Саманта Сильвер - Lipstick On A Pig

I tried to put on my best “shocked professional” look, the way I imagined a lawyer who had just found out an intern whose name he didn’t know had been killed.

“Thank you, Annie. I’ll go out and see them now,” I said with a fake air of authority, and strode out of the room, leaving Sophie with the two interns. Hopefully she would get more information out of them than I had.

I strode back out to the main reception area—thankfully I knew how to get there without getting lost. Sure enough, Chief Gary was talking to the receptionist while Sophie’s boyfriend, Taylor Shaw, spoke with a man in a bespoke suit who looked so much like the Lester Forrester I was currently impersonating — only around one hundred pounds lighter — that I was sure he had to be the other Forrester whose name was on the door.

“Ah, you must be Lester Forrester,” Chief Gary said when he saw me, extending a hand. I took it and shook hard.

“Chief Gary,” I greeted him. He tilted his head to the side.

“Have we met before?” he asked. Oops. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to know who he was. I had some work to do at this whole pretending to be someone else thing.

“No, Sir, but I’ve read many of the articles about you in the local paper these last few months. Seems you’ve got a knack for closing murder cases. There’s no better man to find the killer of one of my valued employees, I’m certain of that.”

“Well thank you. We have a fine police force at Willow Bay, although we don’t normally have to investigate murders. Now please, what can you tell me about the deceased?”

“To be completely honest with you sir, I didn’t know her all that well. You’d perhaps be better off speaking with some of the younger staff,” I said, motioning to the receptionist. “Is there an empty conference room today where the police could conduct their interviews?” I asked her.

“Yes, Mr. Forrester, of course. We can use conference room number one. I’ll have the coffee brought in, and the police can speak with anyone they want to in there.”

“Well thank you very much,” Chief Gary said, shaking my hand once more. “If I have any questions, I’ll come and find you, but as you suggested, I think to begin with, I’ll speak with the workers who knew her best.”

For the next little while, all the faces I saw were a combination of grim and sad. I couldn’t blame them; after all, these people had all just found out that one of their coworkers had been murdered.

“Excuse me, Mr. Forrester,” came a voice from one of the offices. I stopped and looked in to see an efficient-looking secretary in her mid-forties, with blonde hair and dressed from head to toe in purple, holding out a piece of paper. The nameplate on her desk read Dorothy MacMillan . The office was plain, overlooking the parking lot, but at least she had a window. It was more than a lot of the lawyers here could say for their offices.

“Mr. Cork needs you to sign this,” she said. I took the sheet and began to read it. The whole thing was in legalese; I had no idea what it was about, but I imagined no lawyer ever would sign a sheet of paper without reading it first.

“It’s a shame what happened to Jessica, isn’t it?” I asked, trying to start a conversation.

“It certainly is. She wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but I can’t imagine anyone would want to kill her. Mr. Cork is out there speaking with the police right now.”

“Did you know her well?”

“No, no. I make a point not to socialize with anyone outside of the office. Well, you know what that’s like. We’re from the same generation, you and I. Where work is work, and play is play, but the two are completely separate.”

I smiled. “I do know that. Young people these days, they seem to think they can blend the two together.”

The secretary shook her head. “They do. It’s quite sad, really. Their behavior outside of the office then begins to affect their work inside the office. But I suppose it’s not entirely their fault, they have all this media and the internet telling them that they should be able to have it all. Ah well, times are different now. In fewer years than I’d like to admit we’ll be retired and that generation will be running things. Won’t we see then if they don’t change their tune.”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “I wonder who killed that poor girl though.”

“I imagine it must have been some random attack. One of those crazy people. She must have been out late, and he would have seen her, and followed her, and then, when they were alone, attacked her.”

“That’s certainly a possibility.”

“Or one of those unsavory types at her university. You hear all about that sort of thing happening on college campuses these days.”

I didn’t point out that most of the scandals concerning campuses these days involved rape, not murder, and instead just made a non-committal noise and allowed her to continue.

“Still, I trust the police will find the person responsible. But so you don’t think it was someone she knew? From work, or anything like that?”

Dorothy MacMillan looked scandalized. “No, of course not! This is a respectable firm. I don’t believe anyone here would be capable of something like that. As for her personal life, I knew nothing about it. It could have been someone she knew, of course, but I cannot say one way or another.”

“Do you know if Jessica Oliver had a boyfriend?” I asked.

“I think she did. That was the impression I got anyway. Perhaps I should tell that to the police; I think they will want to talk to everyone in the office. The other girls will know better than I do, though.”

“You should definitely tell everything you know to the police,” I confirmed.

“However,” the secretary said, pausing. “I should run this past you first, as you’re one of the named partners.” She paused again, and looked around, as though the walls had ears or someone was eavesdropping.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“I have a suspicion that her boyfriend may have been someone at the firm.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Do you know who?”

“No. No, I truly don’t. But I have told Mr. Cork of my suspicions a number of times. He has simply told me that he can do nothing without solid evidence.”

“Hmmm,” I replied.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I still have a number of forms to prepare for Mr. Cork. As you know he has to be in court in three days.”

“Of course,” I replied, taking the hint and leaving the office. So there was a possibility that Jessica Oliver had a boyfriend in the office. I wondered who it could be.

In the excitement of the day, I had also completely lost track of time. I checked my watch—well, Les Forrester’s watch. My first instinct was to wonder if I could keep it somehow, after all, it was a shiny Rolex. Then I realized I had about one minute left before my spell would stop, and I panicked. Crap. What was I going to do? I couldn’t go back to reception and down the stairs; first of all I didn’t have the time to, and second of all if I did run past all those people, they might think something was up. I couldn’t go to “my” office, as the window was glass, and anyone looking in could see me.

Not to mention, once I transformed back into Angela Martin, I’d have absolutely zero reason to be in these offices at all. That was a problem for after I’d transformed; right now the main goal was to make sure no one saw my magical powers. Suddenly, a thought came to me.

I walked down the hallway about as quickly as I could and still have it look socially acceptable. I knew I’d passed a bathroom on the way to the break room, and sure enough, there was the sign on the door. I came close to walking into the ladies’ room, and at the last second turned and went into the men’s. That could have been embarrassing!