Alex Harris 00 - Armed

tomorrow. The reason I called is, a few months ago when Peter installed the new database system here we sent over a few people to help with the input.”
    “Yeah, I remember. You need them again?”
    “Not exactly. What I’d like you to do is to print up a list of who we sent out, their home phone numbers, and, if they’re working, where I can contact them.”
    “Sure. What’s this all about?”
    “Not sure yet. Just hoping they remember something.”
    “You’re really getting into this snooping business. Maybe we should expand our services and hire you out as an ace detective.”
    “Very funny. So far I haven’t found out a thing except they drink strong coffee in Europe and the bookstore on Plains Road has an excellent computer section.” I sighed. “Listen, when you get the list together can you fax it to me here?”
    “Sure.”
    “Is Sam in yet?
    “Not yet. Do you want me to have her call you?”
    “No. Just wondering. She came over last night and we had a long night talking and stuff.”
    “Is everything okay?”
    I heard the hesitation in Millie’s voice. “Everything is fine. We have some good business leads. We’ve been slow before. Things will pick up.”
    “It’s funny but yesterday quite a few people stopped by for literature. I actually gave three women typing tests. I think they must have heard about how you found the body.”
    “I imagine that’ll happen for a while. Now we just have to find the jobs to send them to.” I thanked Millie and hung up.
    I walked across the hall, got another cup of tea, and returned to the office. I needed to get back to questioning the staff, but first I opened the bottom drawer of the desk. I remembered something I’d seen yesterday that might help—Emmanuelle Roberts’ file. I didn’t know if the scope of my duties warranted looking through private files, but I made an executive decision and began to read.
    Emmanuelle had gone to UC Irvine and majored in business. After college she held what looked like a promising position in California. The first job lasted almost two years and then she left to take a job with a manufacturing firm in Chicago. That position only lasted a year and then she came here.
    I replaced the file in the bottom drawer, wondering what had gone wrong with both jobs. Perhaps the position here at Poupée came with even more responsibility and more money. Or Emmanuelle might have just wanted a change of scenery. The only way to find out was to ask Ms. Roberts directly.
    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