by Elaine Macko
“It’s okay, William,” Mr. Absher said softly, pain in his voice. “I’ll go out to the cemetery later.”
“Mr. Absher, you mentioned something in the card about Mrs. Scott having a dilemma. Can you explain?” John asked.
“Yes, and then I’ll show you the package.” Mr. Absher took another sip of water and continued, “Last month I came here for the annual meeting. The year before I couldn’t make it and the year before that you canceled.”
“That’s right,” interrupted Mr. Poupée. “We overhauled the factory then and canceled.”
“You have a sales representative, Emmanuelle Roberts. Emmanuelle is an unusual name so I felt certain, but when I saw her, I knew.”
“Knew what, Mr. Absher?” I asked.
“Several years back another manufacturing firm outside of Chicago had a scandal with missing money. The owner, a good friend of mine, had a young woman working for him. Emmanuelle Roberts. They couldn’t prove anything, but traced the missing money to a few months after she started. At any rate, when I saw her here I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to come directly to you, William, but I needed to check out a few things first.”
“Wouldn’t these things have come out in her interview for employment here?” John asked.
“I talked with her during the interview process, but Richard made the final decision. It’s a bit tricky for past employers to say negative things when you call for references and if they didn’t press charges against her they would have no proof,” Mr. Poupée explained.
“Why didn’t the firm in Chicago press charges?” I asked.
“They were just about to go public with the company. A scandal would have negated the whole deal.”
“And you told Mrs. Scott,” John said.
“Yes. We went out to dinner and she sensed something was wrong. I told her of my concerns and decided I would look into it a bit more on my end and she would keep an eye on Ms. Roberts. Funny thing though, she seemed to suspect Emmanuelle of something already.”
“Keep an eye on her? How do you mean?” I flashed back to my conversation with Mrs. Haddock and wondered if Mrs. Scott stalked Emmanuelle and Emmanuelle found out and killed her. But who stalked Mrs. Scott? Maybe the two women followed each other, finally collided, and one of them ended up dead.
“I don’t know exactly. Elvira said she’d watch her though Ms. Roberts worked at home a lot. After I confirmed my suspicions, which, by the way, doesn’t mean I found out she did anything, I called Elvira. At that point she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to involve you, William, but she didn’t know how to get rid of Emmanuelle without bringing you into it. And while we had our suspicions, we had no proof Emmanuelle had ever done anything wrong. Just a lot of gossip. She dated someone from the company in Chicago that did indeed get terminated because of stealing. To be fair I think she got branded guilty by association. At any rate, they strongly suggested she quit and she did.” Mr. Absher paused. “I began to think Elvira and I were on a witch hunt and it didn’t sit well with me. But Elvira really thought Emmanuelle was up to no good.”
“Do you know if she confronted Ms. Roberts on any of this?” John asked.
Mr. Absher shook his head. “I’m not sure but I think she planned to. She hoped a confrontation would force the woman to quit.”
I interrupted. “No, I’m sure she must have confronted Emmanuelle.” They all looked at me and I told them about the yelling match Sandy Knap overheard.
“My dear Elvira. Why couldn’t she just come to me with this problem from the onset?” Mr. Poupée asked.
“Mr. Poupée, from everything I’ve heard, Mrs. Scott protected you. She felt you had more important things to contend with than what she perceived as petty office politics.”
“Yes, but great Scott! This may have gotten her killed!” Mr. Poupée looked shaken at the inappropriate pun but nonetheless he had expressed what I thought.
Mr. Absher reached for the glass of water again. After several small sips, he continued, “When there was no response to my calls to Elvira, I became very worried.” He reached down to his case and pulled out a large package. “When I returned home yesterday I found this postmarked the day Elvira died, though I didn’t know it at the time. It’s from her.” He passed the box to Mr. Poupée. “I think you should take a look.”
“This must be the extra box on the receipt. I gave Elvira four packages to mail but the postal receipt showed five.” Mr. Poupée tore the brown wrapping from around the package and looked inside. “I don’t understand, Oliver. Why are you returning a box of eyes?”
“There’s a letter taped to the inside of the box.”
Mr. Poupée opened the envelope and removed a piece of paper, read silently then handed it to John who read it aloud.
William, I didn’t know whether or not to give this to you at our meeting. I want to see what your reaction is first and of course I really haven’t any proof this is indeed the handy work of Emmanuelle. If it’s not, then we have more problems than even I imagined. I know Oliver will keep it safe and make sure it gets returned properly if anything should happen to me. Oh, dear. I really sound like a paranoid old woman. Of course, if I’m being foolish, I will turn this over to you myself in front of the police, I should think. Elvira
“But I still don’t understand. How did she think a box of eyes could implicate Emmanuelle in anything?” Mr. Poupée asked looking into the box again. “It’s just a box of multi-colored eyes.” Mr. Poupée stopped talking and shook is head. “And what did she mean by wanting to see my reaction? It sounds like she suspected me of something.”
“Wait a minute. I may have the answer to that.” I jumped up and went into the outer office. A few moments later I returned with the computer printout from my purse. I explained the significance to Mr. Absher and spread them out on the desk.
“Something bothered me about all this but I couldn’t get a handle on it. This last sheet shows the breakdown of the orders by mannequin style. Look at this customer, Schwartz & Co. Judging by the size of these orders, they like the mannequins with the interchangeable eyes.”
“My firm likes them as well,” Mr. Absher said.
“Now look at this second sheet where the orders for eyes are listed separately,” I said, momentarily distracted by a sound in the outer office.
“What’s wrong?” Mr. Poupée asked.
“Oh, nothing. I thought I heard something.” Everyone returned their attention to the printout again and shrugged. “Don’t you see? Schwartz & Co. buys an awful lot of eyes.”
“Yes, but they buy a large quantity of the Eyes Have It model and there are four different color changes at the moment. We’re adding more colors for the upcoming year,” Mr. Poupée argued, looking bewildered.
“Four or five sets of eyes for each mannequin, okay—but fifty?”
“Let me see that, Alex.” Mr. Poupée studied the two sheets. “Why would Schwartz & Co. buy all these eyes?”
“If Emmanuelle’s an embezzler or taking kickbacks or some such…” I paused, not sure of the terminology for these kinds of transactions, “maybe she sold tons of eyes at substantially reduced prices.”
“There’d be no money in such a thing,” Mr. Poupée postulated. “We make our profit mainly from the sale of the mannequins, not from supplemental eyes. I mean we make a profit, certainly, but nothing one could manipulate for any kind of substantial profit. Why risk it?”
“I don’t know, but this explains why Mrs. Scott asked for the printout. She must have suspected Emmanuelle of something. Another thing, this printout is for the last two years. Emmanuelle started just over two years ago.” I sat back in my seat looking smug.
“It just doesn’t fit,” John said.
“Yes it does. Mrs. Scott sensed something was going on, maybe from her confrontation with Emmanuelle.”
“Poor woman,” Mr. Poupée interjected.
“She knew we would find the printout, and with the box of eyes she sent to Mr. Absher,
we would put it all together. Maybe she even suspected she might not make the meeting she arranged with you, Mr. Poupée. She looked tense that night, all day as a matter of fact.”
Mr. Poupée crossed his arms on top of the desk and put his head down. “Why couldn’t I have seen the importance? I knew something bothered her, but I couldn’t make the time.”
“I’d like to speak with Ms. Roberts,” John said. “Now. If it’s possible, Mr. Poupée.”
Mr. Poupée lifted his head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Detective. She left first thing this morning for a meeting with a potential buyer in Florida.”
“When will she be back?”
“Not until Friday.”
“Well, this can’t wait,” John said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to call her and arrange for her to return immediately. But I don’t want her to get suspicious so perhaps you can make up something to get her back.”
Mr. Poupée said he would make the call right away.
I sat back in the chair feeling odd. After my talk with Emmanuelle at the funeral, I began to see her in a different light. Those damned Hallmark moments always seemed to lead me astray. But everything pointed to her. She would soon be behind bars, and this didn’t sit well with me. On the plus side Mr. Poupée was off the hook and I could return to my own business. But something still nagged me and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t bring it into focus.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
After the meeting with Mr. Absher, I left the factory and went over to Mills Pond to face my grandfather. I figured if I didn’t do it now, time would just slip away and I would never go back. When I got old, if alone, I decided Mills Pond wouldn’t be a bad place to go. The place looked more like a resort spa than a home for the aged and, judging by all the hustle and bustle, the place kept everyone active.
My grandfather, much to my extreme delight, had no recollection of what transpired the week before. His conversation tended toward another resident named Lucy. From what he told me, she must be the object of his affections. I briefly wondered whether I would be getting a new grandma. I gave him gifts from Sam and me, and he said he would keep them for Christmas day.
On the way back to my office I stopped and picked up a sandwich, which I now ate with gusto. I took another gluttonous bite while a large chunk of it plopped on the table.
“It looks like everything’s settled. Emmanuelle killed Mrs. Scott. What’s wrong?” Sam asked. “You don’t look convinced.”
My sister made quite a show of licking mayonnaise off her thumb. I picked up a sandwich for her, knowing full well, even if she had eaten, she would have room for more. She didn’t disappoint. “I am,” I said, without much conviction. “I guess I just wanted it to be Jerry Gagliano. After my talk with Emmanuelle yesterday I saw her in a different light.”
“You’re too soft.”
I became pensive for a few moments and then added, “If Mrs. Scott did suspect Emmanuelle of something, why? What tipped her off?”
We took our plates to the kitchen and stuffed them in the dishwasher.
“Emmanuelle works at home, right? Maybe she spent too much time out of the office and made Mrs. Scott suspicious.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, albeit with hesitation.
We went back to my office where I grabbed a large stack of files from the corner of my desk and placed them in front of me. We received the good news first thing this morning that we won the Avery & Levy account. A lot of work needed to be done to fully staff the agency by the end of January. “You know, it just doesn’t make any sense,” I mused. “Why would she sell eyes on the black market? There’s not a lot of money in it.”
“Maybe she ran some sort of scam with the hair and repair kits and mannequins, too. You just haven’t found out yet. Leave it to the police. It’s in their capable hands. Once they question her, she’ll probably spill the beans on all sorts of nefarious things. Speaking of police how is the fine detective today?” Sam asked.
My eyes twinkled and a smile formed on my lips. “He’s, well…he’s perfect.”
“Is he now?”
“He kind of asked me out but we got interrupted by Mr. Absher’s arrival.” I leaned back and folded my arms. “I started thinking there’s too much flannel in my life.”
“Did you say flannel?” Sam asked.
“I did. I never thought about it before. I wear flannel pajamas, I have flannel sheets, I wear flannel shirts in the winter.”
“We do live in Connecticut.”
“I know. But I think I need to jazz up my life. Get some of those silky sheets, maybe something from Victoria’s Secret.”
“Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit? You still haven’t gone out on a date with the man.”
I waved my hand. “Details. I know we haven’t gone out yet. But we will. And I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s something more. I feel…well, I feel like he’s the one.” I held up my hand at my sister’s attempted protest. “No. It may sound crazy. It does sound crazy, but I just know. Sam, he ate the blue ones.”
Sam threw up her hands in defeat. “Well, hell, if he eats the blue ones he’s got to be the right one.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Remember what you said the night we talked about Peter? One of your Winston quotes.”
“‘If this is a blessing, it is certainly very well disguised’,” I said softly.
Sam nodded. “See, it did all work out for the best. You may have just met the man you will spend the rest of your life with.”
“Yes, but someone had to die for it to happen.”
“Oh, Alex, don’t let this terrible murder keep you from going after something good. If you and John are meant to be, you would have met sooner or later.”
“‘There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction.’”
“Winnie, again?” Sam asked with squinted eyes.
“How come you never think I can come up with this stuff on my own?” I asked with mock hurt. “I can be profound.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t have as much fun if you weren’t quoting old Winston. Though I wonder if you really enjoy the quotes or just look forward to annoying the rest of us.”
I smiled surreptitiously, leaving Sam to draw her own conclusions.
I worked for several hours more on the new account happy to be back where I belonged. A pale sun peaked through the windows where only a few hours before a light snow had dusted the panes. All was right with the world and I conveniently pushed that nagging tug of my subconscious back where it belonged.
Sometime in the late afternoon I got interrupted by a rather voluptuous young woman looking for a job as a masseuse. I suggested she apply at the various health clubs in the area.
I had just settled back at my desk when I heard the door, which, once again, I had forgotten to lock.
“Joanne? What are you doing here? I thought you were home sick,” I said testily. With the murder all but solved I wanted nothing more to do with Joanne.
She stood in the reception area and held her car keys in one hand but no purse. “I’ll make this short. I wanted to know if you’re planning on recommending me to Mr. Poupée as a replacement for Elvira?”
“I haven’t given it much thought,” I lied, staring at her eye.
“Well, think about it now,” Joanne said forcibly.
“Look. I’m really busy right now. What does it matter whether or not I recommend you? If you want the job, then apply for it.”
“Mr. Poupée wants you to find the replacement and he won’t even look at my résumé if you don’t put in a good word.”
I invited Joanne back to my office and considered the request. She certainly had ambition. What was wrong with that? I considered myself ambitious, though I hoped more tactful and kind in my dealings with people than Joanne. “My plan is to recommend several possible candidates. He’ll be making the final decision.”
“So you’ll put in a good word, then?” Joanne started for the
door.
I wanted to ask her a few questions while I had her here and needed to stall the woman. “Why don’t you put together your résumé for me and I’ll look it over.”
“I don’t see why I should have to.”
I sighed, tired of going in circles. “If you want me to recommend you for the position, I need to see your résumé. I’m not promising anything, but if your qualifications fit, then I can submit it. As long as you’re here, can I ask you a few more questions?” I wanted to ask her about the plans for the museum. I wasn’t sure if Joanne knew about the special project and I didn’t feel it my place to mention if Mr. Poupée wanted it kept under wraps. I hesitated a moment formulating my thoughts. “Does Mitch ever show you his designs?” I began hoping this might lead somewhere.
Joanne shrugged. “Sometimes. Why?”
“I just wondered if he worked on anything special lately.”
“The usual stuff. He’s working on some new mannequin accessories. I think he may have help with the new designs for the museum project in the early stages but that’s about it. That’s Ron’s project.”
Good. Joanne knew. “So you never saw any of the designs, then?”
“No. They’re kept under lock and key.”
“Do you have any idea what they’re all about?”
This time Joanne sighed. “No. Elvira did all the work on the proposal. What is this? Why are you asking me about that?” Joanne’s voice rose to a whine.
“No reason. I might be helping Mr. Poupée with temporary staff for the project and I wanted to get a feel for what kind of work it would be,” I lied and amazed myself at how quickly and easily I did it. Not a good habit to acquire.
“Then why don’t you ask him? You work so closely together,” Joanne said, sarcasm frosting every word.
I smiled. “I guess I will. With all that’s going on lately, I didn’t want to bother him. I thought maybe you could help.”
“Well, sorry. But I don’t know anything about it.”
I walked Joanne to the door and then went back to my office to get my things, ready to call it a day—a very long day. I turned out the light looking forward to a salad and NCIS reruns when the front door opened again. I called out, silently admonishing myself for leaving it unlocked yet again.