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Clay held the door to his office open and I walked through. When he followed behind me I couldn’t help but clench my butt muscles, just in case he happened to be watching that part of my anatomy. It was a habit.
At the reception area I pressed the call button for the elevator.
“I’m sorry you had to waste your time like this.”
“I never consider spending time with a beautiful woman—or a new client—to be a waste of time.”
“Um, I’m an employee, not a client. Just because I answered some questions from Detective Jackson doesn’t mean I’ll be needing to lawyer up.” As for the beautiful part, well I’d just savor that while I cuddled with my pillow tonight.
“Look, Tabitha, I don’t want you to take this lightly. This is a murder investigation and so far it sounds as though the only leads they’ve had were provided by you.”
I didn’t reply and we rode the elevator in silence except for the Muzak version of an Olivia Newton John song playing overhead.
I survived another shift at the Movie Megaplex even though Friday was even busier than Thursday. Afterward I discovered that my bra had increased a full cup size thanks to the amount of popcorn that had found its way down my shirt.
“You coming to Jimbo’s?” Lara asked while slipping from her yellow Movie Megaplex shirt into a sheer black blouse. Jimbo’s was our usual watering hole on Friday nights. I was usually there sitting with Jenny and a few others trashing old boyfriends and halfway drunk by the time Lara showed up after her shift at the theater.
“I don’t think so. I’m trounced,” I said, inwardly admitting to a new respect for Lara who’d never missed our Friday skunking even with a brassiere filled with popcorn.
I told Lara about my visit from Detective Jackson and Clay Sanderson’s unexpected rising to my defense.
“The man of your wet dreams finally spoke to you for longer than it takes to ask for his phone messages? All the more reason for you to come out and celebrate,” Lara argued. “No.”
“You’ll change your mind,” Lara remarked pushing her glasses up her nose. “Jenny told me that Cathy is bringing her roommate.”
“Oh, my God, not that insufferable nerd, Jeff! He’s a disgrace to gay men everywhere, as dull as my aunt Ruth and less hairy.” I straightened the drab black skirt and white blouse that I’d worn nine to five at McAuley and Malcolm. “Why on earth did you think I’d change my mind knowing that Jeff would be there?”
“Because, you dolt,” Lara breathed while peering into the small mirror in the employee lounge and layering new mascara over old, “Jeff still works at that New Age shop, the Crying Room.”
“The Scrying Room,” I corrected and let out a bubble of laughter. “Don’t you know the difference between scrying and crying?”
“No, I don’t. But you do.” Lara turned and raised her eyebrows at me. “That’s why I’m sure you’ll come tonight. After Jeff’s had a couple martinis you can pump him for information.”
“Oh, really? What kind of information would I be pumping from Jeff? How to bore Seattle’s entire homosexual population into becoming straight?”
“No.”
By the hand, Lara tugged me out the rear entrance of the theater and into an icy West Coast shower. “Everything you’ve always wanted to know about pentagrams but were afraid to ask.”
Lara and I split a fifteen-dollar cab ride to Jimbo’s. Even though the clock was halfway to 1:00 a.m. when we entered, I felt rejuvenated by the dim lighting, noxious aroma of stale smoke and beer and the vibration of heavy base from the sound system. Our comrades, Jenny, Cathy and Jeff were engrossed in a conversation of earth-shattering magnitude, namely, whether or not tongue piercing really could provide an advantage during oral sex.
Lara and I tugged two more chairs over to the scarred pine table that was the one preferred by our group due to its equal proximity 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.”
“Tabitha, I hate to break it to you, but going for a degree in Women’s Studies was not going to help you. You should’ve been studying men all along.” She laughed.
“Aw, man.” I hung my head with a sudden realization. “Martha works for Clay. If I get the job I’ll be Clay Sanderson’s secretary.”
“That’s great!” Lara exclaimed. “Isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s great,” Cathy reasoned. “Tab’s been soppy and doe-eyed over that suit for years.”
“How could I possibly work for him?” I moaned. “I can’t work with a man who ties me up in knots.”
“I know exactly how you feel,” Jeff commented, returning with his martini in time to hear my last comment.
Soppy and doe-eyed was exactly the way Jeff was staring at the Scrying Room’s owner, Lucien Roskell, when Jen and I arrived just after ten the next morning. Only problem was, the way Lucien scraped his gaze hotly across my breasts when I walked in, told me that Jeff’s boss didn’t have an ounce of gay in him.
When a few possible customers came into the store Jeff and Lucien left Jen and I to look around or, as Lucien put it, “meander their metaphysical retail establishment.” I was quite content to meander since I had no idea what the hell I was doing there in the first place. Jenny, on the other hand, was having a hard time taking her eyes off the proprietor.
“Did you get a load of that guy?” she whispered in my ear.
“Yeah, I did. He’s good-looking.” I picked up a crystal dangling from a long silver chain and held it up for examination. “Do you wear this thing or hang it as a decoration?”
“Good-looking?” Jenny slapped my back so hard I stumbled forward and nearly dropped the crystal. “The guy isn’t good-looking he’s friggin’ gorgeous!” Jenny insisted. “Under that black turtleneck you can see washboard abs!”
“Well, sure, but he’s got a bum-chin.”
Jenny rolled her eyes, “You mean a cleft chin? If I could stick my tongue in that cleft I’d die a happy woman.”
I glanced across the shop to where Lucien was showing a collection of tarot cards to a balding middle-aged man. Lucien looked up and his carbon eyes gripped mine and held. I felt my toes curl.
I tore my gaze away. “I don’t know, there’s something weird or strange about the guy.”
“It’s probably the fact that he’s six feet tall with broad shoulders, a smooth olive complexion, thick dark hair and those bottomless eyes,” Jenny sighed. “We’ve heard of male perfection, we’re just not used to seeing it away from a GQ cover.”
“Sorry to leave you,” Jeff offered when he returned. “Our pentagram stuff is over here.”
Jeff brought us to another section of the L-shaped store that was floor-to-ceiling glass shelves.
“This is our Wicca section.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Look, I gotta go fill an order in the back room so take a look around. There are a number of good books in our witches library that you might find interesting and, if you want, I’ll give you my twenty-percent employee discount.” He turned and scuttled in the opposite direction.
Jenny and I stared at the massive quantity of items surrounding us.
“Wow,” Jenny said. Wow just about covered it.
“No eye of toad or hair of newt,” I observed, but there certainly were shelves containing everything else you would expect your modern witch to have. There were spell candles, witch balls, incense sticks, intricately carved wands and, of course, crystal balls in your choice of green, blue and black. One shelf held a weighty selection of scrying mirrors that gave me the heebie-jeebies.
“Well, I’m definitely getting this,” Jenny announced holding up a book titled Red Hot Love Spells. “Maybe I can find a spell to put on Tim tonight.”
“Is Tim the one who’s Lara’s cousin?”
“No, that was Todd.”
“So he’s your neighbor’s nephew?”
“No, that’s Terry. Tim is my cousin’s neighbor’s stepson.”
I just shook my head clear and changed the subject.
“To own this kind of a store this Roskell guy is either very strange—” I fingered a brass chalice and gasped at the price tag “—or very smart.”
“I see you’re interested in The Craft,” a deep voice sounded behind us. “‘All the wild witches, the most noble ladies, for all their broomsticks and their tears, their angry tears, are gone.’”
