by Elaine Macko
“Hmmm. Perhaps there just might be some investigating to do after all,” I said softly, a cat-like grin spreading across my face. Then I remembered something Winston had said and repeated the man’s words out loud. “This is no time for ease and comfort. It is the time to dare and endure.” I would have to seek Ruth out for another chat.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“It’s not too bad,” Mr. Poupée said without much conviction. “I’ll have to get someone in here to wash away all this powder. With all the people who come and go, I can’t imagine what the police thought they’d find from fingerprints,” he added looking around the office.
I offered to find spray cleaner and paper towels in an effort to keep the fingerprint powder from getting all over my new teal sweater. I bought it at Banana Republic a week before with a price tag of seventy-five percent off. I’d hate to see it ruined by fingerprint powder. Then I remembered why fingerprint powder covered everything and felt bad thinking about my sweater at a time like this. Good old Catholic guilt.
“You’ll find whatever you need across the hall. That’s where we keep coffee, tea, and soft drinks, so help yourself. Elvira left the key in her desk. Top drawer. Right where you would think,” Mr. Poupée said with sadness.
After I wiped the desk clean we set about sorting out Mrs. Scott’s personal belongings. I handed Mr. Poupée a beautifully framed photo. “Who’s this?”
“Irwin. A fine fellow. Elvira was very lonely after he died. She had friends…but it’s never the same, is it?”
I nodded. Not that I knew anything about losing a partner to death. I looked at the picture again. Irwin had a kind, handsome face, with soft, caring eyes.
“Mr. Poupée, the police showed me some papers earlier. Do you have a copy? I’d like to take another look.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that. I wanted you to have a look. They’re not the originals, copies Detective Van der Burg left with me,” Mr. Poupée said. “He wanted me to see if I could make heads or tails out of them. Can’t imagine why Elvira had them in her purse.”
“Isn’t this something she would handle?”
“Oh no. We have an accounting department. And an order department, so there would be no reason Elvira would have these. Unless a client had a problem and asked to speak with her directly.”
“Did that happen often?”
“No. But after twenty years, Elvira knew everyone, and if someone had a specific problem with an order and with several of the staff out sick, well, it’s possible, I suppose. I would guess their presence in her purse might have had something to do with why she wanted to see me last night.” Mr. Poupée shook his head. “Though I can’t imagine why. Let’s have a look.”
He moved a few things aside and spread out the four sheets. The old man’s hands were nicely kept but they were the hands of someone who got involved, not someone who just sat behind a desk all day. They were used hands and I knew for a fact that even though the Poupée family had money, Mr. Poupée would crawl under the sink to fix a leaky pipe or paint the shutters, or do the gardening. Or wield a mannequin arm over someone’s head. I quickly pushed that thought out of my mind, but I did nudge my chair just a tad bit further away.
“This first one is a printout of our top twenty clients,” Mr. Poupée pointed to the first column on the sheet, “and this second column indicates the sales for the last two years for each of these clients. This second page shows the figures for the same clients for the same two years, but just for the sale of eyes. The third sheet is the same for changes of hair, and the last sheet shows the sales figures for mannequins. It’s broken down to our sculptured style, our interchangeable eye style, and the old style you’re probably most familiar with.”
I had never realized the amount of money spent on such things. I looked at the sheets for a few minutes unable to find anything related to murder.
“Before we had the database system we had a hard time keeping track of who bought what, when, and how many. I’m ashamed to admit it but Poupée Mannequins has been behind the times when it comes to technology. Maybe it’s my fault. I’m from the old school where you typed spreadsheets quarterly. I imagine this will make everything so much more efficient. We can push a button and get up-to-the-minute figures for any of our clients going back five years!”
I put my elbow on the desk and rested my chin in my palm. “So if the new system allows for total figures for a five-year period, why does this printout only go back two years?”
Mr. Poupée pushed a piece of his white hair from his forehead and handed me one of she sheets. “Hmmm. Good point, Alex. There’s something else odd. Elvira hadn’t trained on the system yet. That’s something we were organizing for the coming year, training for all the office staff. So, who gathered this information and printed it for her?”
I laid the paper on the desk and leaned back in Mrs. Scott’s chair. “If we can find that person maybe they can tell us what Mrs. Scott planned to do with this.”
Mr. Poupée glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, Alex, but I have to leave you for a bit. I have a meeting with Richard Sheridan. He’s been in Europe and we need to touch base on a few things.” Mr. Poupée started to get up and then sat back down. “Dolly wanted me to stay home today. I told the staff to leave as soon as the police gave them the go ahead, but I couldn’t stay home,” he said wistfully. “I don’t really want to be here, but it’s better to keep busy than to be alone with my thoughts. I’m afraid the police suspect me of being uncaring, probably the reason they’ve got me at the top of their list, but I just needed to be busy. Maybe if I go home the rest of the staff will go too.”
“I think if they wanted to they would,” I said. “People mourn in different ways, and to be truthful, it probably hasn’t sunk in yet.” I felt my eyes welling up again and reached for a tissue.
“Oh, my! I am insensitive. You found Elvira and here I am carrying on and asking for your help. It’s not that I’m not thinking straight, I’m not thinking at all!” Mr. Poupée raised his voice and looked startled. “This damned hearing aid.” He adjusted it and then added, “For God sake, Alex, please, go home.”
“No. Mr. Poupée. Really, I’m fine. I feel like you do. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts either. Go. Go to your meeting. I’ll finish in here.”
I spent the next hour going through the desk and a lot of papers and putting personal items in the box. Along with the framed photo of Irwin, I found a plastic rain bonnet, some hard candies, an emery board, and a personal pen and pencil set. There were some insurance forms pertaining to Mrs. Scott’s benefits package but other than a dictionary and new Thesaurus nothing else of a personal nature. I found some papers in an in-basket and a postal receipt on top of that. All very orderly just like the person it belonged to. I pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and gave a wistful thought to the bottom drawer of my desk at the agency and made a mental note to do a little housecleaning.
“Well, hello there.”
I jumped once again at the sound of a voice and looked up to see a heavyset man wearing a wrinkled shirt standing in the doorway. He leaned against the door jam, his arms folded and his thick gray hair slicked back with some kind of oil or maybe he just hadn’t washed it for some time. He had a large head and a square shaped face. He looked like a cartoon character that my nephew liked, but I couldn’t remember the name.
“That was quick.”
“What was quick?” I decided on the spot I didn’t like him. I know, you shouldn’t judge a book and all that, but sometimes a person just rubs you the wrong way and there’s no rhyme or reason for it. It just is.
“Elvira just died. I mean, she died last night,” the man emphasized as he leaned closer to the desk, “and here they’ve hired someone already.”
“I’m not the new office manager. I’m a friend helping out during this terrible time. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. Can I help you?”
“I’m Jerry. Factory foreman. I just came by to tell William I’m go
ing to lock up and go home.” Jerry turned and headed for the door.
“Wait!” I shouted.
He stopped and looked at me.
My mind raced trying to think of something to ask this man who ran the factory. The factory. Where I found Mrs. Scott.
“Did you see Mrs. Scott out there last night?” I blurted.
Jerry looked at me with a blank stare. I couldn’t blame him.
“Why would I see her?”
“Well, everyone, I mean the police, seem to be wondering why she would go into the factory at night. Everyone is gone by what, four-thirty, right?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “That’s the time we close. And no, I didn’t see Elvira last night out in the factory. I left by five-fifteen and I never saw her.”
“Did she go out there a lot?” I got up and walked around the desk. “I mean, did her job require she spend a lot of time out there?”
“No,” Jerry shrugged. “But that’s not to say she never came out. She did. Especially if one of the workers had a personnel issues. What’s this all about?” Jerry plopped himself down on a chair and sneered. “Oh, I get it. William wants you to nose around. See what you can find out. Is that it? Well, you look here, miss whatever your name is. I’ve talked to the police. That’s it. Not that I had much to say. I work in the factory, so I don’t come into the office much. And even if I did, why would I want to talk to that snooty old…” Jerry stopped abruptly and stood up. “Tell William I left and I’ll call him later.”
Jerry walked out and I heard the door to the factory slam. I jotted the message down just as Mr. Poupée returned.
“A man named Jerry came by,” I told him. “He’s closing up the factory and said he’ll call you later. Also, Emmanuelle would like to see you as well. I found this receipt on Mrs. Scott’s desk. I think it’s the one from the post office. She asked Andy to mail some packages last night. What would you like me to do with it? I can take it to your accounting department if you’d like.”
Mr. Poupée took the receipt and looked at it. “Andy must have brought it straight in this morning. That’s okay. I’ll take it to accounting.” He started toward his office and then turned. “That’s odd. I gave Elvira four packages to mail; the receipt is for five.”
“Maybe she included one of her own. Or maybe she had some other things from other people to be mailed.” I glanced at my watch. “Mr. Poupée, all of Mrs. Scott’s things are in this box. If you don’t have anything else for me to do right now, I’ll be off.”
“Yes, that’s fine.” Mr. Poupée walked to his office and took a seat behind his desk. I followed him and stood in the doorway.
“Alex, would you be able to come back tomorrow? I’m going to reopen for business because telling these people to stay home doesn’t seem to do any good. Of course, anyone who wishes to take a few days off can do so. But I have a feeling everyone just wants to get back to...” His words trailed off. “I was about to say normal, but I don’t think anything will ever be the same around here. Ever.” He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “There I go again. You probably need some time to yourself. Alex, I am sorry. It’s just that I want to clear this up. I want to find out who did this.
“And I wanted you to start talking with people. Get a feel for things. Elvira always kept me so isolated. I appreciated her handling everything but now I wonder if I put too much responsibility on her. She had her faults. I know not everyone liked her, but not enough that someone would kill her.” He reached into his back pocket and took out a handkerchief. “At any rate,” he wiped his eyes, “I’ve alerted the staff to give you their full cooperation; maybe we can get to the bottom of this before that damned police detective puts me in prison.”
I felt like going off somewhere and having a good cry but given Mr. Poupée had such faith in me—totally misguided—I didn’t see how I could refuse. My attempt to get some information out of Jerry hadn’t gone well. What if everyone else treated me the same way? I started to say this to Mr. Poupée and then had an image of Detective Van der Burg sitting at his desk with a sly grin, eating a sandwich while that damned shovel leaned against his desk, and me sitting in a cell watching him.
My shoulders sagged in defeat but I managed a small smile. “Yes. I can come tomorrow.” I gathered up my things and left.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Light snow coated my windshield. Wipers on, I pulled out of the parking lot and pointed my car in the direction of the town center. I didn’t want to go back to my office and a barrage of questions. I needed a walk and I knew just where I wanted to go.
The roads had been cleared, making driving easy, but I took my time, which irritated an impatient driver behind me. A mile past the mannequin factory, the road opened up to two lanes. The driver sped up and passed me, but not before making his disapproval of my driving skills known.
I grew up in Indian Cove. I loved the surrounding towns that all seemed to melt into one. Sometimes I thought about moving, but deep down I knew I would stay the rest of my life. Connecticut’s size made it easy to reach any destination in no time at all. And if I felt like going somewhere more than a few hours away, I could just pack a bag and head for the airport. But right now it was Christmas and I liked nothing better than looking at all the decorations in our little town center.
After several more miles and a couple of turns, I found myself in the center of Indian Cove. The surrounding area had been built up with a shopping mall, supermarkets, and business centers, but the downtown section had remained much the same. The shopkeepers took pride in their little bit of heaven and during the holidays all the windows got decorated to the fullest.
The festivities started at Halloween when the local schools held contests to see who would paint the various shop windows. I had won one such contest in eighth grade. My design of a witch flying across the moon on her broom high above a graveyard, complete with ghosts poking out from behind the headstones, had been painted on the window at the drug store. But more importantly, it had beaten out Carla Bruggestrat’s entry. Carla always won everything but not that year.
‘Twas The Night Before Christmas, a particular favorite, had won out this year. The city center consisted of only two blocks with shops on either side. A pharmacy, expanded into a vacant shop, came first followed by several boutiques, a men’s shop, a bakery, and a small newsstand selling papers from all over the country and a few journals from Europe. A few other businesses filled the main street with the library at the corner and from there you could either turn right and go out toward some new apartment buildings and a small medical center or turn left and head for the Sound.
A pond at the top of the main street across from the high school served as the city’s skating rink. Several children whirled around on skates. It stayed cold I would have to dig out my own on Sunday.
I found a parking space and took a leisurely walk, passing the travel agent. I stopped to admire brochures advertising far away tropical islands, mentally berating myself for not traveling more. The only islands I had been to bore the names of Ellis, Staten, Liberty, and Manhattan. Not very exotic. I continued down the sidewalk to Kruger’s Grocery.
I bought a few necessities and went next door to the bakery for fresh croissants. On my way back to my car, I spied a red sweater that would look lovely on my gray-haired mother, and entered the boutique.
Two women stood by the counter and talked about the murder. A murder in Indian Cove caused a lot of concern. I edged a bit closer hoping to hear some gossip.
“Never in all my years, and heavens knows that’s a lot of years, has something like this happened,” an elderly customer said to the clerk. “I locked my back door last night. First time. Forgot all about my husband coming home. He always comes in through the back after putting the car in the garage. About scared me half to death when he tried to get in.” The woman clutched her ample chest and gave a hearty laugh.
The clerk nodded in agreement. “I’m a little nervous about letting my girls pla
y outside. They wanted to go skating tonight, but the pond is too far for me to keep a good eye on them. I’ll have to bring them over myself this weekend.”
I wandered slowly to the display of sweaters and had picked one up when a voice startled me.
“Alex? What are you doing here?”
I turned to see Sandy Knap, the order desk manager at Poupée Mannequins.
“Sandy, hi. Merry Christmas. I just saw this lovely red sweater in the window. If I can find it in the right size I think I’ll get it for my mother. She looks so nice in red.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex, you had to be the one to find Elvira. What a horrid ordeal. It seems no place is safe anymore. I can’t believe there’s been a murder in our little town. Who could be next?” Sandy gave a small shudder. “I heard you were in the office today.”
The two women at the counter now had their attention directed toward us. I turned away slightly and lowered my voice, sorry to deprive the women of gossip, but I didn’t want to betray Mr. Poupée or the factory in any way.
“Mr. Poupée thought I might be of some help,” I shrugged, “but I don’t know.”
Sandy put her hand on my arm. “You have a great way with people. Maybe you can find out something.”
“What’s to find out?” I hinted, hoping Sandy might expound on what I began to fear—that Mrs. Scott had her enemies.
“It could have been random violence. It seems to be happening everywhere. I’m not going out at night alone until this is over,” Sandy commented in a voice perfectly audible to prying ears at the counter. “As a matter of fact, my husband’s outside in the car waiting for me.”
The two women at the counter nodded their agreement to everything Sandy said.
I turned away from the counter, pulled three sweaters off the shelf, and checked the sizes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it had nothing to do with Mrs. Scott. It does seem like everyone liked her a lot,” I openly prodded.