Armed Read Free

empty packet. Not even one left. I had tucked the remains of my large bag into the trunk of my car. I didn’t think the police officer would let me run out to get a handful.
    I smiled at the officer and tried to make myself as comfortable as possible on a tiny sofa. I looked at my surroundings—a room I had been in this very morning talking with a woman now dead. Murdered.
    An hour later I awoke from a fitful slumber.
    Two hours after that Detective Van der Burg finally finished his questioning.
    “Let me walk you to your cars.” The interrogation took its toll and neither Mr. Poupée nor I said anything as we gingerly made our way through several inches of snow. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look in your trunks.” I gave Detective Van der Burg a glance and wondered why, but at his point I didn’t care if he found another body in my car as long as it ensured a ride to the police station and a warm cell.
    “Well, you can go now,” he said after poking around in the three boxes I had stowed in my trunk. Finding nothing at all in Mr. Poupée’s trunk, he added, “I’ll be contacting you both again tomorrow. Please make sure you’re available.”
    He helped me clear the snow from around my car and waited to make sure it started, and then he walked toward the building.
    I quickly wound up the heater knob and then rolled down my window hoping the smack of cold air on my face would keep me awake until I got home.
    As I pulled out one of the officers called to the detective from the front door. “Sir. You may want to come and take a look at this.”

 
     
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    Looming out of the dark recesses of the factory, the mannequin came toward me, blood trickling from its shoulder. It seemed to float to where I stood looking down at the body. The coal black eyes of the mannequin darted everywhere, finally settling on the bloody arm resting by Mrs. Scott’s head. “Give me my arm!” the voice boomed, causing me to tumble over, landing hard on the cement floor. Without another word the mannequin raised its other arm high above, gave a maniacal laugh, and brought the hard plastic down on my head.
    I awoke with a start, sweat bathing my face, my breathing labored. Then I heard a sound. I sat bolt upright and strained to hear it again. Nothing. For the next several minutes, nothing—only my own heart. At times like this I wished I had a little dog whose bark could alert me to intruders. Or maybe a big dog whose teeth could tear the intruder to shreds. But the only other living thing in my home, besides an assortment of house plants, was a tiny Beta fish with even tinier teeth.
    I waited long enough to conclude I had heard nothing nefarious and swung my feet out from under the covers. I might as well get up.
    I love this part of the day—early morning. Too bad I had to get up so early to enjoy it.
    I pulled on a pair of red socks and a blue terry cloth robe, and padded cautiously into the kitchen, my eyes darting back and forth taking in all the shadows. I pulled opened the refrigerator door knowing what I would find before I even looked. Nothing. At least nothing I felt like eating at the moment. Yogurt, string cheese, and a bag of lettuce would not do it this morning. I stood there for a moment gazing at a jar of pickles and then slammed the door with a sigh. I usually had a well-stocked fridge but my mind had been occupied lately with my agency. I leaned against the counter looking out to my small but manageable yard.
    All was dark beyond the window. Black. Like the factory last night. I reached for the kettle, filled it with water, and absentmindedly placed it on the gas burner. Why had Mrs. Scott gone out there? Did she hear something? She had been about to leave. The police found her purse on her desk with her coat draped over it and Mr. Poupée had said the foreman always locked the factory. But still she had gone out there. “Why, Mergi?” My little fish happily swam in his bowl