Armed Page 15

  “I will,” I laughed and started to walk away. “Oh, by the way Ruth. I’m sure the police asked you already but I forgot and I’ve asked everyone else, so I should be consistent. On Tuesday evening, what time did you leave?”

  “I leave right at five but on Tuesday I waited so I could pick my sister up at the train station a little after six so I had a few extra minutes and asked Elvira if you needed some help. She said you had things well under control so I left close to five-thirty.”

  I asked Ruth to buzz me when Richard returned from lunch and headed back to my office. I pulled out the notebook again and, next to Ruth’s name under alibi, I wrote the word none. There had been plenty of time to kill Mrs. Scott before heading to the train station—if she actually did have a sister that needed picking up. I wondered if the police had questioned the alleged sister to see if she noticed anything out of the ordinary—like maybe blood on Ruth’s coat.

  I put my notepad away and got back to work. I spent the next hour sorting through a stack of mail. I found several Christmas cards with one addressed to Mrs. Scott. I opened it and read.

  Dear Elvira, What a lovely time we had at dinner that night! I will be going to Oregon for a conference this week and then will spend some time with my son and his family before returning the Tuesday before Christmas. I hope we can get together during the holidays. Will call when I get back. I do hope you’re not agonizing over your dilemma too much. It will all work out for the best and I know you’ll use good judgment.

  It was signed Oliver.

  I picked up the envelope. It had come from Mannequins, Inc. in Chicago. Mr. Oliver Absher. I placed my hand to my heart. Mr. Absher mustn’t know about Mrs. Scott yet. I reread the card and kept coming back to the word dilemma. Had Mrs. Scott confided in this man about the MS? But would he refer to that as a dilemma? I realized with a start if Mrs. Scott had told him everything, then he might hold the key to solving the murder. We had to call him. This could all be cleared up shortly—maybe by the end of the day.

  The sound of the buzzer on the phone made me jump.

  “Hi. It’s Ruth. Just wanted to let you know Mr. Sheridan is here now.”

  “Thanks, Ruth. How about Emmanuelle?”

  “She got back about forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Thanks. Oh, by the way, do you know what time Mr. Poupée is returning?”

  “He said about three. When he comes in I’ll tell him you want to speak with him.”

  “Yes, please.” I left the two piles I had sorted on the desk. I tucked the card from Mr. Absher into my purse, fortified myself with a handful of M&M’s, and went to find Richard.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  My journey down the hall took me once again past the mannequin display. They looked different today but I couldn’t put my finger on why. What an odd business to be in. I had given this particular subject quite a bit of attention on Tuesday while stuffing all the envelopes for the mailing. Such an innocuous business and yet the place rippled with human intrigue. Even without a murder, the backstabbing and petty grievances could start up a reality show. Once again I thought about how lucky Sam and I were to have our own business and what a gem we had found in Millie. But before I could go back to the tranquility of my agency, I had to find the killer.

  A moment later I stood in front of Richard Sheridan’s office. I had him at the top of my suspect list but still didn’t have a motive.

  “Mr. Sheridan, can I interrupt you for a moment?” I said peeking around the door.

  “Ms.?”

  “Harris. Alex Harris.”

  “Yeah, right, look I thought we did this yesterday.” He picked up some papers on his desk and began to read.

  “Yes, we did. I thought we might be able to do it again and this time you can tell the truth.”

  Richard Sheridan slowly put the papers back on his desk and stared at me, his beady little eyes closing slightly until they were reduced to reptilian slits. “I don’t think I like your tone. I indulged you yesterday, but I don’t think William meant we had to put up with you on a daily basis.”

  “And I don’t like dealing with liars. Let me make a few things clear.” I leaned forward on the desk to the point he pushed away slightly. “If that’s the way you want it, fine. Perhaps Mr. Poupée and Detective Van der Burg would like to know that you lied about your whereabouts on Tuesday night.”

  “What do you mean? How dare you accuse me of lying?” Richard shouted, as I turned my back to him and headed for the door. “I don’t know who you think you are, but friend or not, I’m going to have a word with William.” Richard reached for the phone.

  “Don’t bother, he’s not in. But you can probably get hold of Detective Van der Burg. Shall I get his number for you?”

  I assessed Richard Sheridan with a critical eye. His eyes were definitely his most unattractive feature but the balding spot with the long piece of hair vainly trying to cover it ran a close second.

  He took a deep breath before sitting again. “Okay, maybe I overreacted. Would you like to tell me what this is all about?”

  “You told me you went shopping on Tuesday night. I say you came to the office.”

  “What gives you that idea?”

  I didn’t want to involve Kelly Sheridan, but didn’t see a way of avoiding it. “Your wife.”

  “How dare you question my wife!”

  “I didn’t. She came to see me yesterday afternoon. Your daughter is looking for summer work so your wife brought her into my agency.”

  Richard’s face reddened. “And you pumped her for information. Do the police know William is having you play amateur detective? I should report you for interfering in an investigation! ”

  “Go right ahead,” I retorted. “I’m sure the police would be more interested in knowing your whereabouts the time of the murder.”

  Richard frantically waved his arms around. “I wasn’t in the office! I went shopping like I said. If you were going out to buy something for your spouse, would you tell her?”

  “Probably not.” I had to admit it did make sense.

  “Exactly.”

  I ran out of steam. He was still lying but I didn’t know why. I excused myself and vowed to let Detective Van der Burg deal with it.

  Before heading back to Mrs. Scott’s office, I walked further down the hall to Emmanuelle’s. Finding her door open, I walked in and got straight to the point. “I saw you take your file out of Mrs. Scott’s desk. Why did she have it?”

  “Excuse me. You can’t just barge in here.”

  “You’re right. I’m being rude, but I still want to know why you took the file out of my desk drawer and why Mrs. Scott had it in the first place.” I closed the door and took a seat.

  Emmanuelle heaved a sigh and sat too. “I don’t know why she had it.”

  “Then why did you look in her file?”

  “I didn’t,” Emmanuelle answered after a few second’s hesitation.

  “Well, clearly you did. I saw you take it.”

  “Oh, yes, now I remember,” Emmanuelle said with a slight laugh. “I asked Joanne for it one day last week and when she checked she couldn’t find it.”

  I just stared at her while she visibly gulped. Today she wore a gray skirt and sweater accessorized with some chunky silver jewelry. Once again her appearance looked flawless. She had her beautiful hair pulled back into a severe knot and I wondered if she tried to lend an air of professionalism or if it was just easier to pull it back. Not possessing enough hair to accommodate a bobby pin, I gave a lot of though to other people’s hairstyles.

  “So what made you think Mrs. Scott had it?” I asked getting back to my questions.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Obviously you did, because as soon as you had the chance you went and got it out of her desk. Or did you just start looking in everyone’s desk and finally found it in hers?”

  “No. I…“

  “I think you knew she had it all the time. I think that’s why you asked Joanne to
see it, to confirm your suspicion.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “If you knew she had it, then you also knew why.”

  “No, I didn’t. I wanted to check something.”

  “What?”

  “I wanted to make sure I had given my change of address.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I looked at Emmanuelle through squinted eyes. “You knew Mrs. Scott had it.”

  “I did not know she had it. I just assumed.”

  “Right. Because you knew why she wanted it.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Why would you assume Mrs. Scott would have your file? There’s no reason for it. Richard might have it. Or someone in accounting. Or Joanne, who does the benefits. But why would you think Mrs. Scott had it? It doesn’t make sense unless you knew why she wanted to see it. Do you see where I’m going with this?” I asked, wishing I had been this forceful with Richard.

  “No, I don’t. And I don’t care. I wanted to make sure they had the correct information in my file and when Joanne didn’t have it, I assumed Elvira did. They back each other up.”

  “Is that your final answer?” I asked in my best imitation of a game show host?

  “Yes. That’s all there is to it,” Emmanuelle replied.

  Once again I ran out of steam and felt a glimmer of respect for the police. In the space of a half hour I had accused two people of lying and had come up empty handed. I needed to retreat and regroup.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I kept busy for another half-hour waiting for Mr. Poupée. If he didn’t return soon, I’d just have to contact him at home tonight. I sorted through a stack of correspondence that needed to be filed. I had just filed the last letter when Mr. Poupée came in, not looking too good.

  “Mr. Poupée, forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look very well. Can I get you anything?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  I stood in the doorway waiting for him to say something further. He looked exhausted and I realized for the first time that he not only lost a friend, but he still had a company to run. He sat slumped in his leather swivel chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Are you all right?” I asked again.

  “Alex, what I would really like is to just go home.”

  “So go. You have a staff that can handle the day-to-day running of this place.”

  “Yes. I do.” He leaned forward and put his hands on his desk. “I just had a meeting with the museum people. I thought I had this all tied up. Overconfidence, my dear,” he sighed. “Don’t ever allow yourself the luxury of becoming overconfident. No matter how much in control you think you are.”

  “Has something happened?”

  Mr. Poupée looked up at me. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

  “Mr. Poupée, if it has something to do with Mrs. Scott, then I think you better tell me or the police.”

  “You’re right. In the last few days I’ve leaned on you like I did Elvira. I told her everything about the company. I just don’t want to burden you any more than I’ve already done.”

  I took a seat opposite him bracing myself to hear a confession. He sat there, eyes closed, deep in thought. I stayed still hoping he would open up to me. I surveyed my surroundings for a minute and then looked back at Mr. Poupée. He just sat there, eyes closed. I cleared my throat loudly and he finally moved.

  “I assumed, a bad word, that one.” He shook his head. “I thought we had the contract. We put together a great proposal. Now they tell me they received another bid that’s almost identical to ours. They wouldn’t tell me the name of the company, so I can’t even confront them. I don’t even know if I should confront them.

  “Ron, one of our designers, has been working his butt off. And now it looks like we have some stiff, very stiff competition—that is if we’re still in the race.” He shook his head again, his lips pressed together tight. “An almost identical bid. Well, I don’t have to tell you what they’re thinking. This could ruin me if it gets out and people start thinking we’re stealing ideas from other companies.”

  “But you didn’t,” I said with hesitation, thinking I really didn’t know this man at all. He might be a killer, he might have been cheating on his wife, and now he might have stolen another company’s ideas to win a contract.

  Mr. Poupée gave me a stern look. “No. We didn’t. I trust Ron implicitly; we’ve worked very closely on this. There are a lot of people involved but I just can’t imagine anyone sabotaging this project. I’ve met with a lot of our vendors and if we got the job, they would be supplying us with material, but none of them knew all the details of our proposal.”

  “You may still get it,” I said hopefully, pushing my indecision on Mr. Poupée’s character to the back of my mind.

  “Yes. True. It just came at terrible time.” Mr. Poupée closed his eyes again, the pain of the last few days etched on his face. He then looked up at me. “Never underestimate the competition.”

  “It’s none of my business, but if you don’t get this project, will it affect the company severely?”

  “Probably not, but if we did get it, it would expand a new market that we’re just on the fringes of. You’ve always got to keep your product current, constantly have to upgrade your line.”

  I knew exactly what he meant. Always Prepared had recently branched out into the translation field—trying to keep current, covering all the angles, anticipating what the client might ask for and having it ready.

  “Now’s probably not the best time to bring this up, but there’s something you need to see.” I retrieved the card from my purse and brought it into Mr. Poupée’s office.

  After we spent some time looking at it and discussing the implications, Mr. Poupée tried to call Oliver Absher but without success. He told me again he had no idea whatsoever as to what Mrs. Scott’s dilemma could have been.

  Before I left for the day, I decided to go see Ron Spender. Something played around in my mind. Someone had tipped off the other company and if Mrs. Scott found out, maybe it got her killed.

  As I made my way to the design office, I warmed to this idea, but something still didn’t fit. If Mrs. Scott had had such information, surely she would have brought it to Mr. Poupée’s attention immediately.

  Ron Spender sat at his drawing table, his back to the door and one elbow propped up on the table with his head resting on it. I lightly knocked on the door and re-introduced myself.

  “Have you spoken with Mr. Poupée today?” I asked to confirm Ron already knew about the duplicate proposal.

  Ron hesitated for a moment. “Are you talking about the museum job?” I nodded. “He called me this afternoon as soon as he left the meeting with the committee.”

  “Then you know the news?”

  “About someone else having a similar proposal? Yeah.” Ron crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back in the chair. “Shit.”

  “Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

  Ron looked up. Though only in his mid thirties his hair had grayed at the temples. He had deep blue eyes, a square chin and a kind smile, though he too, like Mr. Poupée, looked very tired.

  “To be honest, no, I can’t see it being a coincidence, though I guess it’s possible and if it’s not a coincidence, then to answer your next question, no, I have no idea how they could have gotten our ideas and bid.” He shook his head. “I like my job, don’t get me wrong, but mannequin designs? This is not the stuff of high espionage. When I think of spying and stuff like that, I think more of a small boat, dark night, international waters and a guy named Yuri. You know what I mean? And I don’t usually see mannequin parts lying in the bottom of the boat.”

  I laughed. “You’re right. Mannequins just don’t lend themselves to skullduggery, do they?” Or do they? A mannequin arm had been used to kill Mrs. Scott and now mannequin designs were being pillaged.

  Ron looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Are you thinking someone breaking in to get our designs killed Elvir
a?”

  I pulled over a stool and sat across from Ron. “No, not exactly,” I answered. “I mean if that were the case, then they just stole them a few days ago, and that wouldn’t give them much time, I would imagine, to work up their own version.”

  “The proposal had to be in three weeks ago. We’ve just been waiting to hear.”

  “So it couldn’t be that. And besides, even if someone did break in to get the designs or other pertinent information, why break in at five-thirty on a workday to do it?”

  “You’re right,” Ron said. “More like on a weekend and very late. But there’ve been no break-ins at all. Nothing’s missing. All our original designs are still locked up tight here. Plus a copy of the sealed bid.”

  “As long as I’m here, can I ask how you and Mrs. Scott got along?”

  “Very well. I liked her and found her very knowledgeable. I know William is going to miss her a great deal. I don’t know what the heck is going on around here, Alex. First Elvira and now stolen proposals. I don’t know if the two are related, but I hope you can find out.”

  I thanked Ron for his time and walked back to the office to get my things. He had been right—there had been no break-ins but someone managed to kill Mrs. Scott, and someone had managed to steal the proposal. This left me with only one conclusion—both had been inside jobs.

  I didn’t feel like going home to an empty house. I hadn’t thought about dating since my breakup with Peter, but sometimes the loneliness became palpable even if it had only been a few weeks. An acquaintance at my health club wanted me to check out Internet dating but my one foray into the world of cyber romance before I met Peter led me to a man who described himself as being ambitious, exciting, well-mannered, good looking, and a whole lot of fun. When he showed up thirty-five minutes late wearing plastic thong sandals, and told me he only went “dutch treat” I had promptly canceled my trial period on the service and never ventured out with another Internet date again. But on nights like this, I thought about giving it another try. Instead, I decided to make a quick drive by Always Prepared.