Alex Harris 00 - Armed

interview with someone this afternoon. Her husband works at Poupée and she said he worked on Tuesday night. That’s what he told her. But I never saw him.”
    Meme grabbed onto the back of Theresa’s seat and pulled herself forward. “You think he could’ve killed Mrs. Scott and took off when he realized you were there?”
    I made a left turn and thought for a moment. “I suppose it’s possible. I worked in the back of the building so he could have come in, killed her, and been gone by time I took everything out to my car. But that would have been around six-thirty. His wife said he didn’t come home until ten.”
    “He probably had to go somewhere and wash off all the blood,” Meme said as she settled back.
    I cringed. “Or maybe he didn’t kill her but he saw who did and he ran out of there scared out of his wits.”
    “And had to go somewhere to calm down. Maybe get a drink,” Theresa added. “You need to tell the cops about this. You may have just solved the murder.”
    “He’s a real looker.”
    “Who?” Theresa turned slightly in her seat to see Meme in the back.
    “The cop on the case. Samantha told me he’s a real hunk. You should go after him, honey, now that you dumped Peter. You’re better off without him. Too wishy-washy. You need a real man.”
    “That’s the truth.” Theresa nodded.
    “I’m not saying he wasn’t nice or nothing, but he just seemed too prissy. You don’t want a man who’s prissy. You want a man who’s going to take charge and know what he’s doing if you get my drift.”
    I became contemplative as I drove down familiar streets edged with soft light coming from warm homes. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, its white light sparkling off the snow. Meme had it right. Peter was prissy. A good man but truth be told life with Peter would never very exciting—in or out of bed.
    “Now you take my James, God rest his soul.” Meme made the sign of the cross. “That man was hot.”
    “Meme, you and Grandpa separated twenty years before he died,” I said. Meme had married James Redmond at the tender age of eighteen. I’d seen pictures of the couple and my grandfather, a tall Irish fireman, was hot. I could see why Meme always looked like a dreamy-eyed schoolgirl in all the pictures of the two of them together.
    “Yeah, but he still came around most nights and not for my cookin’! He had it right up till the end,” Meme said with a cackle and Theresa and I started laughing too.
    “You need to go out with Fred, Meme,” Theresa said. “He’s always talking about you.”
    “He’s almost ninety years old!” Meme piped up, whacking Theresa on the back of her head with the tiny veil hat.
    “Yeah, but he can still drive at night. He’s a real catch. Not too many of the guys in our neighborhood can make that claim.”
    Meme seemed to consider this seriously before speaking. “True. But he takes that stuff. I don’t want no man that expects me to be going for four hours. I can’t do that anymore. Now, if he promised to take just half of one of those pills, I might discuss it.”
    “Well, if you don’t put out for him, Esther will. She’s got the hots for him. Did you know she used to be a cocktail waitress way back? She knows her stuff.”
    I smiled broadly at their banter and pulled into the parking lot of Saint Cashmir’s church and drove around to the back door.
    “What time do you want me to pick you up?”
    “Don’t worry about it, honey. Moira Mulroony said she’d give us a ride home. She’s got one of those new SUV cars. Bought it when her husband died. Found fifty-eight thousand dollars in a bunch of coffee cans in the cellar,” Meme said, as she heaved herself out from the tiny back seat.
    “Well, you have your cell phone so call me if you need a ride.”
    “Right here.” Meme pulled out the latest model capable of taking and transmitting pictures and snapped one of me. “One-thousand anytime minutes and I got you on speed dial. You’re my number one.” She sounded like Catherine Zeta-Jones.
    I bent and kissed my grandmother on the cheek. “You’re number one with me too.” I stood up and pointed a stern finger at Meme. “No cheating. You’re almost out of churches and then where will you go?”
    “The casinos. I can take one of those buses. Drops you off right in front.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Jesus.”
    Meme helped Theresa up the walk and called over her shoulder. “I need you to take me on my rounds on Sunday night. I