Angel Food and Devil Dogs by Liz Bradbury

erroneously imagine she's had a twelve ounce Schweppes.
    "Do you remember anyone acting strangely when they got up to get their drink?" I asked.
    She thought for a moment, "No, there was no one in front of me in the queue." Then as an afterthought she said, "But... I do remember, that there was an odor... the smell of solvent. Slight, but I noticed it several times. Some type of cleaning fluid for the carpeting? Perhaps that is what made the fire spread? Why are you asking this?"
    "When did you smell it?"
    "I am not sure. I do not have the most successful sense of smell, due to allergies."
    Yeah, right. Couldn't possibly be due to her smoking like a coal furnace.
    She said nervously, "I was in the elevator with Leo Getty and Amanda Knightbridge. We heard the fire alarm. I was afraid the elevator would stop. I have a fear of small places. When we got outside, the fire trucks arrived. We saw the flames." Clutching at her shawl, she asked fearfully, "What was this?" Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann was wound more tightly than a broken Baby Ben. No wonder she smoked like a chimney.
    I asked, "Do you have any reason to be afraid for your own safety, Dr. Roth-Holtzmann?"
    A look of pure terror flashed over her face, then it was gone. She drew herself up, "No, I have no more reason to be afraid than anyone else in these uncertain times." She said it like something she'd rehearsed.
    "Here's my card in case you think of anything else," I said standing.
    On my way out, I noticed the metal sign next to her office door with her name on it said, "Dr. Rowlina Roth." The hyphen Holtzmann had still not been added, even after a year. Bet that pissed her off. What's the point of a beard marriage if you can't even get a sign to advertise it?
    Dr. Rowlina Roth - Holtzmann needed a hard-nosed shrink who'd kick her butt out of the closet, but there was something frightening her beyond Carl's death and the explosion in the conference room. Something more personal. I wondered if she needed protection.

Chapter 9
    Dr. Leo Getty was sitting behind his desk eating a huge roast beef sandwich with lettuce, onions, and tomato on a Kaiser roll, when I got there for our appointment at 5:00 PM.
    "Maggie!" he called expansively, "come on in, sit down, sit down. Just grabbing supper, didn't get much at lunch, meetings with parents all day." He stood, still holding the sandwich in his left hand, brushing Kaiser crumbs off his shirt with his right. He wiped his hand on his pants before extending it to me. I shook it. He acted genuinely glad to see me.
    "Want some of my sandwich? Chips? Hey listen, how are ya, OK? What'd they do to you in the hospital? It was something what you did. Were you a Brownie Scout or what?" he chuckled.
    His office was much larger than Bart's. Besides the standard file cabinets and desk, there were tables covered with computer equipment. Monitors, towers, scanners, a large workhorse laser printer, manuals, and a ton of electronic stuff I couldn't identify. On the wall was a chart for a football pool and a Penn State Football poster with the schedule of this year's games. On the floor in the corner were a pile of footballs, some deflated, some seemed smaller than regulation size, and a patch kit and mini bicycle pump.
    Getty sat in he the middle of it all. Without the baseball cap he'd been wearing yesterday his straight gray hair was visible. Thick, silver and cut in the shape of a helmet. Hydrant hair with a touch of Moe Howard. To finish off the hydrant impersonation, his 5'7" stocky frame was sporting a bright yellow tracksuit with the college logo on it. He reeked of straight guy cologne . Old Spice? Aqua Velva?
    "I'll pass on the sandwich, but thanks. Dr. Getty, I want to ask you about Carl Rasmus, but let's just touch on what happened yesterday, first."
    "Shoot," he said leaning back in his swivel chair while he took a huge bite of sandwich. Then he said around it, "Call me Leo. Really, it's OK. Look, I'm concerned about all this..." He