Alex Harris 00 - Armed

time.”
    “Yes. I grew up here. My parents still live here. My sister and I started our agency about six years ago, so I guess I’m here for the duration. And you, detective?”
    He had a mouthful of the sandwich Helen had placed in front of him a few moments earlier. He picked up a napkin and wiped his chin. “I’m a native of Connecticut but I worked in Boston for the last ten years. I like small town life, and being near the ocean, so when the detective slot opened up, I applied. They usually promote from within but I guess I got lucky. Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
    I watched him eat his sandwich and much to my utter chagrin, found myself wondering about a Mrs. Van der Burg. The man must be psychic because he looked up from his plate and asked if I was married.
    “No. I’m not married.”
    “Good.”
    Then he smiled again.

CHAPTER TWENTY

    “Hi. You must be Joanne,” I said a while later to the back of a woman standing at a file cabinet in the office across from my own.
    She wore something black and spandex that hugged her sleek curves. She also had on a pair of heels high enough to cause acrophobia. She turned to face me and I was ready to offer a smile. I instead had to stifle a gasp. Joanne was small and curvy in all the right places with shoulder length blonde hair surrounding her face. But the most striking thing was her eyes. They were a rich brown and the left one looked directly at me while the right focused on something across the room. I turned to look before I could stop myself.
    “You must be Alex,” she said, not seeming to notice my faux pas.
    “That’s right. I guess word gets around,” I said, trying to focus on just the one eye.
    “So how’s the investigation going? What have you learned so far?” Joanne eagerly asked throwing me totally off guard.
    “Oh, I’m not really investigating, just helping out.” I moved slightly to her left trying to keep in line with the eye.
    “Do the police have any thoughts? Do they think it has anything to do with the job we’re bidding on?”
    Now I felt perplexed. “You mean the museum job? No, not that anyone mentioned.”
    “But the police are convinced someone here did it. They came to my apartment yesterday but I couldn’t tell them much.” Joanne placed the last folder in its hanging file and closed the drawer. “So exactly how did it come about that you’re here?” she asked in a challenging tone.
    I quickly reassessed my opinion of a moment before and decided Joanne hadn’t been eager but rather blunt. She clearly wanted information.
    “I came Tuesday to help with a mailing. I’m the person who found Mrs. Scott’s body, and Mr. Poupée asked me to come back.”
    Now, at this juncture some words of empathy toward me would have been warranted. Something along the lines of “Oh my gosh. How horrible for you.” But no.
    Joanne slammed the stack of papers down on the desk. “I know you’re a friend, but you mean to tell me William hired someone who works in a mailroom to take over the executive assistant duties?”
    I just stared at Joanne. The young woman’s eyes blazed. At least the one looking at me blazed. I’m not sure what the other one was doing. I calmly took a seat by her desk. “Let me explain. I’m the owner of a temp agency called Always Prepared. Mrs. Scott called me on Tuesday to provide some assistance. I needed to speak with Mr. Poupée, so I came myself. After the murder, well…” I shrugged. “Mr. Poupée asked if I could help out for a few days.” At the mention of Mr. Poupée I realized I’d never talked with him about the museum job. I shook my head. “Damn.”
    “My sentiments exactly,” Joanne said with a brittle tone. “So you’re not staying?”
    “Just for a few days. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
    Joanne snickered. She took a seat behind her desk and ran her hand over her hair smoothing it down. “This should be fun. Ask away.”
    “Where were you on Tuesday night?”
    “Home. I took the day off because of my back.”
    “Probably alone? No alibi?” I made light of the question.
    “Yep. That’s what I told the police so they’ll check it out and verify it. Maybe you could share information with them and save yourself a lot of time.”
    “Tell me how you felt about Mrs. Scott,” I asked, totally ignoring her sarcasm.
    “Don’t expect me to be upset about someone I couldn’t stand,” Joanne spat. “And before you go calling