Alex Harris 00 - Armed

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