Authors: Marlys Millhiser

Murder at Moot Point (36 page)

BOOK: Murder at Moot Point

12.59Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

Charlie didn't buy it. This kid was as hard as reinforced concrete. But she said, “You probably eat more at their houses than they eat here.”

Hell, one of them has a live-in housekeeper and the other a live-in mother.

Curiously enough, the Long Beach Diner was done in pink and green just like the Polo Lounge. There the similarity ended. The waiters were waitresses, for one thing. They wore shorts and green T-shirts instead of black pants, white shirts, and black bow ties. The soup was canned, the lettuce iceberg, the salad dressing bottled, the bread white, the clientele lower-middle and fixed income, the prices a fraction.

After the day she'd had and the one obviously coming up, Charlie needed comfort food. She ordered the day's specialâhot beef sandwich with canned string beans, Jell-O, and a glass of milk.

“Bad day, huh?” Libby ordered her cheeseburger, fries, and Diet Coke. For nine months after they'd moved here from New York, Libby had been a vegetarian. Greenpeace came through the school with some appealing pictures and some appalling horror stories. The intentions were laudable. The problem was Libby Greene would not eat vegetables, nor was she terribly fond of fruit. Pasta, potato chips, and aspartame will take you only so far. Being Libby, she wouldn't cheat on fish, milk, eggs, cheese, or chicken.

A social worker alerted by the school called on Charlie to discuss eating disorders, nutrition, child abuse, and the consequences thereof. Charlie never knew what happened, but one weekend Libby asked to order in pizza. Pizza with everything. She hadn't been able to get enough hamburger, pepperoni, bacon, or hot dogs since.

“Bad day.” Charlie ate half her meal and signaled the waitress to come for her plate. She watched Libby eat all her burger and most of her fries. “Don't you think you've had enough?”

“You're the only mother I know who tells her kid never to clean up her plate. Lori's mom thinks you're weird.”

If Charlie were smart, she'd keep quiet and let her child store calories. Her heart sank to wherever it is that hearts sink, watching Libby struggle to think of a way to pose a question or more likely an “I want.”

Where Charlie's hair was a bronze color that looked dyed but wasn't and was incorrigibly curly, Libby's was long and straightâa natural platinum half the women in the world would kill for. She'd picked up an even, tawny California tan within weeks of their arrival and never lost it. Her eyes were dark like Charlie's but larger in her smaller face. Right now Libby's smile was full of metal, but when those braces came off â¦ if only she'd grow a big ugly nose until she was twenty.

“Mom, are you having a Maalox moment?”

Charlie massaged the skin around her eyes, careful not to dislodge contact lenses. “Gloria Tuschman, our receptionist, has disappeared. And I screwed up a deal with Goliath that could get me fired, and I told you this morning I cannot afford two-hundred-dollar Rollerblades.”

Libby said, with no trace of sympathy, “I'm getting a loan.”

“For a loan you have to have collateral or at least a job. Who would give you a loan?”

“I'll pay it back when I get a job.” The beautiful dark eyes shot sparks. “Grandma told me to call collect if I ever needed anything.” Libby slid out of the booth and headed for the door, leaving Charlie with the check.

“Edwina's going to lend you two hundred dollars for Rollerblades?” Charlie asked when she got out to the car.

“Do you still want me to try out for cheerleading?”

“You have to have Rollerblades to be a cheerleader?”

“No, I have to join a sorority, and the two hundred dollars will only cover the Rollerblades.”

“You have to belong to a sorority to be a cheerleader?”

“Mom, I do not make the rules, okay? Now can we go home? I have tests tomorrow.”

“I don't care if you don't go out for cheerleading. I just thought it might be fun is all,” Charlie lied through her teeth. She had wanted to go out for cheerleading once, at Boulder High School. But she didn't, because she discovered she was pregnant with Libby, and her world changed forever in one day.

“Oh I forgot,” Libby said as the Toyota slid through the gate into the compound. “Somebody named Keegan called.”

“Keegan?” The Toyota jerked to a stop with its headlights drilling through the back gate into the alley as the front gate closed behind them. “What did he say?”

“Just told me to tell you he called. No big deal.”

“Libby, that's the Goliath deal. Any other calls you forgot to mention?”

“Some military dude. You're always telling me
I
have weird friends. Lieutenant Dimple or something.”

“Lieutenant Dalrymple?”

“Sounds like it. Just wanted you to call him. I wrote it down on the phone pad. Why, is that some big deal too?”

“That's the Beverly Hills Police Department. I told you Gloria is missing. We called them and they suspect something happened to her because her car and purse are still there.”

“Gloria the Witch? What do you care, you don't like her anyway.”

“My opinion of her has nothing to do with it.” Two small gold orbs blinked on, then off, then on again from the alley where the trash cans were kept. A black, sinewy form with flashes of white slid through the grating. Libby's cat.

“Are you going to park or should I get out here? I don't have the whole night, you know. What's the matter? It's just Tuxedo coming home, finally.”

“She said she was in the trash can. She wanted me to help her.”

“Tuxedo's a guy.”

“Gloria the Witch.”

“I thought she was missing. If she's in the trash can, she's not missing. Probably not too comfortable. Mom, don't look like that, okay? You scare me. Did she want you to help her before she was missing?”

“No, after,” Charlie said and killed the engine.

Lieutenant Dalrymple wanted Charlie at Congdon and Morse no later than eight o'clock the next morning. She was late because Libby wanted a ride to school, even though it was a straight shot up Ximeno to Wilson High (which was a good part of the reason Charlie bought where she did), and because Libby was very unpleasant to wake that early, and because Charlie's usual trajectory into her parking space was blocked by barricades. So she maneuvered back to Charleville Boulevard and down the alley, only to stop in front of the trash can where she'd seen the woman throw away something red the day before.

It was silly, but earlier that morning at the usual time when Tuxedo tired of floating with Libby on her waterbed and came in to wrap himself around Charlie's head and bite it before trying to smother her, she'd been dreaming about that damned trash can and Gloria the Witch putting something red in it.

Some things you just have to do even if they're irrational. Charlie was late anyway. She got out and lifted the lid. These were extra big green plastic trash cans provided by the city, and this one was empty. She felt sillier but she felt better. Charlie gave a sigh of relief and turned back to the Toyota.

“Looking for this?” Lieutenant Dalrymple stepped out from behind the concrete block wall, one of Gloria's red spike heels in his hand.

Buy
Death of the Office Witch
Now!

About the Author

Marlys Millhiser is an American author of fifteen mysteries and horror novels. Born in Charles City, Iowa, Millhiser originally worked as a high school teacher. She has served as a regional vice president of the Mystery Writers of America and is best known for her novel
The Mirror
and for the Charlie Greene Mysteries. Millhiser currently lives in Boulder, Colorado.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Elizabeth Connor

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1024-5

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com