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  Out in the lobby, Ruth handled several calls at once. I would leave her for later when hopefully the phone would be less disruptive. I turned left and headed down the same hall where I had been earlier. A nameplate on the side of one of the doors said R. Sheridan. A voice—a raised voice—came from inside. Making another executive decision, I proceeded to eavesdrop. Asking questions was one thing—listening at doors and peeking through keyholes might not go over so well. But I had a job to do and made another executive decision to listen in.

  “What do you mean you still haven’t received the shipment? I told you on Tuesday night I left explicit instructions before I left for Europe to ship it out ASAP. Did you get anything? Well, maybe the shipping department sent it out in two lots. Yes, I know that’s not usual but with the end-of-year rush. Look, it’s got to be out in the factory somewhere. Yeah, damn it! Let me go out there and see what I can find out. I’ll call you right back.”

  The phone slammed down and footsteps approached. I turned quickly and walked further down the hall. Richard Sheridan turned left out of his office, presumably headed for the factory.

  I took a few steps further looking for Emmanuelle’s office and found it right next door. I rapped on the closed door and heard a voice telling me to enter. Emmanuelle had the phone to her ear and motioned me to take the chair opposite her desk. I stood inside a small but tastefully put together space. Chairs covered in deep blue upholstery sat opposite her desk. A light taupe carpet covered the floor. A large window behind Emmanuelle afforded the view of the factory parking, which for a parking lot wasn’t too bad, having the good fortune to be liberally sprinkled with trees. No personal touches anywhere in here though. No pictures on the desk or walls. No plants. Nothing to make it homey.

  “Damn, Jerry, I promised Mr. Danbury at Boutique Supplies in Boston he’d get his order before the end of the year. I’ve worked hard to get his business. If we blow this order he’ll go right back to American Dolls.”

  Emmanuelle had her dark hair pulled back and fashioned in some way that totally baffled me. I’d seen an advertisement on TV for some implement that creating dazzling hair fashions. Yeah, right. How about if your hair was only two inches long and baby fine? Huh? Would it work then? I had flipped the channel in disgust.

  “Okay, fine. But just be sure it goes out by tomorrow.” Emmanuelle put the phone down in much the same fashion Mr. Sheridan had used and leveled her hostile eyes on me.

  “Ms. Roberts, I’m Alex Harris. I believe we met yesterday in Mr. Poupée’s office. I’m sorry to interrupt but I wonder if I might have a few minutes?”

  “I know who you are. William mentioned you. The police spoke with everyone yesterday. At least they spoke with me. I don’t understand the necessity of having to answer everything again especially for someone who’s not an official.” She gave me a perplexed look.

  “I understand your hesitation and I admit I’m a bit skeptical as to what good I can do.” I gave a small laugh at this point hoping to ease the tension but not even coming close to achieving the desired effect. “I’m here as a favor to Mr. Poupée. As a favor to a friend,” I emphasized. No harm in name dropping. “I can’t force you to answer any questions, but I hope you’ll be able to shed some light on what happened here. I know Mr. Poupée would appreciate it.” Emmanuelle shrugged but at least she didn’t kick me out. “What time did you leave on Tuesday?” I asked. It had worked with Mitch.

  “Original, aren’t you?”

  I ignored her sarcasm and just stared at her waiting for a reply.

  “I left about eleven. A.M. that is. I do a lot of work from my apartment. It’s quieter there, and no one comes in to interrupt.”

  “Were you working on anything specific?”

  “I’m the sales rep for the eastern U.S. At the moment I have several major clients I’ve convinced to come over to Poupée. I wanted to work on a proposal but I spent most of the afternoon trying to assure a new client we’d get his order shipped on time.” She clasped her hands and nodded toward the phone. “But as you heard, there seems to be a bit of a mix-up out in the shipping department.

  “He’s a distributor of mannequins and other boutique paraphernalia and it’s imperative he gets his order.” She still had her hands clasped together and her legs crossed, all the while rocking back and forth in her chair. “He needs his shipment so he can get new mannequins into his shops for the spring and summer lines. Our shipping people had better get their act together or heads will roll, I’ll see to it.” She said it with more than a little annoyance in that husky voice of hers—a voice more than one man probably found extremely alluring. “I also read up on some of our European clients. Richard is expanding the business there nicely, and I’m hoping I might play a part in the near future.”

  “So you stayed at your apartment all day? Can anyone verify that?”

  “Yes, I stayed home all afternoon, but sorry, most of my neighbors work. Besides, I don’t know many of them. So I would have to say that no, I can’t prove it— Oh, wait. Ruth called about three with a phone message. Though I guess that won’t do any good for the time Elvira was killed.”

  “I’ve heard from some people you and Mrs. Scott didn’t like each other. Do you care to elaborate?” I asked.

  “No, not really. But as I’m sure you won’t go away until I do, I’ll tell you. Not that it’s any of your business no matter what William says,” Emmanuelle added. “Elvira meddled a lot and thought she knew a lot more than she did. There are times when I need to speak with William for clarification on a deal. Elvira made sure I never got in to see him.” Emmanuelle paused while she pushed a piece of hair away from her face and tucked it back into place. “I could usually catch him out in the hallway, but it held things up. When I worked from home and called in, the calls always went through her. I guess I could have emailed, but he’s not big on email.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell Mr. Poupée about these problems?”

  “I did on several occasions, but he had a thing for her and thought she could do no wrong. Some people said it escalated after her husband died. Mr. Poupée became very protective of her and turned a blind eye if anyone complained.”

  “Did you ever tell Mrs. Scott that her attitude and interference hindered your job?”

  Emmanuelle heaved a huge sigh. “For whatever reason, she took an instant dislike to me and after that, well, I tried to be civil, but that’s about the extent of it.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t mean to contradict you, but I had the impression Mrs. Scott filled a very important role. Especially to Mr. Poupée.”

  “Well, if you think typing and filing and getting coffee are important,” Emmanuelle pursed her lips and turned away.

  “And being polite and efficient. Yes, I do find these things important. I make my living finding these things important,” I said with more irritation than I intended, but hey, she was mocking my livelihood. “I’m sure Mrs. Scott’s talents didn’t just include typing and filing. Mr. Poupée made it quite clear she was his right arm. But all that aside let me ask you another question. Some time last week, I believe, someone overheard you say to Mrs. Scott ‘you better not’ with a raised tone. Can you tell me what you meant by that?”

  Emmanuelle picked up a pen and began taking off the cap and replacing it, over and over. “I don’t remember saying such a thing. Your sources must be incorrect. Perhaps you need a bit more experience at snooping. I suggest you go elsewhere for practice. Now,” she dropped the pen and rose from her chair, “if you don’t mind I have some important things to take care of as I’ve already explained.”

  I made no move to leave. “My source isn’t in the habit of exaggerating,” I exaggerated. I had no idea as to the validity of anything Sandy said. For all I knew, Sandy could be some psycho weaving nefarious tales about her colleagues to cover her own part in the murder and had followed me to the boutique last night to make sure I concentrated my meager efforts in Emmanuelle’s direction. I made a mental note
to get my facts straight before I started accusing people.

  While I mentally berated myself for not being the best fact checker, Emmanuelle’s exquisitely manicured hands gripped the sides of the desk with such strength I thought the molding would break. Despite the expensive manicure, those hands could probably wield a mannequin arm with little effort. Abruptly Emmanuelle let go of the desk, smoothed her skirt and sat back down.

  “Oh, yes. I do remember a small incident that may have been misconstrued. I believe it must have been last Monday. I really needed to see William. Of course Elvira said he couldn’t be disturbed. I got a little peeved and we had words. Like I told you, we always seemed to rub each other the wrong way. Most of our conversations, if overheard, would probably sound rather abrupt. But nothing that would lead to murder. Does that answer your question?” she asked, green eyes blazing.

  “Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to kill Mrs. Scott?” I added before leaving.

  Emmanuelle closed her eyes for a few seconds and when she opened them her manner seemed to soften. “Our personality differences aside, no, I can’t think of a reason why anyone would want to kill her, and in such a horrific way.” Emmanuelle shook her head. “I mean a mannequin arm. It was an arm, right?”

  “Yes. One more thing and I’ll let you get back to work. Are you from Indian Cove?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked, but more out of bewilderment than annoyance.

  “Nothing. Just curious. I’ve lived here all my life and we’ve never run into each other.”

  “I’m from California.”

  “I’ve never been. I hear it’s nice. Lots of sunshine. Why’d you leave?”

  “I got a job offer right out of college and came here.”

  Emmanuelle made no mention of the previous positions she held before coming to Poupée but I had gotten what I wanted; there must be a reason why she had left both positions rather quickly.

  I thanked Emmanuelle for her time and left.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Mr. Sheridan was back in his office—and back on the phone. With his door ajar, I could hear his conversation. “It’s not out in the factory. The shipping people checked their records and the whole order went out on the same day. In two separate packages, but shipped together. Look, Murray, you don’t have to tell me how important it is you get that shipment. No, I don’t know what to do! Well, that might be possible. I could ask them to check on all the orders that went out that day. Maybe it got sent somewhere else. We’ll find it! Murray, haven’t I always come through before? Okay, okay. I’ll get back to you. Yes, today!”

  If this continued, I wouldn’t have any reason to talk with Richard Sheridan. I could just position a chair outside of his office and take notes. I peeked inside and saw that he had put the phone down.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Sheridan. May I interrupt you for a few minutes? I’m Alex Harris.”

  He didn’t even look up from rummaging in his desk. “No.”

  I stepped inside. In contrast to Emmanuelle’s office, I liked this more. While bigger, it still had the same view, and the cherry wood desk and wall furnishings gave it a much warmer feel than Emmanuelle’s.

  “It’ll just take a moment.” In his agitated state he might let something slip. I shamelessly named dropped again. “Mr. Poupée really wanted me to talk with everyone and…”

  It worked. Richard Sheridan looked up and motioned for me to take a seat. “William said something about a friend being here to help. You must be the friend. You’ve caught me at a very bad time.”

  “I couldn’t help overhearing. Is there something wrong with one of your orders?”

  “I don’t think that’s what you wanted to talk about, is it?”

  “Well, no. I just thought I could help.”

  “Well, you can’t. Now if you have questions, ask them. I’ve got things to do.”

  “I might as well start with the obvious. Where were you Tuesday night around five-thirty?”

  Mr. Sheridan sat at his desk and actually smiled. “Out shopping. My wife and I had just returned from a trip that afternoon and I needed to get out. You know how it is after you’ve been cooped up in a small space for a long time. I needed fresh air and I wanted to get my wife a Christmas gift so I went to the mall, got something to eat, and walked around.”

  “What did you get your wife?” I asked with my most beguiling smile, not believing him for a minute. I already knew from eavesdropping he had spoken with a client on Tuesday night, though admittedly, that could have been from the comfort of his own home or cell phone.

  “Nothing, actually. I couldn’t find the right thing so I went home.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About nine-thirty. Ms. Harris, is this really necessary? I’ve already answered these questions. William’s wishes aside, I can’t see how this will help. Besides, I’ve got more important things to do.”

  Another person with no alibi, at least not one that could be verified unless I wanted to go down to the mall with a large picture of Richard Sheridan and a sign asking, Have You Seen This Man?

  I ignored his plea and continued, “So you just got back from a business trip.”

  “Yes. My wife and I went to Europe. I had some business and she came along.”

  “I didn’t realize Poupée Mannequins had business interests in Europe,” I said truthfully, having been surprised when Emmanuelle mentioned it.

  “Yes, we have a few clients. Not too many but I’m working on that.”

  Richard Sheridan, while not bad looking, would never be accused of being a hunk. He had beady eyes and a receding hairline and his physique could be categorized as scrawny. I liked my men with a bit more to hold on to and a bit more height. Richard had neither.

  “Actually, this trip had nothing to do with our clients,” he continued. “We have our mannequin eyes made in Europe and I go over several times a year to check on production.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something for Mr. Poupée to handle, or maybe someone from the production department?”

  “Yes, ordinarily, but the mannequins with the interchangeable eyes—we call them The Eyes Have It—was my discovery.” He smiled and puffed out his pitiful chest.

  I mentally rolled my eyes. The man obviously thought the invention of mannequin eyes akin to that of penicillin. He laughed and I asked why because so far I hadn’t been amused.

  “I’m laughing because of what you said. Jerry Gagliano, the factory foreman, thinks it should be his job. Tries to get William to let him go, but I’ve managed to hang on to it. The mannequin eyes were a fluke really. I met someone through mutual friends while on vacation and, well, one thing led to the other. The man runs a factory that makes doll eyes, of all things. I got to thinking about mannequins and he made us such a great deal we decided to start the new line.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “You know, I really don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

  “It doesn’t, but you brought it up and I think it’s a good idea for me to have a bit of background on the company. This certainly helps and it’s fascinating.” I managed to keep my eye-rolling to myself and instead gave him a look much like a young Audrey Hepburn gazing at Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday.

  The measly chest puffed out again and Richard Sheridan put the smile back on his face. “I’ve been here just over three years. Talks started shortly after that so I’d say the new line has been in production for two years now. It’s doing very well.”

  “Tell me a bit about Mrs. Scott. Did you like her?”

  “Well, I didn’t dislike her. She could be a bit bossy at times and thought she knew what was best for William. By doing so he gave her a bit more power, intentionally or not. But I had no reason not to like her. On the contrary, once in a while we had some good-natured bantering. I never really gave it any thought, but I guess I did like her. I’m going to miss her.”

  I watched Richard’s face not at al
l sure he could be trusted, but for some reason I believed him when he said he would miss Mrs. Scott. Hopefully with a bit more practice I wouldn’t get caught up in these Hallmark moments and be able to weed out the liars.

  “Well, if that’s all. I really need to get back to work.”

  “Yes, of course. Just a few more things.” I would not be deterred. “Do you know why Emmanuelle and Mrs. Scott didn’t get on?”

  “I haven’t a clue. You’d have to ask Emmanuelle. She isn’t always the easiest person to get along with but she’s done a great job. She’s brought in quite a few new clients under my guidance. These are people who’ve been with our main competitor for a long time so it was quite a coup. As for Elvira, I never had any problems with her. I’m sure William will miss her tremendously.” Richard Sheridan stood up. “Look, Ms. Harris, you’ll have to forgive me, but I have a problem right now that I have to solve.”

  “Oh, certainly. Thank you for your time.”

  Walking back toward the reception area, I checked my watch hoping Millie had managed to get those names for me. I headed back to my office and as I neared the entrance I heard the slamming of a drawer. Emmanuelle came out of the doorway and ran into me holding what looked like a file. Her file?

  We composed ourselves and Emmanuelle quickly took off down the hall.

  I went into the office and opened the drawer finding Emmanuelle’s file gone. I sat down and popped two M&M’s into my mouth, and made a mental note to find out why it was in Mrs. Scott’s desk in the first place and why Emmanuelle Roberts wanted it back.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I tapped my pencil impatiently and nodded into the phone as I listened to Betty Varley on the other end. After calling the first person on the list Millie had faxed over and getting no clues, I now listened to the second person with the same result—Ms. Varley claimed not to remember anything odd happening at the factory.