P is for Peril by Sue Grafton Page B

the car. I only noticed it just now. I thought it might have fallen in the basket, but there’s no sign of it.”
    â€œWant me to help you look?”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. I have a whole box of ’em at home.”
    â€œAre you here to see someone?”
    â€œI’m here on business,” I said. I removed my wallet from my shoulder bag and flipped it open. I pointed at my P.I. license. “I’ve been hired to look into Dr. Purcell’s disappearance.”
    Merry squinted at my license, holding up the postage stamp-sized photo for comparison with my face-sized face.
    I said, “Are you the office manager?”
    She shook her head. “I’m temping here on weekends while the other girl’s out on maternity leave. Monday through Fridays, I’m Mrs. Stegler’s assistant.”
    â€œReally. That’s great. And what does that entail?”
    â€œYou know, typing, filing. I answer phones and distribute mail to all the residents, whatever needs doing.”
    â€œIs Mrs. Stegler the one I should be talking to?”
    â€œI guess. She’s Acting Associate Administrator. Unfortunately, she won’t be back until Monday. Can you stop by then?”
    â€œWhat about Mr. Glazer or Mr. Broadus?”
    â€œThey have an office downtown.”
    â€œGee, that’s too bad. I was driving through the neighborhood and took a chance. Well. I guess it can’t be helped.”
    I saw her gaze stray to her computer. “Could you excuse me a minute?”
    â€œGo right ahead.”
    She moved around to her twelve-inch monitor with its amber print on black. She was probably using office hours to do her personal correspondence. She pressed keys until she’d backed out of the document. She returned to the counter, smiling self-consciously. “You have a business card? I can have Mrs. Stegler call you as soon as she gets in.”
    â€œThat’d be great.” I took my time fumbling through my handbag to find a business card. “How long have you been here?”
    â€œThree months December 1. I’m still on probation.”
    I put my card on the counter. “You like the work?”
    â€œSort of, but not really. You know, it’s boring, but okay. Mrs. S. has been here forever and she started out just like me. Not that I’ll stick around as long as she has. I’m two semesters short of my college degree.”
    â€œWhat field?”
    â€œElementary ed. My dad says you shouldn’t job-hop because it looks really bad on your résumé. Like you’re shiftless or something, which I’ve never been.”
    â€œWell yeah, but on the other hand, if you’re interested in teaching, there’s no point hanging on to a job that doesn’t suit.”
    â€œThat’s what I said. Besides, Mrs. S. is real moody and gets on my nerves. One day she’s sweet, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and then she turns around and acts all crabby. I mean, what is her problem? ”
    â€œWhat’s your guess?”
    â€œBeats me. They’re still looking for someone to fill the position, which gritches her but good. She thinks she should be promoted instead of just being used is how she put it.”
    â€œIf she did get promoted, who would she replace?”
    â€œMrs. Delacorte. She’s the one who got canned.”
    I kept my expression neutral. Not only was she bored, but she hadn’t learned the basic rules, the most compelling of which is never, never, never confide company secrets in the likes of me. I said, “Golly, that’s too bad. Why was she fired, has anybody said?” My lies and fake behavior are usually heralded by “Gollys” and “Gees.”
    â€œShe wasn’t fired exactly. It’s more like she was laid off.”
    â€œOh, right. And when was that?”
    â€œThe same time as Mrs. Bart. She’s the bookkeeper since way back when. They were