Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

tea. I picked my cup up and covered the top with my hand, though why I bothered now, I wasn’t sure. There was no way I’d take another sip.
    “What about Marsha and those two kids of hers? She needs money as much as the rest of us. I think she’s planning on moving back in with her mother.” Larry stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at April.
    April stood up and put her face right up against her husband’s. “Well, if you’re going to pick on Marsha and her two poor children then what about yourself! You and your stupid inventions that never work. All these years I’ve put up with it living in this house when I could live in something like Steven’s!” she yelled. “And now we might get sued over that toupee thing. You said yourself that we sure could use that money, and Roberta damned well better sign those papers.”
    “Me? What about you? You went to Aunt Roberta’s last week. Maybe you put something in the flour. Or maybe you went out to the shed and took a bit of rat poison or something and dropped it onto the cookies when we left the other night. And I almost forgot, but didn’t you run back in to get your purse. You could have done it then.”
    “It was not my purse. It was my sweater. And how dare you accuse me? After what I’ve put up with.”
    “Excuse me. I think I should leave.”
    April and Larry stopped abruptly and looked down at me. April ran a hand through her tight dark curls and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Oh, Alex, can I get you another cup of tea?”
    I left so quickly I never asked about the family history. I pulled out of the driveway and pointed the car in the direction of my office. When Sam dropped me off yesterday after our picnic we agreed to come in today to prepare for a meeting with the father of one of our employees, Ian Reiser. Our company needed the work and with the other agency vying for all the same jobs, I knew it wouldn’t be easy to sway Mr. Reiser to hire us.
    Two and a half hours later, Sam and I finished the proposal, while Millie put it together along with our rate sheet and literature on the firm.
    I decided we needed a break and a cup of tea and settled in to tell Sam about my morning talks with Trish and the Estenfelders.
    “You’re out playing detective. John’s out being a detective. I just wonder what would happen if the two of you showed up at the same time on a suspect’s doorstep,” my sister said.
    “We’ll exchange information in the true spirit of law and order,” I said with an air of pomposity.
    “Uh-huh,” Sam said.
    I grabbed the phone book from my bottom desk drawer and flipped through well-worn pages. Yes, I still used an actual phonebook for local numbers.
    “Where are you going now?”
    “Over to May’s house.”
    “Well, you’re brazen, I’ll give you that, to just barge in on people on a Sunday.” Sam grabbed a handful of M&Ms from my jar and shook her head.
    “When Millie’s done, have her leave the proposal on my desk. I’ll be back later and go over it, but I think it’s good. We’ve got a real shot at getting this job.” I took a couple of the M&Ms and went in search of more suspects.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

    Of the houses owned by Mrs. Brissart and her sisters, May’s was the smallest, nestled at the end of a winding road. I rang the bell twice to no avail. A repairman’s truck stood in the drive, and unless it belonged to a friend of May’s and they had gone off in another vehicle, I felt certain someone must be home. I rapped on the door with my fist and in a few seconds footsteps approached.
    “Yes?” a much-harried May Estenfelder asked.
    “I’m Alex Harris. We met at your....”
    “Yes,” she sighed. “It must be my turn.”
    “Excuse me?” I muttered.
    “My sister called the other day. She said I should expect you.”
    As long as I was expected, I didn’t see any reason to beat about the bush. “Then may I come in?”
    “It’s really not a good—oh, never mind. Come in and wipe your feet. We’ll have to talk in the kitchen. I have a repairman fixing my stove and if you don’t watch these people every minute they charge you for things they never did.”
    “On a Sunday?” I asked, awed that a repairman would be out today.
    May hurried down the hall talking over her shoulder. “I’m paying for it, believe me, but I want it fixed and they couldn’t fit me in until next week. How can I live without a stove? I told them they could just come today.”
    I