Alex Harris 00 - Armed

slacks and a bright red sweater.
    I leaned on the counter. “Ruth, the other day you mentioned Mrs. Scott becoming quite friendly with one of the clients.”
    “Yes, that’s right. Oliver Absher.”
    I phrased the next question gently. “I got the impression you liked Mr. Absher as well?”
    “Oh, he’s a wonderful man,” Ruth gushed. “Always so pleasant on the phone. Very polite.”
    “You really liked him?” I said with a glint in my eyes hoping for a we’re-best-girlfriends-so-tell-me-all look.
    Ruth blushed slightly. “Well, I guess you can say that, I mean, I…” Ruth stumbled over her words. “I found him attractive, and kind, but he was a bit old for me. Not that he’s old,” Ruth added quickly, “but I’m in my forties and Mr. Absher must be in his sixties. I thought he and Elvira made a nice couple.” Ruth paused. “To be quite frank about it, after my divorce I’m just not ready for another romance.” Ruth smiled and her eyes twinkled. “On second thought, if you know any nice guys in their early forties, let me know.”
    “I will,” I laughed and started to walk away. “Oh, by the way Ruth. I’m sure the police asked you already but I forgot and I’ve asked everyone else, so I should be consistent. On Tuesday evening, what time did you leave?”
    “I leave right at five but on Tuesday I waited so I could pick my sister up at the train station a little after six so I had a few extra minutes and asked Elvira if you needed some help. She said you had things well under control so I left close to five-thirty.”
    I asked Ruth to buzz me when Richard returned from lunch and headed back to my office. I pulled out the notebook again and, next to Ruth’s name under alibi, I wrote the word none . There had been plenty of time to kill Mrs. Scott before heading to the train station—if she actually did have a sister that needed picking up. I wondered if the police had questioned the alleged sister to see if she noticed anything out of the ordinary—like maybe blood on Ruth’s coat.
    I put my notepad away and got back to work. I spent the next hour sorting through a stack of mail. I found several Christmas cards with one addressed to Mrs. Scott. I opened it and read.
    Dear Elvira, What a lovely time we had at dinner that night! I will be going to Oregon for a conference this week and then will spend some time with my son and his family before returning the Tuesday before Christmas. I hope we can get together during the holidays. Will call when I get back. I do hope you’re not agonizing over your dilemma too much. It will all work out for the best and I know you’ll use good judgment .
    It was signed Oliver .
    I picked up the envelope. It had come from Mannequins, Inc. in Chicago. Mr. Oliver Absher. I placed my hand to my heart. Mr. Absher mustn’t know about Mrs. Scott yet. I reread the card and kept coming back to the word dilemma . Had Mrs. Scott confided in this man about the MS? But would he refer to that as a dilemma? I realized with a start if Mrs. Scott had told him everything, then he might hold the key to solving the murder. We had to call him. This could all be cleared up shortly—maybe by the end of the day.
    The sound of the buzzer on the phone made me jump.
    “Hi. It’s Ruth. Just wanted to let you know Mr. Sheridan is here now.”
    “Thanks, Ruth. How about Emmanuelle?”
    “She got back about forty-five minutes ago.”
    “Thanks. Oh, by the way, do you know what time Mr. Poupée is returning?”
    “He said about three. When he comes in I’ll tell him you want to speak with him.”
    “Yes, please.” I left the two piles I had sorted on the desk. I tucked the card from Mr. Absher into my purse, fortified myself with a handful of M&M’s, and went to find Richard.

CHAPTER THIRTY

    My journey down the hall took me once again past the mannequin display. They looked different today but I couldn’t put my finger on why. What an odd business to be in. I had given this particular subject quite a bit of attention on Tuesday while stuffing all the envelopes for the mailing. Such an innocuous business and yet the place rippled with human intrigue. Even without a murder, the backstabbing and petty grievances could start up a reality show. Once again I thought about how lucky Sam and I were to have our own business and what a gem we had found in Millie. But before I could go back to the tranquility of my agency, I had to find the killer.
    A moment later I stood in