Alex Harris 00 - Armed

don’t want to let a week go by without collecting and Theresa can’t drive for a few more weeks.” Meme took a few more steps and then turned to face me. “Shershay la fam, like the French say.”
    “Huh?”
    “That guy you told us about. If he told his wife he went to the office, then maybe he did and he killed that lady. But if he didn’t, where was he? Look for the woman.” Meme turned and walked away.
    I got back in my car and dialed Information on my cell while a parade of white-haired women, in various shapes and sizes, filed into the bingo hall. I jotted down a number on a scrap of paper and started the car.
    Twenty-five minutes later I pulled up across from the home of Richard Sheridan and sat there for the next couple of hours.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

    My fingers gripped the hand strap above my seat as the scenery flew past—different shades of brown and gray with an occasional chunk of white thrown in—an abstract painting of a snow-covered landscape. I wondered if Jackson Pollack had gotten inspiration this way. I shut my eyes and wished I had stayed in bed with my mannequin nightmare instead of heading down the turnpike with Sam driving.
    I looked at my sister, half expecting to see a frightened Sam, or worse still, a maniacal Sam laughing hysterically as she took bends in the road at the speed of sound. But no. Sam projected serenity all the while driving like a lunatic.
    “Hey! Slow down a bit. I’d like to arrive at our destination alive, if it’s all right with you.”
    Sam looked at me. “I’m not driving fast. Am I?” She glanced at the speedometer and then back at me. “Oh, sorry.”
    The minivan slowed to something just a tad lower than Mach One. I let go of the strap and adjusted my coat, which had hiked up my body.
    “I’m a stalker,” I said. “I’m a stalker. Now the police have something concrete they can use to put me away.”
    “Who are you stalking?” Sam took her eyes off the road and the car crept into the next lane.
    “Richard Sheridan. And watch what you’re doing. I sat out in front of his house last night.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he doesn’t have an alibi and his wife said he went to the factory around the time Mrs. Scott got killed.”
    “And?”
    I frowned at my sister. “I don’t even know if he was home last night, for pity’s sake. What the hell was I thinking sitting out in front of his house like a common criminal?”
    Sam turned on her signal and moved over a lane to exit the turnpike. “That there’re a lot of scary women in jail to keep you company?”
    “I should have stayed in bed that morning. I wanted to, you know. The breakup with Peter made me depressed, and with the business slow, I thought why not. But no.” I shook my head vigorously. “No, I had to go and stumble onto a body. And I do mean stumble,” I rambled on, my voice raising an octave. “I actually stepped on her.”
    At Sam’s opened-mouth gasp, I said, “Oh, yes. Well, not actually on her , more like her pant leg, but still. I’ve never seen a murdered person before, you know? So now I have. I guess I can cross that off my list of things to do in my lifetime.” I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. “Do I sound hysterical? Because I think I’m losing it.”
    “Could you lose it a bit later? We’re here.”
    “I hope we get this,” I said, my voice still tinged with hysteria. I took a few deep breaths. “Okay. I’m fine. We’re going to get this account and then I’ll have so much work to keep me busy I won’t have time to solve a murder. I’ll just let the police handle it.”
    Sam pulled the car into the driveway of a small complex of office suites housed in three two-story buildings, each constructed of red brick. “Sounds like a plan. I feel good about this. We’ve done our homework. We’re ready.” My sister sounded like a cheerleader.
    We walked up the sidewalk and entered the main building and were directed to the second floor.
    We were meeting with Mr. Brandon, one of the partners of Levy & Avery, which had just opened a new office in the Stamford area, supplementing their headquarters in Hartford. The fathers of two of the current partners had started the firm about thirty-seven years ago. They had made their mark within the specialized field of Health Care advertising, and though they kept their hand in this area, it now accounted for only a percentage of their business. Mr. Brandon wanted to staff the new office with as much