Alex Harris 00 - Armed

and I felt a spark of electricity. Really.
    “No, please. Stay. I hate eating alone.”
    I sat back down but kept hold of my purse. Detective Van der Burg slipped his coat off and folded it across the top of his chair. When he turned I had a glimpse of his gun beneath his suit. For some reason the sight startled me. Certainly he must always carry it; I just never gave it any thought before now.
    He shrugged, catching my look. “A necessary evil.”
    “Does it bother you? I mean, is it uncomfortable?”
    “Not any more. Kind of like a seat belt. Annoying at first but then you feel naked without it.”
    “So how’s your investigation going? Have you caught anyone yet or do you plan to put me in jail and throw away the key?”
    Detective Van der Burg shook his head. He had a full head of thick, dark brown hair with a bit of gray at the temples cut short, just the way I liked it. I had to admit he appealed to me what with the piercing gray eyes. He had a long nose with just a hint of a bend halfway down—probably broke it at some point trying to put the wrong person away. Then he smiled. It took up his whole face showing a nice set of even white teeth and I forgot about any negative thoughts. His smile was a real dazzler—by far his best feature, though it had tough competition from the eyes.
    The waitress arrived and he ordered the same thing I had.
    “As a matter of fact, I haven’t a clue as to the identity of the killer.”
    I looked at him open-mouthed.
    “Does that surprise you? It doesn’t happen like it does in the movies, you know, where suspects abound, motives lurk around every corner and the crime is solved in two hours. It’s a lot of hard work, long hours. Even then sometimes we come up empty-handed.”
    “You mean you may never solve this crime?” I asked incredulously though it kind of let me off the hook. At least he didn’t say he would settle for me if he couldn’t find anyone better.
    “There’s no sign of forced entry, no fingerprints on the murder weapon, and a dozen footprints in the snow leading in all different directions though most of them had been obscured.” He leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes staring. “The weather service says it didn’t stop snowing until six twenty and the wind kicked the stuff up.”
    “So you’re giving up?”
    “Giving up? Of course not. We just work harder.”
    I nodded. “‘Success is going from failure to failure without losing your enthusiasm.’ Winston Churchill.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Sorry. Just a habit of mine. I quote Winston. I’ve been reading a lot about him lately. Actually, a lot about World War II.” I shrugged. “Quoting him makes it easier to remember some of the things I’ve read.”
    Detective Van der Burg nodded. “I like that. He was a very prolific orator. You can probably spend the rest of your life quoting him, and that quote certainly fits,” he said. “That’s exactly what we do. Failure to failure, with a lot of hard work in between, I might add, and hopefully something falls into place.”
    “So am I off the hook? I really did not see that shovel.” I began to think I sounded like a broken record.
    “I’m not at liberty to discuss my findings,” Detective Van der Burg said rather formally, while a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and small lines crinkled around his eyes.
    I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I reflected for a moment, trying to decide just how much I should admit regarding my own attempts at detecting. “Ruth, the receptionist, told me something interesting today.”
    “About Jerry Gagliano? Yeah, she told us too. Did she just happen to tell you or did you grill her? I seem to remember telling you I work alone.”
    I ignored his sarcasm. “So why haven’t you arrested him?”
    He smiled again. No doubt about it, a real dazzler. “Ms. Harris, we’ve questioned him. We’re checking alibis. You’re just going to have to let us do our job.”
    “So he had one?” I asked, happy at the prospect they were seriously considering others besides me and Mr. Poupée.
    “I’m afraid I’m not at—”
    “Liberty to say. Yeah, you said that.” I sighed, annoyed at not being on the receiving end of the police grapevine.
    “Tell me, have you lived in the area a long time?”
    I pushed away from the table, taken aback by the sudden change in conversation. “Excuse me?”
    Detective Van der Burg took a sip of his coffee. “I asked if you’ve been living in Indian Cove a long