Armed (3 page)

Sam leaned back and took another sip of tea. “So why not just wait for him to come back to the office or catch him first thing the next morning?”

“I don’t know.”

Sam cradled her cup in her hands and stared at me intently. “What do you think? Did he do it?”

“Samantha! What are you saying? He’s been a friend forever. Honest to God.” I stood up and walked over to the window then turned and sat on the windowsill, the outside panes frosted with a white lacework. “And he’s too old.”

“I don’t think there’s an age limit for murderers,” Sam said.

“I’m sure he’s not involved, Alex. Maybe it has something to do with what’s going on over there?” Millie said with a knowing look.

My sister placed her mug on the corner of my desk and shifted in her seat. “What do you mean?”

“I went to get my mail last week,” Millie said. “You know, most people check their mail everyday, but I always forget. And Gran and Mom never have time. I never get anything but bills. No letters. I’ve lived here all my life so who’s going to write to me.”

I came back to my desk. “Millie!”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Alex. So I went to check my mail and saw my neighbor checking hers and we got to talking. She works at Poupée on the assembly line. Can you imagine putting arms and legs together all day long and…” I gave Millie
the look
. “Sorry, I’m getting off track again. She said something at work must be going on because some people seemed secretive.”

“Secretive? In what way?” I asked, leaning forward, my interest piqued.

Millie shrugged. “I don’t know. She said they had lots of closed-door meetings. And Mr. Poupée came out to the factory more than usual.”

“Hmmm,” I mused.

“It could be anything,” Sam said. “Maybe they’re planning to have a layoff, or maybe they’re just talking about Christmas bonuses.”

“No, it can’t be a layoff. They’re supposed to get that big project,” I said with hope; hope they would get it and hire us to fill the temporary positions. “Maybe it has something to do with that. I’m sure whatever it is has nothing to do with Mrs. Scott. She doesn’t—I mean didn’t—work in the factory. It’s probably some kind of production problem.”

“Do you want to go home?” Millie suggested. “Your calendar is fairly light today. I can take over your interview.”

“No, I’d rather stay here, but thanks. Speaking of interviews, how’d it go yesterday?”

“Not bad. The secretarial candidate passed all her tests and the French translator scored perfectly. Maybe I should learn French. Take a class over at the university,” Millie said, lapsing into a dreamy state.

Sam and I rolled our eyes. Millie’s last foray with a hobby had been a photography course. She had done nothing for months but try to catch us in natural poses. I couldn’t imagine her muttering all day in a foreign language.

“Well, if you two don’t mind, I’ve got some things I’d like to get done,” I said, while looking in a small mirror I keep in my desk. I had cried off my eyeliner, and once again my mascara left smoky smudges under my eyes. On further inspection I decided I liked the effect; it made me look mysterious. I made a mental note to duplicate it the next time I had a hot date.

“I have your mother on the phone. Can you speak with her?” Millie asked me over the intercom a short time later.

“Sure. Give me a minute to finish this call and then put her through.”

I went back to my call with Mr. Abbadini, a cute little farmer whose wife had died a year before. He wanted to sell the chicken farm that had been in his family for several generations. The current generation of Abbadinis had long left to pursue careers in the city leaving Mr. Abbadini alone with lots and lots of chickens.

“Yes, Mr. Abbadini, I think we can find someone to come help you count all the chickens for your inventory. Yes, I understand. I’ll make sure they know exactly what the job entails and aren’t squeamish about farm creatures.”

The last person we sent out, a young woman working to put herself through junior college, had stumbled over when a large rodent had scurried past her legs, landing right on top of a basket of fresh eggs. We put our applicants through a long day of testing making sure we match them perfectly with the client needs but unfortunately, we have no questions on phobias and this one got past us.

I assured Mr. Abbadini Millie would help him find the right person and then I picked up the call from my mother. “Hi, Mom,” I said as casually as I could hoping she hadn’t heard about the murder.

“Where were you last night? I called several times. I wanted to let you know you may be getting a visit from the daughter of Kelly Sheridan. I ran into her and her husband at the airport yesterday. She’s going to be in town for Christmas and I told Mrs. Sheridan it might be a good time to set something up for the summer break.”

“Mom, who is Kelly Sheridan?”

“She’s the wife of Richard Sheridan.”

“Oh. That Kelly Sheridan,” I sighed. “Mom,
who
is Richard Sheridan?”

“He’s some bigwig over at Poupée. Oh my, did you hear about what happened? I need to call Dolly, see how William is doing this morning. Just abominable! What is this world coming to?”

“Yes, I heard.”

It took me over a half hour to tell my mother everything that happened and to assure her I had been in no danger—at least I hoped I hadn’t been in any danger. I wondered if the killer had been watching me carry boxes out to my car, waiting for a chance to escape? Or had he been watching me finish the mailing. I shuddered and ended the call and then Millie buzzed again.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, Alex. It’s Mr. Poupée.”

“Put him through.”

“Alex, this is William Poupée. I’m sorry to disturb you but I wondered if I could ask your assistance with something.”

“Certainly. What can I do for you?” I asked, thinking the last time I offered to help someone at the mannequin factory that person had been killed. Maybe I should pass the call on to Sam.

Mr. Poupée let out a huge sigh. “The police have been here since dawn. They’ve upset quite a few of the employees with their interrogation.”

“Well, that’s understandable. But they have to ask their questions,” I said.

“Yes, I understand. And I want them to find the animal—” he took a deep breath— “the person responsible but well, could you come over and just be here and offer comfort? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m absolutely lost without Elvira.” Mr. Poupée took another deep breath and exhaled slowly before starting again. “The employees are upset. I think they would appreciate a friendly face. You know several of the office workers, and well,” he hesitated again for a moment.

“Mr. Poupée, are you all right? Is there something else?”

“I think the police suspect me. They’re insistent the murderer knew Elvira and seem to be concentrating their efforts here. They found some papers in her purse and they’ve asked if I planned on leaving for the holidays and made it clear I should stay in town.”

“Suspect you? That’s ridiculous,” I protested, conveniently forgetting for the moment my own suspicions of last night and the fleeting thought of barricading myself in the ladies room. “Why would they think something like that?”

“I did come back to the office. I told them why and if they check with the waitress, they’ll see it’s the truth. And they know Elvira and I were close. They talked to one of her neighbors this morning who told them I went over to her house on several occasions.”

“You did?” I asked before I could stop the words from coming out. I didn’t know why, but this latest revelation made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“After Irwin died,” Mr. Poupée said, “I sometimes went over and helped Elvira with things around the house. And once, while Dolly went out of town, I helped install some shelving in a closet and then stayed for dinner. But I assure you, Alex,” Mr. Poupée said forcefully, “the thought, even the merest hint of any impropriety between us, well, I just can’t imagine what the police could be thinking.”

“Hmm.” I puzzled over this information, wondering if the police knew something more.

“I thought you might be able to help.”

“You mean with the investigation? Mr. Poupée, I’m not a cop. I own a temp agency. I wouldn’t know the first thing to do and besides, I rather doubt Detective Van der Burg would let me get involved.”

“Alex, you have a wonderful way with people. It couldn’t hurt anything if you asked a few questions.”

“Mr. Poupée, after last night, I just don’t think I can come to the factory right now. I’m sorry.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “I’m being insensitive. I forgot you were the one who found her. Forget I even asked. I’ll let you get back to work.”

I put the phone down feeling guilty at not helping a friend but I had to think of myself. The images of the night before would probably never go away so for the time being I needed to stay away from the factory.

“Alex?”

I brushed a tear from my cheek and looked up to see Millie and Sam standing in the doorway.

“There are two policemen here. With a
shovel
,” Millie whispered.

“A shovel?”

Sam stepped into the room. “Send them in, Millie. No! Wait!” She gestured to me with two fingers under her eyes.

I quickly pressed the pump on a container of hand cream I keep on my desk and dabbed some under my eyes as Detective Van der Burg and Officer Corliss walked into the room.

“Good morning, Ms. Harris. We’d like to ask you a few more questions,” Detective Van der Burg looked at Sam. “Alone, if we may.”

“It’s alright, Samantha,” I reassured my sister.

“I’ll be right next door if you need anything,” Sam said, while glaring at the police officers. Sometimes it’s really nice to have an older sister. 

Detective Van der Burg and Officer Corliss took the two seats across from me. Officer Corliss laid the shovel on the floor by the chair.

“You seem to be having a real problem with that stuff.”

I ran a tissue under my eyes, acutely aware of the smirk on Detective Van der Burg’s face. So much for a sexy, sultry look. “I can’t seem to stop crying. There.” I dropped the tissue in the trash and folded my hands in front of me.

Still smiling, Detective Van der Burg began. “I know a lot of this will be a repeat of last night, but please just answer the questions. Tell me why you went to the factory.”

I sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly. “They needed to get a mailing out so I offered to come in.”

“You said you didn’t often help in situations like this.”

“No, not usually, but with the holidays…” I let my explanation trail off before beginning again. “And Mr. Poupée is a good client and a friend.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“Before noon. Maybe eleven-fifteen. Mrs. Scott showed me to the mailroom and I worked on the mailing for the rest of the day.”

“Did Mrs. Scott stay with you?”

“No.”

“Did you exchange words with her when you arrived?”

“Exchange words?” Damn. This didn’t sound good.

“Did you have an argument?”

I shook my head. “No. Of course not. She was a client.”

Detective Van der Burg paused while he consulted his notes. “Ruth Grant, the receptionist, said she heard raised voices coming from Mrs. Scott’s office right after you arrived. Also, earlier in the morning when you and Mrs. Scott spoke on the phone. Does this ring a bell?”

I swallowed and thought for a moment. I wanted to convey how innocuous the situation was—despite what the receptionist had interpreted. I inhaled slowly, willing my words to come out calmly.

“I called earlier to speak to Mr. Poupée. Mrs. Scott told me he was unavailable. I’d been trying to reach him for several days regarding an upcoming project.”

“Well, he’s a family friend. Why couldn’t you just call him at home?”

“I don’t work that way,” I said indignantly before I could stop myself. “I try to keep my business dealings totally private from my personal life.”

“So you and Mrs. Scott had words?” Detective Van der Burg said, his eyes firmly on me.

I met his gaze with calmness—a ploy I hoped masked my increasing nervousness. Sweat, and pretty soon perspiration, would start running down my face.

“No. As I told you last night, she seemed flustered and probably answered more forcibly than she normally would have.”

“Then when you arrived at the office?”

My eyes momentarily settled on the shovel. “When I got to the factory, I mentioned again how I really wanted to speak with him. She still seemed flustered and she snapped at me so I dropped it.”

Detective Van der Burg smiled and leaned back in the chair. “You sure were anxious to talk with the guy.”

I leaned back as well, trying to put on a relaxed front. “Poupée Mannequins is bidding on a huge job. If they get it, they’ll need to temporarily increase their staff. I hope my firm gets the business.”

“Seems it’d be a given, seeing you’re all friends,” Detective Van der Burg said in a tone I could only describe as snide.

“I don’t take anything for granted, Detective, not in these slow times. There are bigger agencies than mine in New Haven, Bridgeport, and Stamford. Mr. Poupée could very easily use them. Larger firms can give better rates and with tough times, he might weigh his options.”

The detective looked around my small office. The offices of Always Prepared were housed in a small, two-story house. We occupied the first floor, with a two-man legal firm taking the second. Two former bedrooms served as the offices for me and Sam, while the living room acted as Millie’s office and a waiting area for clients. We used the tiny dining room for testing applicants and the kitchen for preparing lunch.

I furnished my office with an over-stuffed, cozy chair, a high-polished pecan desk, and built-in shelving. Hardwood with area rugs scattered about gave the entire space a very homey, comfortable feeling. It was one of the reasons why Sam and I opted to put our business here rather than in an office complex that might have provided more visibility.