Alex Harris 00 - Armed

Always coming to her office on some pretext or another. From here I can see down the hall. I saw him coming in from the factory, what seemed like several times a day. Elvira didn’t want anything to do with him. If you’d ever spoken with him you’d know why,” Ruth grimaced.
    I had and I did.
    “I think he asked her out a few times and she said no. She told him—now Joanne overheard this and told me, —so who knows, but anyway, Elvira told him she didn’t date.”
    “That seems like a reasonable excuse,” I said.
    “You would have thought, but then our annual sales meeting rolled around and Elvira went out with Oliver Absher. He’s the owner of our biggest customers: Mannequins, Inc., in Chicago. He’s a widower and one of the nicest people. Always very pleasant when he calls.” Ruth blushed and then continued. “I’ve met him a few times, and had my eye on him, if you know what I mean. But he didn’t seem interested in me at all.” Ruth shrugged.
    “Anyway, he’s in town for the meeting and asks her out and they have a lovely time. She looked like a love-sick school girl the next day.” Ruth’s face brightened at the memory. “I admit I felt jealous, but they liked each other. So the day after their date, Elvira’s in the coffee room and in walks Jerry. I had started down the hall to get a cup of coffee when I heard them talking and ducked into Joanne’s office. I could hear them through the wall. I felt bad listening in on Elvira.” Ruth shook her head.
    “Jerry said, ‘I thought you didn’t go out. Well, I saw you last night in town with that rich guy. What, I don’t have enough money for you? Is that all you’re after? You’re all the same.’ Well, then Elvira said he, meaning Mr. Absher, was just a good friend. Then Jerry said, ‘Nobody, nobody makes a fool out of me and gets away with it!’ And then he stormed out.”
    “My word. Ruth, did you tell the police about this?” I asked as the prospect of having discovered the murderer made my heart skip a couple of beats.
    “I certainly did.”
    I leaned over the reception counter, close to Ruth and lowered my voice. “Don’t tell anyone else. I think it best not to. Let the police handle it.”
    “No, I never told anyone. Not even Joanne. I felt embarrassed I overheard. Elvira looked dejected the rest of the day and I felt so bad for her.”
    I took a few seconds to absorb what Ruth had just said. So far the confrontation with Jerry sounded like the best motive for murder, though maybe a bit skimpy. But considering the police thought my not seeing a shovel worthy of a trip to the pokey, they should have Jerry behind bars by now.
    “Now what about Joanne?”
    “Joanne wants Elvira’s job. She’s backstabbed Elvira a few times but she’s always very apologetic and humble afterward, pretending she just wanted to help. I don’t know if Elvira saw through her or not. Joanne is good at her job. Too good.” Ruth lowered her voice to a whisper. “She’s very good at manipulating, but she does it in a way you don’t realize. Do you know what I mean?”
    I nodded.
    “Don’t get me wrong. I like Joanne—in a way. I mean she’s nice to me and all, but she uses me. She knows I see and hear a lot and she’s always pumping me for information.”
    The phone rang again. I could understand Joanne’s constant pumping of Ruth—the woman was a virtual reservoir of knowledge. You just had to turn on the tap and let it run. The phone rang once again. I mouthed a thank you and turned to go. I heard footsteps behind me and turned.
    “I’m going for lunch. Would you like me to bring you back a sandwich?”
    Mr. Adonis, aka Andy the mailroom clerk, stood behind me. “Oh, hi, Andy. No thank you. I’m restless so I think I’ll get out a bit and maybe take a walk. Listen, I haven’t talked with you since, well, since Mrs. Scott died, and I know how much you liked her. I’m very sorry.”
    We walked back to my office together.
    “Thanks, Alex.” Andy sneezed. I handed him a tissue from the box on the corner of the desk. “I’ll miss her. I still can’t believe she’s gone. And I’m sorry you had to be the one to find her. I should have stayed with you and helped finish the mailing.”
    “It wasn’t your fault. She asked you to go. No one could have known what was going to happen.” Then I remembered the postal receipt. “Andy, those packages Mrs. Scott gave you to mail—did you by any chance check the