by Elaine Macko
I had a small fireplace in my home. I lit it as often as possible with wood my father and I cut from the large lot behind my parent’s house—or rather wood he cut while I watched. Today, the soaring flames provided a peaceful backdrop while I mentally went over a few things. Why would Monica lie? She told me she really didn’t know Mrs. Scott and yet they met on several occasions over coffee. That really didn’t mean anything. The two women could have been at the restaurant at the same time by sheer coincidence, or maybe they worked on a project together.
The brass bell above the front door jarred me out of my thoughts. Detective Van der Burg walked in and I quickly turned my face away and slithered down in my seat.
Suddenly he stood right in front of me. “I thought I’d get something to go but I saw you sitting here. Mind if I join you?”
He sat before I had a chance to protest. We sat in an uncomfortable silence; he staring at me while I fidgeted with my purse, feeling my face turn crimson.
“Actually, I need to get going.”
I started to get up but he reached up and touched my hand and I felt a spark of electricity. Really.
“No, please. Stay. I hate eating alone.”
I sat back down but kept hold of my purse. Detective Van der Burg slipped his coat off and folded it across the top of his chair. When he turned I had a glimpse of his gun beneath his suit. For some reason the sight startled me. Certainly he must always carry it; I just never gave it any thought before now.
He shrugged, catching my look. “A necessary evil.”
“Does it bother you? I mean, is it uncomfortable?”
“Not any more. Kind of like a seat belt. Annoying at first but then you feel naked without it.”
“So how’s your investigation going? Have you caught anyone yet or do you plan to put me in jail and throw away the key?”
Detective Van der Burg shook his head. He had a full head of thick, dark brown hair with a bit of gray at the temples cut short, just the way I liked it. I had to admit he appealed to me what with the piercing gray eyes. He had a long nose with just a hint of a bend halfway down—probably broke it at some point trying to put the wrong person away. Then he smiled. It took up his whole face showing a nice set of even white teeth and I forgot about any negative thoughts. His smile was a real dazzler—by far his best feature, though it had tough competition from the eyes.
The waitress arrived and he ordered the same thing I had.
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t a clue as to the identity of the killer.”
I looked at him open-mouthed.
“Does that surprise you? It doesn’t happen like it does in the movies, you know, where suspects abound, motives lurk around every corner and the crime is solved in two hours. It’s a lot of hard work, long hours. Even then sometimes we come up empty-handed.”
“You mean you may never solve this crime?” I asked incredulously though it kind of let me off the hook. At least he didn’t say he would settle for me if he couldn’t find anyone better.
“There’s no sign of forced entry, no fingerprints on the murder weapon, and a dozen footprints in the snow leading in all different directions though most of them had been obscured.” He leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes staring. “The weather service says it didn’t stop snowing until six twenty and the wind kicked the stuff up.”
“So you’re giving up?”
“Giving up? Of course not. We just work harder.”
I nodded. “‘Success is going from failure to failure without losing your enthusiasm.’ Winston Churchill.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry. Just a habit of mine. I quote Winston. I’ve been reading a lot about him lately. Actually, a lot about World War II.” I shrugged. “Quoting him makes it easier to remember some of the things I’ve read.”
Detective Van der Burg nodded. “I like that. He was a very prolific orator. You can probably spend the rest of your life quoting him, and that quote certainly fits,” he said. “That’s exactly what we do. Failure to failure, with a lot of hard work in between, I might add, and hopefully something falls into place.”
“So am I off the hook? I really did not see that shovel.” I began to think I sounded like a broken record.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss my findings,” Detective Van der Burg said rather formally, while a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and small lines crinkled around his eyes.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I reflected for a moment, trying to decide just how much I should admit regarding my own attempts at detecting. “Ruth, the receptionist, told me something interesting today.”
“About Jerry Gagliano? Yeah, she told us too. Did she just happen to tell you or did you grill her? I seem to remember telling you I work alone.”
I ignored his sarcasm. “So why haven’t you arrested him?”
He smiled again. No doubt about it, a real dazzler. “Ms. Harris, we’ve questioned him. We’re checking alibis. You’re just going to have to let us do our job.”
“So he had one?” I asked, happy at the prospect they were seriously considering others besides me and Mr. Poupée.
“I’m afraid I’m not at—”
“Liberty to say. Yeah, you said that.” I sighed, annoyed at not being on the receiving end of the police grapevine.
“Tell me, have you lived in the area a long time?”
I pushed away from the table, taken aback by the sudden change in conversation. “Excuse me?”
Detective Van der Burg took a sip of his coffee. “I asked if you’ve been living in Indian Cove a long time.”
“Yes. I grew up here. My parents still live here. My sister and I started our agency about six years ago, so I guess I’m here for the duration. And you, detective?”
He had a mouthful of the sandwich Helen had placed in front of him a few moments earlier. He picked up a napkin and wiped his chin. “I’m a native of Connecticut but I worked in Boston for the last ten years. I like small town life, and being near the ocean, so when the detective slot opened up, I applied. They usually promote from within but I guess I got lucky. Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
I watched him eat his sandwich and much to my utter chagrin, found myself wondering about a Mrs. Van der Burg. The man must be psychic because he looked up from his plate and asked if I was married.
“No. I’m not married.”
“Good.”
Then he smiled again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Hi. You must be Joanne,” I said a while later to the back of a woman standing at a file cabinet in the office across from my own.
She wore something black and spandex that hugged her sleek curves. She also had on a pair of heels high enough to cause acrophobia. She turned to face me and I was ready to offer a smile. I instead had to stifle a gasp. Joanne was small and curvy in all the right places with shoulder length blonde hair surrounding her face. But the most striking thing was her eyes. They were a rich brown and the left one looked directly at me while the right focused on something across the room. I turned to look before I could stop myself.
“You must be Alex,” she said, not seeming to notice my faux pas.
“That’s right. I guess word gets around,” I said, trying to focus on just the one eye.
“So how’s the investigation going? What have you learned so far?” Joanne eagerly asked throwing me totally off guard.
“Oh, I’m not really investigating, just helping out.” I moved slightly to her left trying to keep in line with the eye.
“Do the police have any thoughts? Do they think it has anything to do with the job we’re bidding on?”
Now I felt perplexed. “You mean the museum job? No, not that anyone mentioned.”
“But the police are convinced someone here did it. They came to my apartment yesterday but I couldn’t tell them much.” Joanne placed the last folder in its hanging file and closed the drawer. “So exactly how did it come about that you’re here?”
she asked in a challenging tone.
I quickly reassessed my opinion of a moment before and decided Joanne hadn’t been eager but rather blunt. She clearly wanted information.
“I came Tuesday to help with a mailing. I’m the person who found Mrs. Scott’s body, and Mr. Poupée asked me to come back.”
Now, at this juncture some words of empathy toward me would have been warranted. Something along the lines of “Oh my gosh. How horrible for you.” But no.
Joanne slammed the stack of papers down on the desk. “I know you’re a friend, but you mean to tell me William hired someone who works in a mailroom to take over the executive assistant duties?”
I just stared at Joanne. The young woman’s eyes blazed. At least the one looking at me blazed. I’m not sure what the other one was doing. I calmly took a seat by her desk. “Let me explain. I’m the owner of a temp agency called Always Prepared. Mrs. Scott called me on Tuesday to provide some assistance. I needed to speak with Mr. Poupée, so I came myself. After the murder, well…” I shrugged. “Mr. Poupée asked if I could help out for a few days.” At the mention of Mr. Poupée I realized I’d never talked with him about the museum job. I shook my head. “Damn.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Joanne said with a brittle tone. “So you’re not staying?”
“Just for a few days. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Joanne snickered. She took a seat behind her desk and ran her hand over her hair smoothing it down. “This should be fun. Ask away.”
“Where were you on Tuesday night?”
“Home. I took the day off because of my back.”
“Probably alone? No alibi?” I made light of the question.
“Yep. That’s what I told the police so they’ll check it out and verify it. Maybe you could share information with them and save yourself a lot of time.”
“Tell me how you felt about Mrs. Scott,” I asked, totally ignoring her sarcasm.
“Don’t expect me to be upset about someone I couldn’t stand,” Joanne spat. “And before you go calling the police, no, I didn’t kill her. I told them yesterday and I’m telling you. But am I sorry she’s dead?” Joanne abruptly stopped. She took a few deep breaths and seemed to calm down. “I’m sorry she died. But I’m not sorry she’s gone.”
Her dark brown eye bore into my lighter ones. That eye definitely unnerved me. Actually, the other eye, the one not looking at me, was the unnerving one.
“You do have my curiosity up,” I said. “I’ve worked with Mrs. Scott on many occasions and she always seemed very professional and efficient.”
“Humph. That’s because you didn’t work with her every day.” Joanne jumped up and pulled open a file drawer. “See this? I’ve got all the employees coded so their supervisors know when they’re up for a raise or promotion.” She indicated small colored tabs on the edge of each file. “Of course I’ve updated the system and now I’ve got everyone entered into our new database so we can track salary history, insurance benefits, changes in status. Did I ever get the credit for this?”
I figured this to be a rhetorical question but I thought I might as well humor her. “Let me venture a guess. No?”
“No. I did not. We didn’t have vision insurance for our employees when I started but we do now. And our dental plan covers more than the last plan. You know why?” Joanne shut the file drawer with a clang and walked toward me.
“Because old Elvira liked the status quo. She used the same insurance broker they’d been using for years. She never even went out for quotes at renewal time. Can you believe that?” Joanne put out her hands in question, her voice raising an octave. “But has anything ever been said to me? Any thanks? No. And you know why? Because she took the credit. That’s why.” Joanne paced very quickly in front of me. “She’d send out notices announcing we had new dental or new this or new that. Always made it sound like she had worked on it.”
“Looks like your back feels better.” I smiled up at Joanne.
She stopped abruptly and reached her arm around and rubbed the small of her back with her hand. “It comes and goes.”
“You seem to have a lot of anger toward the woman.” I raised my hand at Joanne’s attempt to protest. “So let’s say you’re telling the truth and you didn’t kill her. What are your thoughts on who might have? Maybe she stabbed a lot of other people in the back.” I hoped this would illicit some dirt on the tension between Elvira and Emmanuelle.
Joanne regained her composure, smoothed her hair again, and considered this for a moment. “I assume we’re assuming the killer is one of us?”
I nodded.
Joanne stood straight, and rested a hand on the corner of the desk. “Then the only person I can think of is Emmanuelle.”
Bingo.
“They didn’t get along very well. And no,” Joanne held up a hand, “I don’t know why. Elvira and I didn’t socialize as you can guess and Emmanuelle keeps to herself.”
Damn.
“If you can push the blame on Emmanuelle because they didn’t get along, you can imagine what I’m thinking right now at your own outburst toward Mrs. Scott. I wonder what the police are thinking.” I stood up and started my own pacing. “I’m curious about something. If Mrs. Scott took all the credit, why didn’t you ever go to Mr. Poupée? You don’t have any trouble telling me, a total stranger, about your feelings.”
“Mr. Poupée always took her side. He’s a nice enough old guy, I guess, but the two of them didn’t have a clue about technology. Let’s just say in Elvira’s case she outlived her usefulness. It took her a long time to get the hang of new stuff.”
“So you thought she should go and you should have the job.”
“Well, why not? “Joanne said defiantly. “She didn’t want to part with any of her responsibilities, she micro-managed everything and took credit for stuff I did. Hell yes, I thought she should leave.”
I spent another five minutes trying unsuccessfully to get back on the subject of Emmanuelle and then returned to my office.
“She hasn’t learned yet, has she? ‘If you mean to profit, learn to please’,” I said shaking my head, as I walked into the office.
“Winston again?”
I jumped and my heel slipped on the plastic chair mat. I caught myself just in time by grabbing onto the side of the desk. “Jeez! I didn’t see you. You scared me half to death!”
Detective Van der Burg jumped off the couch and took hold of my arm. “Are you okay?”
I shrugged his arm away. “I’m fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m investigating a murder. I think the question is what are you doing here?” He nodded his head in the direction of Joanne’s office.
“I’m trying to clear my name and find the real killer.” I gave him a so there look and immediately felt foolish. “I wanted to talk with Mr. Poupée but I can’t to find him. Have a good day.”
He strode out of the office leaving me fuming.
As soon as I heard him go into the factory, I went to find Millie’s neighbor Sherry.
“Millie said something to the effect that strange things are going on out here,” I said.
“Oh, not strange really. I may have been embellishing a bit. Just a few things happening that usually don’t.”
“Such as?”
“Well, let’s see. I think I told Millie about closed-door meetings. That’s a little different. Things are pretty opened around here.” Sherry paused a moment to blow on a steaming cup of coffee.
I felt guilty using up the woman’s break time with a lot of questions, but I wanted to get it out of the way.
“The supervisors like to make sure if there are any problems we can come in and discuss stuff,” Sherry began again, after taking a few tentative sips. “A few people who usually work on assembly have been pulled off and sent to help out in another area. They won’t say what they’re working on. The only thing I can think of is it may have to do with the museum contract, b
ut that’s not really supposed to start until January.”
I thanked her and went back to my office thinking I hadn’t learned much. Just another dead end. I had hit quite a few of those.
I heard Mr. Poupée in his office and knocked on his door. And knocked. I gritted my teeth and walked in.
“Alex, come in. How’s it going?” Mr. Poupée asked as he adjusted his hearing aid.
What good did it do if he never turned it on?
“Okay. Most everyone seems willing to talk once I get them started. Not that I’ve found out much. I did hear some factory employees are working in other areas.”
“Hmmm.”
Hmmm? What the heck did that mean? I waited a few more seconds but Mr. Poupée didn’t elaborate.
I didn’t have much else to report on the investigation and decided to spare him the unpleasantness I had heard about Mrs. Scott. I found out a lot about office gossip and backstabbing employees but I didn’t think he wanted to hear that. Eventually I would have to make some things known to him.
“Before I leave I wanted to ask if it would be normal for Mrs. Scott to have an employee’s file in her desk. I know they’re usually kept in Joanne’s office.”
“Oh good, you’ve met Joanne. No, it’s not normal. Joanne handles most of the personnel things, but then again, it’s not really unusual either. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, we don’t have a personnel department. Elvira handled benefits and such but I assumed she passed most of that on to Joanne. Whose file are you referring to?”
“I found Emmanuelle Robert’s file in Mrs. Scott’s desk.”
Mr. Poupée sat forward and clasped his hands together. “Well, now, that is a bit odd. She would have nothing to do with Emmanuelle. Richard hired her and any evaluations or job-related problems would be handled by him and her benefit package would be administered by Joanne. But with Joanne taking time off, maybe Elvira took over. Is it important? I could ask Emmanuelle.”
“Oh no, Mr. Poupée. Don’t bother. I just wondered how things worked, who handled what. I can ask if I think it might be important.”
