Alex Harris 00 - Armed

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 all 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.
    The last person on the list was Ian Reiser.
    “Hi, Alex. Sorry I haven’t had time to complete the questionnaire but I’ve been working on a paper that has to be done by the first of the year.”
    The agency asked our temps to fill out a questionnaire on the position they had just completed. The questionnaire had been instrumental in helping to place the right temp with a job commensurate with their individual skills.
    “No, it’s not about that, Ian. I wondered if you might be able to answer a few questions. We sent you out on a data entry position a few months back at Poupée Mannequins.”
    “Yeah, I remember. Do they need more help? Because I’m not sure I want to go back there. Those mannequins gave me the creeps. The people were nice, though.”
    “I know the feeling.” I laughed. “And no, they don’t need anyone for the moment. I want to know if you can remember anything strange about either the information you were working with or any of the people you came in contact with?”
    “Does this have anything to do with that murder I read about it in the paper?”
    “Kind of,” I answered vaguely.
    “I entered the usual stuff. Names, addresses, contact people, telephone, fax numbers. After that we entered all the order forms, invoices, everything. They wanted as much data as possible for the last five years put into the system. As far as being strange