Lipstick On A Pig

Chapter 7

Getting up from my desk, I wandered through the halls.

“Oh, hello Les,” one of the men said, stopping me. He was in his thirties, and had that confident businessman look about him: hair that I was fairly certain he dyed to get rid of the grays, a smile so white it probably belonged on an ad, and that demeanour that screamed he was good at his job. “Will you have a few minutes this afternoon to go over some documents on the Horizons Inc case I was telling you about?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Come and see me a quarter past two and we’ll deal with it then,” I replied, wincing inwardly as I said it. The real Les Forrester was going to have no idea this was coming. I hoped he was a nice guy and not a terrible boss, for the sake of these employees.

“Sure thing. Thanks.”

A few minutes later I found a door leading into a small kitchen area, with a microwave, a full oven, a fridge, a dozen donuts sitting on the counter and a few tables for people to eat their food at. Realizing I hadn’t eaten breakfast, and figuring it was what Lester Forrester would do, I made my way to the counter and grabbed a Boston Cream donut. I chewed it while looking around. There weren’t that many people in here; just a couple of young women who looked a little bit surprised, and possibly a little bit confused, to see me. Maybe Lester Forrester wasn’t big on the break room.

“Have any of you ladies seen Jessica Oliver the last few days?” I asked. It wasn’t subtle, but I didn’t have the time to beat around the bush.

One of the ladies, a thin brunette who looked to be in her twenties, looked around nervously, like she was hoping someone else would come out of midair and answer for her.

“No, but she’s not supposed to work until tomorrow.”

“Is everything all right, Mr. Forrester?” the other girl, a friendly-looking redhead asked.

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, I thought you weren’t supposed to be eating donuts since you were diagnosed with diabetes last year.”

Oh boy. Great.

“The doctor told me it was getting better,” I replied. “I’m allowed a half donut every few weeks now,” I said, regrettably throwing the rest of the donut that I hadn’t eaten yet in the trash. Hopefully they were young enough and naïve enough to actually believe that was how diabetes worked.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” the brunette asked, and they both looked concerned.

“Of course I am,” I replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, it’s just, I’ve worked here for eight months, and not only have I never seen you in the break room, but I didn’t think you knew any of the interns names.”

I tried to look indignant. “Well, my name is on the firm’s door, I can come to the break room whenever I want.”

“Of course, of course,” the brunette replied, looking like she wanted to sink into the wall. I had a feeling Lester Forrester was not, in fact, the friendly, jovial boss type.

“And I do know the names of the interns here,” I muttered as well. I was glad the two girls both looked too scared to test me out, because the truth was I didn’t have a clue what either of their names were. Luckily, the awkward conversation was interrupted by Sophie—in the form of Annie—coming into the break room.

“Mr. Forrester, I’ve been looking for you all over the place! The police are here and they want to speak with you. It turns out Jessica Oliver, one of our interns, was murdered in Willow Bay last night!”

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!

Please be empty, please be empty, please be empty I thought to myself as I pushed the door open and walked in. I wasn’t that lucky. The other Forrester was at a urinal. Luckily, as I’d always heard, men hated talking to other men in bathrooms. They were pretty much the opposite of women in that respect. I kept my head down and walked past, careful not to make eye contact—another big no-no if my TV was to be believed!—and tried to casually walk into a stall.

I carefully put the toilet seat down and climbed up on it. Seconds later, I felt that same roller coaster feeling, and when it passed I was looking back down at my own clothes, my own body. Thank goodness. Nothing had gone wrong. I hoped Sophie had gotten out of the offices in time and was now waiting downstairs.

Suddenly, an idea came to me. I waited until I heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, indicating that the other Forrester had left, then peeked my head over the stall to make sure the bathroom was well and truly empty. This time, I was alone. “Nonvideroa,” I whispered, pointing a finger at myself. Instantly, I disappeared.

Perfect, I thought to myself as I carefully opened the stall door. As long as I made sure not to bump into anyone, I could get out of here completely undetected. I slipped out of the bathroom, careful to open the door as little as possible lest someone notice a door randomly opening and closing, then made my way through the hallway.

I headed back toward the reception area, where luckily enough people were coming and going that I could slip through the door unnoticed.

In reception, Sophie’s boyfriend was interviewing another lawyer, a blonde man who looked incredibly nervous for a lawyer. I slipped past them and joined an elevator with a couple talking about the murder. Pressing myself, as far from them as possible, against the wall, I heard a tiny glimpse of their conversation.

“Well, I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead and all,” the man started, and the woman continued.

“But if you wanted to murder one person in this office, would it have been her? Yeah, I agree.”

“Not that I did murder her,” the guy joked, and the lady punched him lightly on the arm as the elevator reached the ground floor.

“Oh, Greg,” she replied as the doors opened. I didn’t hear any more of their conversation, but instead moved toward the door leading to the stairwell where I hoped Sophie was waiting for me. I checked to make sure there was no one left in the lobby, then opened the door carefully and went in. Sophie was pacing in circles, and as soon as the door opened she looked up expectantly.

“It’s me,” I said quietly, and the panic on Sophie’s face quickly turned to relief.

“Geez. Thank goodness. I was wondering what the hell had happened to you. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Videroa,” I said, reversing the spell on myself and appearing once more.

“Did you find out anything good?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’ll tell you in the car.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“Because we still have to get these two people woken up and get out of here before they notice us.”

“Fine,” I said, reversing the locking spell on the closet door. I opened it and sure enough, the real Annie and Lester Forrester were still where we had left them. “Give me a hand,” I asked Sophie, and we dragged them back out into the main stairwell area. I locked the door quickly.

“Ok, you go now just in case. I’ll meet you outside the building,” I said. Sophie nodded and went back into the building lobby while I looked at the two sleeping figures. I pointed one finger at each and muttered “Exsuscitoroa.” Immediately the two of them began to stir, and I quickly turned and left out the same way Sophie had.

They were going to have a lot of questions about the day. Luckily, we weren’t going to have to answer them.