Armed (18 page)

My grandfather, Lawrence Harris, had been an accountant for the phone company. For as long as I could remember the man had worn a white shirt with a wool vest over it, even to the dinner table. He had an endless supply of bowties and they supplied a bit of color in a wardrobe that consisted of mostly browns. He and my grandmother, who died ten years earlier, had been wonderful grandparents, but Sam and I always had a thing for Meme, and vice versa. Grandpa had been more stern and reserved and it wasn’t like him to make a fuss or stir up trouble.

I pulled into the driveway of Mills Pond, and a few minutes later greeted the day manager. “We just don’t know what got into him,” Mrs. Pritchard said as we wound our way through an endless corridor. “He just up and decided to take some bird feed and go fill all the feeders in the gardens. We didn’t even know he went out until he stopped to fill the one right outside of Lucy McDermott’s room. When she pulled open her blinds her screams brought us running.”

“I don’t understand.” I quickened my pace to keep up with Mrs. Pritchard. “Do you have bird feeders in the woods?”

We arrived at a door leading out to the snow-covered gardens. Mrs. Pritchard pushed open the door and ushered me outside and down a path. At the bottom of the path she stopped and pointed to a spot between two large firs.

“There. I’ve got to warn you, it’s not a pretty sight.” A small smile formed on her lips and I turned from her and looked toward the woods.

“Samantha!” my prim and proper grandfather shouted from the woods.

I peered through the snow-laden branches and let out a shriek. Lawrence Harris stood with a bag of birdseed clutched tightly against his chest. He stood buck naked except for a pair of boots that looked like women’s and a bowtie knotted snuggly around his most private part.

I put my face in my gloved-clad hands and groaned. “Jesus.”

No matter how old you are, the sight of a family member of the opposite sex naked can traumatize you like nothing else. Thank God for my mother who came to my rescue arriving at Mills Pond about ten minutes after we managed to get Grandpa Lawrence settled back in his small apartment. The sight of his naked body mesmerized me in a horrifying way.

Grandpa had always been very thin. Thin doesn’t look so good when you’re ninety and the skin is loose and saggy and your coloring borders on pasty. Add to the fact that he was also a prude. Or so I thought. Maybe Grandma Harris kept him reined in all those years and now he felt free to be himself.

I gladly relinquished sentry duties to my mother who held grandpa down while the nurse removed the rubber band holding the bowtie to his anatomy—so snuggly, in fact, that it had cut into the skin and caused bruising. Yuk.

I picked up a sandwich on my way back to the factory and ate quietly while mentally working on my list of suspects—a welcome diversion from the past hour.

“‘There are a lot of lies going around…and half of them are true’,” I quoted. “But which ones, Winston? Who should I believe and who should I not?”

Reaching into my purse for my notebook I pulled out the latest paperback in a series of farm mysteries Millie had loaned me. This one,
The Skull Beneath The Combine
, looked particularly gruesome. I tossed it back in my purse and pulled out the notebook turning to a blank page. I wrote
Dolly
and started to erase it but then reconsidered. I realized with a jolt that Dolly might have cleared her husband in my eyes, but she had managed to put herself on the suspect list. Dolly as good as admitted she had been jealous of Mrs. Scott’s relationship with her husband. Maybe those feelings never went away and if she found out Mrs. Scott arranged to meet William at the restaurant, perhaps she had been overcome with jealous rage. I reluctantly wrote the word
jealousy
under the motive column I added and mentally banged my head against a wall.

“Argh. I’m supposed to be eliminating suspects not adding.”

Next I wrote Andy’s name. Under the motive column I wrote
none
—that I had come up with so far. Andy seemed fond of Mrs. Scott and grateful she arranged his schedule to accommodate his courses. Next to Ruth’s name, I also reluctantly wrote the word
none
and then reconsidered. Ruth mentioned a client Mrs. Scott had been attracted to, but hadn’t Ruth also been attracted to the man? She didn’t appear to be jealous, but then I didn’t know Ruth well enough to decipher whether she was a skilled liar. In the column marked alibi, I suddenly realized that while I had one for Andy, I had nothing for Ruth. I hadn’t even questioned where Ruth was at the time of the murder. Another mental banging of my head. This detecting stuff was harder than it looked.

Jerry Gagliano’s name was the next one I wrote and it included a motive next to it—jilted lover. Probably not an accurate description but I strongly suspected Jerry felt like a jilted lover. At least Ruth had implied that. Ruth again. I really needed to speak to the woman.

Emmanuelle’s motive seemed a bit trickier. Pondering exactly how to word it, I finally wrote,
Mrs. Scott uncovers truth
. Exactly what that truth amounted to, I had no idea but in due time I would be able to amend the wording. Did I mention I’m an optimist?

Something caught my attention and I looked up and rolled my eyes. “Oh, you again,” I said to Detective Van der Burg.

“We keep running into each other.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.” I took another bite of my sandwich and squinted at him hoping to achieve a menacing look.

“What’s that you’re working on?” He twisted his head to get a better look at my list. “Still trying to thwart the crime?”

“It’s nothing. Just some thoughts.” I covered the meager list with my arm.

Detective Van der Burg let out an exasperated sigh.

“Hey! Don’t start with me,” I snapped. “I’ve had a busy day and I’m tired. The police suspect me of killing a woman I hardly knew. They’ve also got a family friend of mine at the top of their list. I keep adding suspects to
my
list instead of eliminating them. Everyone is lying about something, my business is in crisis, my grandmother can’t play bingo at her church because she cheats, and my grandfather is an uncircumcised exhibitionist!” I paused and took a deep breath. “The last thing I need is you coming in here and sighing.”

“Your grandfather is an uncircumcised exhibitionist?”

I balled up the paper bag my sandwich came in and threw it at him. “Get out!”

Detective Van der Burg flashed a smile and despite my very agitated state, I found it extremely sexy.

“See you around.” He turned and walked out the door.

“Wait!” I jumped up and ran around the desk, smacking right into him.

He put his hands on my arms in an attempt to steady me. “You need to make up your mind. Do you want me to get out or stay?”

“I, uh, I have something for you.” I disengaged myself from his grip and went behind the desk where I would be safe and picked up the pad I had pilfered from Mrs. Scott’s kitchen. “I found this on Mrs. Scott’s kitchen table.”

“You what?” The detective’s face turned a nice shade of rose.

“I found it in her kitchen. I checked for her mail so Mr. Poupée could pay her bills and I found it.” I handed it over to him.

“It’s a grocery list.”

I smirked. I couldn’t resist. “Yes it is. With some doodling on it.” I folded my arms while Detective Van der Burg turned the pad a few degrees to get a better look. I gave him a couple of seconds to study it and then I couldn’t stand it any longer. “She wrote something in shorthand. Right here.” I walked around the desk and pointed. “It says,
could it be MS
.” I waited for that to sink in.

“She had MS?”

“I don’t know. It looks like she at least thought she might.”

“So that’s why she wanted to speak with Mr. Poupée in private.”

He looked so pleased with himself having figured this all out, that I hated to burst his bubble.

“That’s what I thought at first, but I still think something here bothered her.” I told him about my conversation with Monica, a lot of which he already knew, having discovered her fingerprints on the printout. I had to give him credit for that one, but then he had a whole crime lab at his disposal.

“I think I’ll take this and have our own expert tell us what it says.” He looked up and saw me roll my eyes. “Not that I don’t trust you, but how do I know you didn’t fake this to try to throw suspicion off yourself? I still can’t figure out why you didn’t see that shovel.”

I picked up a sheet of paper from the desk, balled it up and threw it at him. He walked out and a second later I heard him ask Ruth if Joanne returned from lunch.

I waited until I heard him leave the building and then went out to the lobby where Ruth sat alone at the reception desk, alphabetizing a stack of papers. She looked cheerful today, dressed in black slacks and a bright red sweater.

I leaned on the counter. “Ruth, the other day you mentioned Mrs. Scott becoming quite friendly with one of the clients.”

“Yes, that’s right. Oliver Absher.”

I phrased the next question gently. “I got the impression you liked Mr. Absher as well?”

“Oh, he’s a wonderful man,” Ruth gushed. “Always so pleasant on the phone. Very polite.”

“You really liked him?” I said with a glint in my eyes hoping for a we’re-best-girlfriends-so-tell-me-all look.

Ruth blushed slightly. “Well, I guess you can say that, I mean, I…” Ruth stumbled over her words. “I found him attractive, and kind, but he was a bit old for me. Not that he’s old,” Ruth added quickly, “but I’m in my forties and Mr. Absher must be in his sixties. I thought he and Elvira made a nice couple.” Ruth paused. “To be quite frank about it, after my divorce I’m just not ready for another romance.” Ruth smiled and her eyes twinkled. “On second thought, if you know any nice guys in their early forties, let me know.”

“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.

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.”