Alex Harris 00 - Armed

finally found it in hers?”
    “No. I…“
    “I think you knew she had it all the time. I think that’s why you asked Joanne to see it, to confirm your suspicion.”
    “That’s not true!”
    “If you knew she had it, then you also knew why.”
    “No, I didn’t. I wanted to check something.”
    “What?”
    “I wanted to make sure I had given my change of address.”
    “I don’t believe you.” I looked at Emmanuelle through squinted eyes. “You knew Mrs. Scott had it.”
    “I did not know she had it. I just assumed.”
    “Right. Because you knew why she wanted it.”
    “How do you figure that?”
    “Why would you assume Mrs. Scott would have your file? There’s no reason for it. Richard might have it. Or someone in accounting. Or Joanne, who does the benefits. But why would you think Mrs. Scott had it? It doesn’t make sense unless you knew why she wanted to see it. Do you see where I’m going with this?” I asked, wishing I had been this forceful with Richard.
    “No, I don’t. And I don’t care. I wanted to make sure they had the correct information in my file and when Joanne didn’t have it, I assumed Elvira did. They back each other up.”
    “Is that your final answer?” I asked in my best imitation of a game show host?
    “Yes. That’s all there is to it,” Emmanuelle replied.
    Once again I ran out of steam and felt a glimmer of respect for the police. In the space of a half hour I had accused two people of lying and had come up empty handed. I needed to retreat and regroup.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

    I kept busy for another half-hour waiting for Mr. Poupée. If he didn’t return soon, I’d just have to contact him at home tonight. I sorted through a stack of correspondence that needed to be filed. I had just filed the last letter when Mr. Poupée came in, not looking too good.
    “Mr. Poupée, forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look very well. Can I get you anything?”
    “No. Nothing.”
    I stood in the doorway waiting for him to say something further. He looked exhausted and I realized for the first time that he not only lost a friend, but he still had a company to run. He sat slumped in his leather swivel chair and closed his eyes for a moment.
    “Are you all right?” I asked again.
    “Alex, what I would really like is to just go home.”
    “So go. You have a staff that can handle the day-to-day running of this place.”
    “Yes. I do.” He leaned forward and put his hands on his desk. “I just had a meeting with the museum people. I thought I had this all tied up. Overconfidence, my dear,” he sighed. “Don’t ever allow yourself the luxury of becoming overconfident. No matter how much in control you think you are.”
    “Has something happened?”
    Mr. Poupée looked up at me. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
    “Mr. Poupée, if it has something to do with Mrs. Scott, then I think you better tell me or the police.”
    “You’re right. In the last few days I’ve leaned on you like I did Elvira. I told her everything about the company. I just don’t want to burden you any more than I’ve already done.”
    I took a seat opposite him bracing myself to hear a confession. He sat there, eyes closed, deep in thought. I stayed still hoping he would open up to me. I surveyed my surroundings for a minute and then looked back at Mr. Poupée. He just sat there, eyes closed. I cleared my throat loudly and he finally moved.
    “I assumed , a bad word, that one.” He shook his head. “I thought we had the contract. We put together a great proposal. Now they tell me they received another bid that’s almost identical to ours. They wouldn’t tell me the name of the company, so I can’t even confront them. I don’t even know if I should confront them.
    “Ron, one of our designers, has been working his butt off. And now it looks like we have some stiff, very stiff competition—that is if we’re still in the race.” He shook his head again, his lips pressed together tight. “An almost identical bid. Well, I don’t have to tell you what they’re thinking. This could ruin me if it gets out and people start thinking we’re stealing ideas from other companies.”
    “But you didn’t,” I said with hesitation, thinking I really didn’t know this man at all. He might be a killer, he might have been cheating on his wife, and now he might have stolen another company’s ideas to win a contract.
    Mr. Poupée gave me a stern look. “No. We didn’t. I trust Ron implicitly;