Was this a new fad, like chain letters? He discarded the idea distastefully as he recalled the graying face of Henny Henlein. The taking of human life, even a depraved life like Henlein’s, wasn’t to be regarded lightly. It was a little after six when he strode into the anteroom of his third-floor office where Lucy sat typing. Through the partially opened door into the next room he could see a woman sitting in the chair beside his desk. Lucy looked up reproachfully. “Don’t frown, angel. It makes wrinkles.” “Then hurry up,” she whispered. “That woman’s half crazy. I put her in your office because it made me jittery just to look at her.” “Who is she?” “Somebody named Clarissa Milford. Mrs. Clarissa Milford.” “And you say she got one of the voodoo dolls?” Lucy nodded.
