LITMIR.BIZ

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to the self-serve bar and the toilets. I noticed that Jenny had swept up her red hair and wore jeans and a V-neck black sweater. The sweater hid her tummy roll while the low cut of her top enhanced what she considered to be her two best features. Cathy, at the other end of the table, waved bloodred fingernails and mouthed hello. She wore black as well but had no fat to hide and her hair had been the same blond, spiked Rod Stewart style since we were in high school. Jeff, who sat on my right, wore brown corduroy pants, a brown cable sweater and nearly succeeded in camouflaging himself into the brown chair he was sitting in. His hair, what little he had, was fine and pale against an equally pallid complexion. He offered us a nearly imperceptible nod as a greeting.

      “What’s tonight’s poison?” Lara asked, pushing glasses up her nose and bottom into the chair on my left.

      We were informed that tonight they were debating the merits of butterscotch schnapps. It was our group’s mission to set a booze theme to coincide with our weekly imbibing.

      “I’m drinking a Buttery Nipple,” Jenny announced holding up a nearly empty shot glass. “It’s made with butterscotch schnapps and Baileys.”

      “And Cathy is consuming a Poopy Puppy,” Jeff said, failing to even crack a grin at the ridiculous drink name. “Ingredients are a blend of amaretto, Kahlúa, Baileys and the butterscotch schnapps with a splash of Coke.”

      Cathy licked her red lipsticked mouth. “It’s really quite yummy in a sickening sweet kinda way.”

      “I see you’re being your usual stick-in-the-mud self and just drinking a martini,” I commented to Jeff.

      He peered at me with a serious expression. “If one has to consume alcohol, this is the purest choice.” He downed what was left in his glass.

      Lara was already on her feet, anxious to make her way to the self-serve bar. I handed her a five and told her to surprise me. The one thing our bunch had in common was the fact that we could hold our liquor. There wasn’t a puker amongst us, save the time last summer when we tried to combine crème de menthe night with tequila night.

      When Lara returned she had a Poopy Puppy for herself and a Buttery Nipple for me. I downed the Nipple in one smooth move while Lara brought the gathering up to speed on my horrific twenty-four hours ending with my office visit from Detective Jackson. Jenny congratulated me on attracting the attention of Clay, but reprimanded me for not taking advantage of our shared elevator ride and trying to seduce Clay using a thank-you kiss as an excuse.

      “Discussing murder does not exactly put me in a romantic mood,” I replied dryly.

      “Who’s talking romance?” Jenny laughed. “I was talking hot jungle sex in an elevator.”

      “Speaking of jungle sex, how was your date?” I asked.

      Jenny shrugged. “A dud.” But didn’t elaborate and for the millionth time I admired her for her tenacity in pursuing the opposite sex.

      “Anyway,” Lara piped up, “I was figuring Jeff could probably help Tabitha out.”

      Everyone turned their attention to Jeff who squirmed in his seat.

      “Wh-wh-what can I do?” In addition to Jeff’s many charms, he tended to stutter when he was uncomfortable.

      “You’re the one who has the spiritual or Wiccan connection. For starters, you can fill us in on this pentagram stuff.”

      “Sure, Jeff,” Cathy encouraged. “You looove that junk, it’s right up your alley.”

      Jeff blinked and cleared his throat before beginning his dissertation. “Well, Medieval Christians attributed the pentagram to the five wounds of Christ. To the Gnostics, the pentagram was the Blazing Star and it wasn’t until the 1960s that it became a Wiccan symbol.”

      We all stared at him openmouthed.

      “W-w-well, it’s kinda my job,” he said, embarrassed. When he recovered he twisted toward me. “You should come down to the shop and I can show you around. You can look at some books on the subject or I can show you our variety of pentagrams. I’m working tomorrow, if you’re interested.”

      “No, thanks, I’m busy. I still have to work at the movie theater.”

      Jeff cleared his throat and headed for the self-serve bar.

      “That’s not until six-thirty,” Lara pointed out. “It might be fun to check out the Scrying Room. I’ve always been kind of curious about that place.”

      “Thanks, but I have other plans for my day.” Like sleeping until noon and scrounging through all of my pockets for quarters to see if I had enough cash to do laundry.

      “I’ll go with you,” Jenny offered.

      “I have no need to expand my knowledge of pentagrams. Just because I’ve seen two lately does not exactly mean I have to become an expert on the subject.”

      “Well, if I were you, I’d certainly be curious,” Cathy piped up. “I’d even offer to join you but I promised to baby-sit my sister’s brats.”

      When I didn’t give in, Jenny added, “If you don’t go with me,” she taunted in a singsong voice, “I won’t tell you some really juicy office gossip.”

      I felt myself waver. “I want to hear the tittle-tattle first before I promise to go to the Scrying Room.”

      “No way.”

      “What if I’ve already heard it?”

      “You haven’t and, trust me, it’s good.”

      I caved. “Fine. I’ll go with you to the Scrying Room. Now spill.”

      “Well, you know Martha’s pregnant.”

      Cathy burst out, “Of course Tab knows! She knew it before Martha knew. She had one of her spells and—”

      “I do not have spells!”

      “Whatever,” Cathy countered.

      “Don’t leave us hanging here!” Lara exclaimed.

      Jenny put up her hands to stop us. “This isn’t about Martha being pregnant. This is about her maternity leave and who is going to be filling her space during that time.”

      “Who?”

      Jenny leaned back. “I don’t know for certain, of course, but I do know that Muriel’s husband is being transferred to San Francisco and it sounds like they’ll be packing up. So that means Muriel won’t be available to fill in for Martha’s maternity leave.”

      “Omigod!” I was getting excited. Ever since I was hired on permanently after a brief temp job, I’d been hoping to be promoted from receptionist but Muriel was next in line. Although only a mere filing clerk, Muriel was still a smidgen above my position in the McAuley and Malcolm food chain. “Is this a sure thing?”

      Jenny nodded. “I heard her tell The Bitch today.”

      The Bitch, aka Sonya Suderman, was office manager and in charge of all the nonlawyer staff.

      I could almost taste victory. Last year I’d taken some extra computer classes and a course on legal terminology to bring me up to speed. It wasn’t like it was a dream come true to be a legal secretary, but it was a nightmare come alive to remain a receptionist. I’d actually had my eye on Marie Laraby’s secretarial position since she was old as dirt and there was a pool going as to whether or not she would retire or simply slip into a doughnut coma behind her desk. Marie worked for George Ferguson who was equally ancient, had trouble with intestinal gas and was head of the wrongful dismissal department.

      “And you know the best part,” Jenny said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You wouldn’t have to work for Flatulent Ferguson.”

      I suddenly felt melancholy. “If my dad hadn’t died I would’ve gotten my degree by now. I’d certainly have more than a secretarial position to look forward to.”

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