“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.
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.
Copyright © 1992 by Marlys Millhiser
Cover design by Elizabeth Connor
ISBN: 978-1-5040-1024-5
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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