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correct anyway. She was at her desk. I peered through the glass door, like a little kid waiting for the toy store to open. I rapped gently at first, but finally ended up pounding with both fists when I got no response to my polite approach. Somehow I knew she heard me. Even through the glass, I could sense her nasty attitude toward me. I couldn’t figure out why she disliked me already. When I came for my interview and was a visitor, she treated me like royalty. And yesterday, after Burns’ murder, she even allowed me to comfort her. Normally people had to work with me a few days before they didn’t like me.
    Could she be jealous of me? Nah, it must be something else. Maybe she was embarrassed that I saw her at her worst in Burns’ office. She was the first person I could accurately describe as a blithering idiot. Not a professional description, but accurate all the same. I was going to find out what was going on with her. In the meantime, I would dazzle her with kindness—and maybe bullshit. She wouldn’t be able to stand it.
    She finally deigned to acknowledge my existence. As she walked slowly and deliberately toward the door, her hips swayed as if she meant business, but her hair didn’t move at all. She’d cornered the market on hair spray. When she opened the door, she flashed her pearly whites and said, “Good morning. Were you waiting long?”
    “Yeah, I was.” I thought lying was a waste of time, and besides I wasn’t very good at it. “Why wouldn’t you let me in?”
    “I didn’t hear you.” She apparently thought that she was good at lying. Her eyes betrayed her. “Would you like some coffee?” Her smile didn’t falter, but the rest of her body language gave a little bit, and her eyes were glistening as if she’d been crying. She turned to the coffeepot behind her desk. My vibes must have been taking a break, because I didn’t get any strong emotions emanating from her other than sadness. Why wouldn’t she let me in if she was just sad?
    I decided to be noble and forgiving. She had a hard time making eye contact, but I didn’t. I walked around her desk and touched her on the shoulder. “Gwen, I know that Dr. Burns’ death was hard on you. I also know you probably spent most of the night at the police station getting grilled. Whatever is going on with you, I am not your enemy. I know you didn’t kill him and I’m willing to help you.”
    She nodded and started sobbing. She ran toward the bathroom. I started to follow her, but figured I’d done enough damage already.
    I picked up the coffee that Gwen had poured for me and I meandered to my office. Meander is the correct word because I took a few wrong turns. The scenic route. Instead of turning left from the waiting area, I accidentally went right and then left and I walked past a conference room and several smaller offices. When I reached the back of the mansion, I continued left, making a circle through the building. This route took me past Dr. Burns’ office.
    I fought the urge to look around the crime scene.
    After Burns’ office came the kitchen, then my office. My very own office. I didn’t share it with anyone. That was so cool.
    I put down my briefcase and purse, went back out to my car two more times for the boxes of books, and finally did a very important, symbolic act. I rummaged through my briefcase full of stuff and poured the coffee from the clinic mug into my own mug. My sibs gave the mug to me on the occasion of my employment by DCFS. It said, “Just take it one, gigantic, earth-shattering crisis at a time.” The cup appeals to my smartass side and survived fifteen years with the Department. It remained my talisman.
    Throughout the morning people kept poking their heads into my office and welcoming me. As expected, the big topic of conversation was the murder. Everyone had a favorite villain. It made for pretty interesting conversation, and I didn’t have anything better to do. I probably would have a few days of