rise above herself by means of her writing. “And as forceful and cranky as she appeared, she was a very insecure lady. Got herself tied up in knots because she couldn't think of the word on the tip of her tongue and got furious I could come up with it in a snap. She had mood swings, hot flashes, anxiety attacks—all the things my mother took hormones to avoid. I heard Lady Macbeth talking on the phone a couple of times, and she was driving her family nuts with all this, too.”

Edwina took hormones and drove Charlie nuts anyway. “Why wouldn't Mary Ann take hormones?”

“Said they cause breast cancer. She might have eaten the wart off a newt or something, but she didn't trust doctors.”

Keegan's mother had died of breast cancer some years ago. He and Charlie watched the people across the pool for a while.

“And she was really unsure of herself,” he continued finally. “You'd think anybody that old who'd published a novel would have a better idea of who she was. All that putting down of L.A. and the industry she was doing at the Polo Lounge was mostly pretense and bluster. Truth is, she was scared to death of L.A., especially since the riots. She'd often pay cab fare rather than drive the rental car Goliath provided.”