Armed

  “That’s right,” Millie agreed, the nodding of her head shaking her bell earrings. “I read that somewhere. Or maybe saw it on TV.”

  “You can’t just walk up to employees and ask them, hey, did you happen to kill Elvira last night? No? Good. Thanks,” Sam said.

  “Well, I haven’t exactly thought of a strategy yet,” I said, while I tossed a few more things into the L.L.Bean tote bag Sam had given me last Christmas. “Mom always tells us everything happens for a reason. If I can find the reason for her murder then I’ll find the person who did it.”

  “Yeah, sure. Mom is always right,” my sister said without much conviction.

  I reached into my purse and took out my keys. “Just don’t say anything to Mom about this.”

  “Why? Maybe she can help.”

  Once again I gave my sister a quizzical expression adding a mental eye roll.

  “Have you met Mom? Our mom? Remember her? Mabel Worrywart Harris. The woman who kept a safety gate around the stove until we were twelve. The woman who, until we graduated from high school, made us come in when the street lights came on.”

  “Yeah, okay, she’ll freak out.”

  “Right.”

  “Maybe you should just go home. Relax. Call Peter,” Sam suggested, referring to my boyfriend of almost two years.

  “Can’t.” I sat and pulled on a pair of boots. If this murder taught me anything it’s that if you live in New England and it’s winter, you better keep a pair of boots handy. “We broke up a couple of weeks ago. Or rather, I broke up with him.”

  Sam walked around the desk and stood in front of me. “Why? What happened? Why didn’t you say anything?” Her voice became very soft.

  “There’s nothing to say. The relationship didn’t work. So I ended it.” I put my hands firmly on Sam’s shoulders. “I’m fine with it. I’m actually happy about it.

  “Well, okay,” Sam said, somewhat bewildered. “You just found a dead body, you’re a prime suspect for murder, and now you tell me you broke up with a man you’ve been dating for almost two years. I think you need to go home and rest. Maybe have a bowl of soup or…something.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I’m going to the factory but first I’m going to the police station. I just thought of something that might convince Detective Van der Burg I couldn’t possibly have killed Mrs. Scott.” I grabbed my tote bag and coat. “Just stay by the phone in case I need bail money.”

  Millie made the sign of the cross again as I walked out the door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The drive to the police station would take about fifteen minutes. I rolled down the window a couple of inches and let the cold air smack me in the face. I glanced in the rearview mirror and grunted. I should have touched up my makeup, but what the hell, the police had already seen me, and if they threw me in jail, I’d be looking a lot worse.

  All of a sudden my gusto vanished. I had an impulse to turn around and go home just like Sam suggested, pull the covers up over my head, and not come out until spring. But I didn’t want to be alone with the images of last night. I didn’t want to fall asleep for fear the mannequin from hell would still be in my psyche. And there was no longer Peter to keep me company.

  I didn’t know what I wanted in a mate but I had come to the realization a few weeks before that it wasn’t predicable Peter. When I thought about it, it seemed all my previous paramours had one thing in common—predictability.

  I pondered this latest revelation for a few miles and then it came to me. They weren’t edgy enough. All had been reliable and steadfast, but I liked to do things every once in a while just to shake life up. Stumbling onto a dead body overdid the shake things up a bit, but that didn’t count.

  Several years ago I went skydiving, much to the horror of my boyfriend at the time. So shaken by my brazen act of adventure he broke up with me shortly thereafter explaining he didn’t think the mother of his future children should be so reckless. I think deep down I did it on purpose knowing how he would react. It probably would have been simpler to just break up with him, but more often than not, it seems I take the path of more resistance.

  “What would Winnie say?” I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Nothing appropriate came to mind and I wondered if the great man had had time to think about such things what with his saving the world and all.

  The solid brick building that housed the police department of Indian Cove, Connecticut, came into view. I pulled into the lot and found a parking space.

  “I’d like to speak with Detective Van der Burg,” I said to a young woman behind the counter.

  “I’ll see if he’s in.” She picked up a phone and started to dial a number.

  “Never mind. I see him over there.”

  “Miss, you can’t just…”

  “Ms. Harris,” Detective Van der Burg said, looking surprised. “What are you doing here?” The sandwich in his hands stopped midway to his mouth.

  I sat in a straight chair and gave him an incredulous look. “You’re eating lunch?”

  The detective looked up at the clock on the wall. “Well, it is lunch time. Almost.” He put the sandwich down and wiped a bit of mustard from his chin. “What’s this all about?”

  “The shovel. I didn’t see it. Honest to God.” I leaned forward. “I think I can prove it,” I gave him my most engaging smile, which seemed to have no affect at all.

  “Unless you’re going to tell me you’re legally blind, how can you do that?”

  He seemed to be paying a lot of attention to his sandwich.

  “Go ahead and eat. You can eat and listen at the same time, can’t you?”

  Detective Van der Burg picked up the sandwich and took a large bite. I wondered if he would share. My stomach had digested my meager breakfast quite nicely and wanted more.

  “I didn’t want to go out into the factory.”

  “The clown thing,” he said through a mouthful of sandwich.

  “Yes. The clown thing. I would have given anything not to have to go out there. But I did.”

  “And?”

  “And? Don’t you see? I had to go out there because I couldn’t find a shovel.”

  Detective Van der Burg put the last bit of his sandwich down. “How does this prove anything?”

  I sighed. Was the man a moron? “If I had seen the shovel in the mailroom there would have been no need for me to go into the factory, but I did. Hence, I didn’t see the shovel.” I leaned back totally awed by my brilliant deductive abilities. If my business didn’t pick up soon, maybe I could get a job here. They seemed to need the help.

  “That’s your proof?”

  “Yes.” I said, annoyed he didn’t seem sufficiently impressed with my explanation.

  “Ms. Harris, that’s not proof. We just have your word for it. We need a bit more.”

  “Why? Now you’re accusing me of lying. To the police?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just wondering why you went out into a factory you’ve admitted creeps you out, with a shovel in the mailroom right where you worked all day. The fact there just happened to be a dead body in the factory makes it all the more interesting to me. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some calls to make.” He tossed out the wrappings of his sandwich, which, by the way, came from my favorite deli, and brushed crumbs into the wastebasket.

  I would not be dismissed so easily. I stood up and leaned on his desk, fingers splayed. “You don’t know me, but let me tell you a few things. I pay my bills on time, I ride my bike all summer to do my bit for the ozone layer. I work hard, and if I say I didn’t see that shovel, then I didn’t see that shovel!” Others in the room looked our way. I stood up and straightened my shoulders. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

  “Well, thanks for letting me know.” That ridiculous smile tugged at the corners of this mouth. “As long as you’re here—” He pulled some papers from a folder on his desk. “Take a look at these. Do they mean anything to you?”

  I glanced
at each sheet and then shook my head. “It seems to be a list of clients and things they’ve ordered from Poupée Mannequins. What is it exactly? Is it important?”

  “We don’t know. The original is at the lab but I made a few copies. I gave one to Mr. Poupée. And yes, it is a printout of various clients. The question is why would Mrs. Scott have this in her purse?”

  I shook my head again. “I have no idea. Maybe she liked to work at home.”

  “Maybe.”

  Detective Van der Burg stood up and I noticed he looked more athletic than I had realized last night. Then his intense gray eyes were staring at me and I felt a damn blush coming on.

  “Are you going anywhere for the holidays?” he asked, catching me totally off guard.

  “If that’s your way of hinting I shouldn’t leave the country then let me know so I can cancel my flight to Brazil.”

  And then he laughed. An actual laugh. It sounded nice.

  “No. Not at all. Just curious.”

  I narrowed my eyes, wondering what his ulterior motive could be and then I mentally slapped my forehead for being so cynical.

  “No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying in town. I’ll be spending Christmas with my parents and my sister’s family.”

  Detective Van der Burg nodded. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Harris. We’ll be in touch.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Forty minutes later, after stopping off for a sandwich at my, and it seemed, the detective’s favorite deli, I entered the factory, a place I didn’t want to ever see again.

  “Alex?” Mr. Poupée looked up from his desk “You’re here.”

  “I changed my mind.” I slipped my coat off and hung it over the back of a chair.

  “You’re just in time for what?” he asked, looking totally perplexed.

  You’ve got to love him. I touched my ear and smiled.

  “Oh, sorry.” Mr. Poupée reached a hand to his right ear and fiddled with the aid. “Sometimes I want total quiet.”

  “I can understand that. Maybe I can help out here after all. Are you here alone?”

  “We’re closed for the day. The police questioned everyone and then I sent them home. A few chose to stay.” Mr. Poupée sat back in his chair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve read this article four times and have no idea what’s in it.” He tossed a trade publication onto a heap on the desk.

  “Why don’t you go home? I can come back tomorrow.”

  Mr. Poupée shook his head. “I don’t know what I want you to do. Nothing like this has ever happened and if it had, well, Elvira would have gone into action and taken care of it.” He looked up through misty eyes. “Alex, Elvira is dead. The police think I’m involved. What are they thinking?” He looked at me, his old eyes pleading.

  I shook my head because I didn’t have a clue. It seemed their only two suspects were an old man with a hearing problem and me, someone who didn’t even know the victim.

  “I don’t know. You said they found out you spent time at her house. Do you want to tell me about it?” Did I really want to hear details of some sort of romantic tryst between this man, whom I had known forever, and a woman I found murdered not twenty-four hours ago?

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Mr. Poupée clasped his hands together. “When Irwin died, Dolly and I invited Elvira for dinner to get her out of the house. Over the years, she would mention something or another that needed fixing and I would drop by.”

  “How recently?” I closed my eyes and hoped it hadn’t been just a day or two before. If the police found out they had been alone together, it would diminish Mr. Poupée’s claim that Mrs. Scott had needed to see him last night.

  “About four months ago. Lawn mower problems. I told her before she hauled it into the shop, I’d take a look. Easy enough to fix. Dolly went out of town and Elvira asked me to stay for lunch. That’s it. Nothing more. Ever!” He said this forcibly. “The funny thing is, I would stop by and help her, but even though we worked so closely at work…” he paused, “Elvira always called me Mr. Poupée.”

  “It sounds innocent enough,” I said, releasing the breath I’d been holding. “I’m sure once the police look into it, they’ll drop it.” As far as I could tell they already had and were now concentrating their efforts on me.

  “Now they’ve got Ruth in the conference room being interrogated. Ruth! My word. Why on earth would she have any reason to hurt Elvira?”

  “Is Detective Van der Burg here?”

  “Yes, he arrived a short time before you.”

  “It’s just routine. The police have to start somewhere and as Mrs. Scott didn’t have any family her place of employment seems like the next logical step. Speaking of which, have they located any relatives? What’s going to happen…” I didn’t know how to ask without sounding insensitive.

  Mr. Poupée nodded. “To her body? There is no one. Dolly and I will handle all arrangements as soon as they release her body.”

  The phone on the desk buzzed.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” Mr. Poupée hung up the receiver and looked at me. “A dedicated group. They need me in the design center. Alex, maybe you could come back tomorrow?”

  “Sure. But as long as I’m here, why don’t I start packing things up.”

  We walked into the outer office.

  “I suppose you can just put everything into a box and I’ll sort it out later.” Mr. Poupée looked at Elvira’s desk.

  After he left, I found a box and started in.

  “Ah, we meet again,” Detective Van der Burg said from the doorway causing me to jump.

  I studied him for a moment. Van der Burg. It sounded Dutch. I heard somewhere the Norwegians and the Dutch were tall people. He looked to be about six-one or six-two with straight posture making him look even taller.

  “Not working on another mailing, are you?”

  “No. I’m helping out. Mr. Poupée is feeling, well…” I tried to find the right word. “Vulnerable. And lost. And sad. We all are. I thought I might be able to help out for a few days and take care of some things. He’s going to be handling funeral arrangements, so I can help with that, too.”

  “And maybe do a bit of detective work?”

  The corners of the detective’s mouth twitched and in spite of myself, I again found his smile appealing.

  “Does that mean you don’t suspect me anymore?”

  “I work alone,” he said, and then left the office.

  “Geesh.”

  In less than twenty-four hours my life had been turned upside down. I found a dead body and was a suspect for murder. My relationship with Peter had ended and my business had slowed. Despite all these negatives, I felt energized. I had a mission. I needed to clear my name and that of Mr. Poupée.

  I walked into his office. His desk had several piles of paper but otherwise orderly. On a credenza, sat several framed photos of Dolly Poupée, one of their daughters and grandchildren. In another, what looked like a company picnic, several people gathered around the Poupées with Mrs. Scott smiling between them. I shut my eyes and shook away the image of the body. I wanted to remember Mrs. Scott like this—happy and smiling.

  But she wasn’t yesterday. She seemed nervous, pre-occupied maybe with a house full of relatives. But there were none.

  I leaned closer to see if I could detect anything that would hint to a secret relationship between Mr. Poupée and Mrs. Scott but saw nothing, no secret touch.

  “William? Oh, I’m sorry, I’m looking for William.”

  I’m no raving beauty but truth be told most of us aren’t. Most people are ordinary except for the one who stood in front of me now. She was so stunning I momentarily couldn’t speak.

  “William. Is he here?” she asked in a husky voice.

  Of course she would have a husky voice.

  “No. I’m sorry, he’s not. He should be back shortly.”

  The woman stood in the doorway, silent for a moment, her dark hair pulled back into an expertly fashioned French b
raid perfectly framing deep-set, cat-green eyes luminescent against the flawless skin.

  She sighed. “Fine. Could you ask him to call me as soon as he returns?” She turned to leave.

  “Excuse me,” I called after her. “And you are?”

  “Emmanuelle.”

  Of course. Emmanuelle with the husky, sexy voice. I walked out to the smaller office looking for a pad and wrote a message for Mr. Poupée.

  Ruth Grant stood in the doorway almost scaring me to death. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for me to be here.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, Ms. Harris? Can I get you a coffee? Tea?”

  “Tea would be nice and please, call me Alex. Thank you, Ruth. It is Ruth?”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “I heard Mr. Poupée telephone you earlier.” She moved into the room and took a seat next to me on the sofa. “He thinks the police suspect him. I think they suspect all of us. Have you ever been involved in something like this? Of course not, people are only involved in murders in the movies. But this is real.” She bent her head. When she looked up her brown eyes sparkled with tears. “Elvira hired me. She gave me this job after my divorce. I hadn’t worked for several years and couldn’t find anything. Then I got this job.”

  “You’re the one who told the police Mrs. Scott and I had words,” I said, and hoped I didn’t sound accusatory.

  Ruth’s round face reddened and she looked down. “Well, I didn’t volunteer it. They asked if she’d been arguing with anyone and as I heard her raise her voice to you on the same day of the murder, it stuck in my mind.” Ruth looked up. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No. Probably not,” I lied, wishing the woman had Mr. Poupée’s problem of a hearing loss.

  “Why would anyone hurt Elvira? Everyone loved her.” Ruth sniffled and then added, “Well, most everyone.”

  With that little tidbit lingering in the air, Mr. Poupée returned and walked into his office. Damn.

  Ruth dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she had taken from the pocket of her periwinkle blue blazer and stood up. “Tea, right? I’ll be right back.”