Alex Harris 00 - Armed

and aren’t squeamish about farm creatures.”
    The last person we sent out, a young woman working to put herself through junior college, had stumbled over when a large rodent had scurried past her legs, landing right on top of a basket of fresh eggs. We put our applicants through a long day of testing making sure we match them perfectly with the client needs but unfortunately, we have no questions on phobias and this one got past us.
    I assured Mr. Abbadini Millie would help him find the right person and then I picked up the call from my mother. “Hi, Mom,” I said as casually as I could hoping she hadn’t heard about the murder.
    “Where were you last night? I called several times. I wanted to let you know you may be getting a visit from the daughter of Kelly Sheridan. I ran into her and her husband at the airport yesterday. She’s going to be in town for Christmas and I told Mrs. Sheridan it might be a good time to set something up for the summer break.”
    “Mom, who is Kelly Sheridan?”
    “She’s the wife of Richard Sheridan.”
    “Oh. That Kelly Sheridan,” I sighed. “Mom, who is Richard Sheridan?”
    “He’s some bigwig over at Poupée. Oh my, did you hear about what happened? I need to call Dolly, see how William is doing this morning. Just abominable! What is this world coming to?”
    “Yes, I heard.”
    It took me over a half hour to tell my mother everything that happened and to assure her I had been in no danger—at least I hoped I hadn’t been in any danger. I wondered if the killer had been watching me carry boxes out to my car, waiting for a chance to escape? Or had he been watching me finish the mailing. I shuddered and ended the call and then Millie buzzed again.
    “Yes?”
    “Sorry, Alex. It’s Mr. Poupée.”
    “Put him through.”
    “Alex, this is William Poupée. I’m sorry to disturb you but I wondered if I could ask your assistance with something.”
    “Certainly. What can I do for you?” I asked, thinking the last time I offered to help someone at the mannequin factory that person had been killed. Maybe I should pass the call on to Sam.
    Mr. Poupée let out a huge sigh. “The police have been here since dawn. They’ve upset quite a few of the employees with their interrogation.”
    “Well, that’s understandable. But they have to ask their questions,” I said.
    “Yes, I understand. And I want them to find the animal—” he took a deep breath— “the person responsible but well, could you come over and just be here and offer comfort? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m absolutely lost without Elvira.” Mr. Poupée took another deep breath and exhaled slowly before starting again. “The employees are upset. I think they would appreciate a friendly face. You know several of the office workers, and well,” he hesitated again for a moment.
    “Mr. Poupée, are you all right? Is there something else?”
    “I think the police suspect me. They’re insistent the murderer knew Elvira and seem to be concentrating their efforts here. They found some papers in her purse and they’ve asked if I planned on leaving for the holidays and made it clear I should stay in town.”
    “Suspect you? That’s ridiculous,” I protested, conveniently forgetting for the moment my own suspicions of last night and the fleeting thought of barricading myself in the ladies room. “Why would they think something like that?”
    “I did come back to the office. I told them why and if they check with the waitress, they’ll see it’s the truth. And they know Elvira and I were close. They talked to one of her neighbors this morning who told them I went over to her house on several occasions.”
    “You did?” I asked before I could stop the words from coming out. I didn’t know why, but this latest revelation made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
    “After Irwin died,” Mr. Poupée said, “I sometimes went over and helped Elvira with things around the house. And once, while Dolly went out of town, I helped install some shelving in a closet and then stayed for dinner. But I assure you, Alex,” Mr. Poupée said forcefully, “the thought, even the merest hint of any impropriety between us, well, I just can’t imagine what the police could be thinking.”
    “Hmm.” I puzzled over this information, wondering if the police knew something more.
    “I thought you might be able to help.”
    “You mean with the investigation? Mr. Poupée, I’m not a cop. I own a temp