by Elaine Macko
“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.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
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.
“Looks like you’re doing very well to me.”
I gave the detective an innocent smile and pulled my sweater closer around my body. “The truth is things could be better. When the economy is slow, companies cut back. A lot of those cuts come in the administrative area. We’ll survive.” I smiled again, hoping it true. “We’ve been through rough times before. But we have to scramble for business like everyone else.”
“So Mrs. Scott not wanting to pass your message on to Mr. Poupée could be very detrimental to your business?”
So far Officer Corliss hadn’t said a word. And what about that shovel? Could it be the murder weapon? Had they made a mistake about the mannequin arm? But how could that be? It had blood on it.
“Ms. Harris?’
I gave an involuntary shudder. “I’m sorry. Detrimental? No. I wouldn’t say that. I’m a bit impatient, Detective. I like to get things done, get all the loose ends tied up. Mrs. Scott had been preoccupied with something. While I admit to being impatient and wanting to talk with Mr. Poupée, if I didn’t see him yesterday, or even today, for that matter, I’m sure a meeting would have been arranged eventually.”
“Okay. So you worked all day in the mailroom.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Except for Andy who showed up later.”
Detective Van der Burg consulted his notes. “Andy Gregory. We spoke to him earlier. He said he left about five-twenty when Mrs. Scott came in and asked him to run an errand on his way home. So he left you alone with Mrs. Scott.”
I shook my head. “She gave me a key to lock the front door and said she would be leaving. Oh! I remember, she said the receptionist would be leaving shortly as well.”
“We’ve checked that out. A couple of designers left about the same time, close to five-thirty. I still find it odd for her to give you a key.”
I took a small gulp of air. I didn’t want to lie, but nor did I want to tell the police that my first thoughts included killing the woman for leaving me alone.
“Well, yes, I did think it odd she gave me the key and the code for the alarm,” I said in a clear voice. “But my parents are good friends with Mr. Poupée and his wife, as I’ve mentioned, and my agency has provided temporary staff there for many years.”
“So you weren’t upset in the slightest to b
e left alone?” the detective pressed. “Surely, you would have thought Mrs. Scott should stay to help you finish?” Detective Van der Burg now had his elbows resting on his knees, the pad and pen dangling from his fingers. Despite his casual position, I felt him zoning in on me for the murder. But why?
“Well, I-I guess I thought it strange at first, but it didn’t make me mad or anything,” I stammered, my bravado of a few minutes ago taking a hike. “Mrs. Scott really didn’t seem herself yesterday. She seemed agitated and forgetful. So when she asked me to stay, while it seemed odd, I assumed she had good reason for not staying herself. And, of course, now we know she had plans to meet Mr. Poupée.” I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand causing both of the men to jump. “Damn! The mailing is still in the trunk of my car.”
“You can drop them off at the post office today. I won’t say anything,” Detective Van der Burg managed a smile, which I found quite dazzling.
“What did you think of Mrs. Scott?”
Back to reality. I picked up a pencil and tapped the end on my desk, faster and faster.
“I didn’t know her well on a personal level. She could be gruff at times but also very efficient. She had high standards, but modern technology intimidated her.” I stopped the tapping and look sternly at Detective Van der Burg. “Detective, I don’t feel comfortable talking about someone who just died. I’m not trying to besmirch her good name. Mrs. Scott was a nice person. She had her idiosyncrasies just like anyone else.”
“Fair enough. You said you heard the phone ring last night?”
“Yes, I did. As I carried the boxes out to my car the lobby phone rang. And it rang once before earlier. I didn’t answer it. I just assumed they had a night service or answering machine.”
“So you took the boxes out, your car is covered with snow. Did you see anyone? Hear anything? How about footprints?”
“I didn’t see anyone. As for footprints, I’m not sure. I didn’t take much notice. I’m sorry. I just wanted to go home and it’s pretty dark out there even with the lights. I concentrated more on my car hoping it would start.”
“Was the front door locked?”
I thought about this for a moment. “No. I don’t think so. Is that significant? Is that how the murderer got in?”
Detective Van der Burg looked directly at me, his serious grayish-blue eyes boring right through me. “It’s a mannequin factory. Says so right on the sign out front. It’s located quite a way from the main road. It’s not exactly the right weather for a leisurely stroll down the block. A block, by the way, that’s pretty much out in the middle of nowhere. So exactly why would someone choose to walk into the building last night, for no apparent reason and leave a dead body behind?”
His blunt description took me aback. “I don’t know, Detective. It’s your job to find out.” Probably the wrong tone to take with the police.
“You go back into the building after putting the boxes in your car and look for a shovel. Your search leads you out to the factory.”
“Yes. That’s correct,” I answered sheepishly.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, suddenly stopping his note taking, pen poised above his notepad.
“It’s just that, well…” I began, irritated he picked up on my hesitation. “I’m afraid of mannequins. Well, dolls, actually. So I really didn’t want to go out there, but I didn’t see any other way.” A glimmer came into his eyes along with a slight upward turn at the corners of his mouth. Damn! I felt a blush coming on.
“What else are you afraid of?” Detective Van der Burg asked, now looking directly into my eyes.
“Well, I’m not too fond of clowns,” I said testily, arms folded across my chest, defiantness taking charge. “Nothing scarier,” I said, and this time added a wince for emphasis. “What does this have to do with Mrs. Scott’s murder?”
“Nothing.” Now the detective looked sheepish. “So let me recap all this,” he said as he stood and starting pacing. “You got dragged out on a terrible day to do a job that most of the time you wouldn’t do. You only did it with the intention of meeting with a man who could help your business from going under, a meeting you never got. After working hard all day, you have to schlep boxes out to your car, in the dark, in the snow, and you get your expensive shoes and pants all wet.” Detective Van der Burg ran a hand through his thick hair and smiled again. “I noticed them last night. You must have been pretty cold. Probably by then you had had it up to here.” He ran a hand across his throat echoing what I felt like doing to him right about now. “You’re wet, tired, hungry, and angry that your plan didn’t go as expected. How am I doing so far?”
I clasped my hands together and sat up straight wishing I could come up with a good Winston quote to throw him off his stride.
“You’re making it sound worse than it was.”
The smile now gone he looked at me with a cold stare. “How hard did you look for a shovel before you went out to the factory?”
My stomach churned again. Before I could stop myself, I looked at the handle of the shovel. “Well, I d-don’t know,” I stammered. “I looked in the mailroom. I looked in a small closet by the lobby. I must have opened a few doors.”
“And you found nothing.”
“No. Nothing.” My heart pounded so hard surely he could see it popping up and down under my sweater.
Then Detective Van der Burg looked to Officer Corliss who reached down and picked up the shovel.
“Officer Corliss, please tell Ms. Harris where you found this shovel.”
Officer Corliss looked firmly at me as I tried my damnedest not to gulp.
“We found this shovel in the mailroom where it’s always kept. Right by the door.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Samantha said, standing over me while I rested my forehead on the desk.
“It just can’t be. It just can’t be,” I moaned.
“Do you want me to run upstairs and get a lawyer?” Millie asked, already headed for the door.
I lifted my head. “No! I don’t need a lawyer!”
“Oh, really? They’ve probably got that shovel at the lab this very second checking for blood and hair follicles to match it to the Harris family DNA. Millie, go get that lawyer,” Sam said.
Now I jumped up. “I don’t need a lawyer. It’s not the murder weapon.”
“It’s not? What did you tell them?” Sam asked, moving around the desk and taking a seat next to Millie.
I sat back down and put my elbows on the desk and held my head as I nodded slowly back and forth. “I couldn’t tell them anything. I never saw it!” I looked up again. “I never saw it! I don’t know how I could have missed it but I did. I was tired and mad at Mrs. Scott for leaving me alone.” I jumped out of my seat and started pacing under a fearful gaze from Millie and Sam. “How could I not see it if I looked seriously, right?
Sam scrunched up her face and regarded me quizzically. “Alex, did you tell the police you were really mad at Mrs. Scott? You did, didn’t you?”
I closed my eyes trying to remember. “I may have. Kind of.” My hand went to my heart. “Oh my God.”
Millie made the sign of the cross. “Yikes.”
Sam eyed our assistant. “What are you doing? You’re not Catholic.”
“I know. But you two are. I thought it might help.”
Sam, who attends Mass on a somewhat regular basis, shook her head. “I don’t think we need to get Him involved. At least not yet. Maybe for the penalty phase of the trial. Then we can pray.”
I shot my sister a look that could dissolve Super Glue and then she stood up and walked over to where I now leaned against the windowsill.
“Okay. You’re still here. This is a good sign. If they had anything on you, you’d be in jail. They’re just fishing.”
“Fishing?” My voice took on a Minnie Mouse quality. “Fishing? For what? Mr. Poupée told me not five minutes before the police showed up here, that he felt certain they thought he was the
killer. So why are they bothering me?”
“See,” Sam said brightly. “Exactly what I told you. They’re fishing. They have nothing. Nothing.” She stood in front of me, arms extended, palms up. I wanted to slap them.
“Of course they have nothing. There’s nothing to have.” I eyed her suspiciously. “You do believe me? Right?” It never dawned on me my sister might think I killed Mrs. Scott.
“Of course I believe you. You’re my little sister. You couldn’t hurt a fly. Okay, so once, once, you took Dad’s shovel and pounded that mound of dirt where a mole hid. And we never had any mole problems again. So it was a good thing.” Samantha’s brows came together and she took a step back, putting a bit of distance between us. “Gee, you used a shovel that time, too.”
“Mrs. Scott was not killed with a shovel!” I pushed away from the sill and shoved Sam out of the way. “Get away from me.”
“I’m sorry. But you did put an end to the mole problem and I will be forever grateful.”
I went back to my desk, turned off the computer, and gathered up my things. “I’ve got to do something. Mr. Poupée wanted me to help out at the factory, talk to people, see if I could come up with anything.” I started rambling as I tidied up. “He thinks the police suspect him because he and Mrs. Scott were…you know.”
“They were?” Millie’s eyes grew wide.
“Well, no, probably not, but the police think so. At least they did. I told him no. I just couldn’t go back to that place. Back to where I found…” A tear escaped down my cheek mid-sentence and I swiped it away with the sleeve of my sweater. I didn’t usually cry, but these were unusual circumstances. I didn’t usually scream a lot either, but I had done quite a bit of that too in the last twenty-four hours. “But if they think I killed her, then maybe I need to go over there under the guise of helping Mr. Poupée and ask a few questions. Once the police get their claws into someone, me,” I emphasized, thumping myself in the chest with my thumb, “they will stop looking for other suspects. I need to find them someone else.” I just hoped with all my heart I wouldn’t be leading them straight to Mr. Poupée.
