Armed Read Free Page A

oblivious to anything more sinister than not getting fed. I took three miniscule fish food pellets from a tiny packet and dropped them into the bowl.
    Mergitroid swam to the top of the bowl, opened his mouth and took in the tiny grains. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting something to eat,” I told him as I stole a wistful glance at the fish food and wondered what it tasted like.
    Forty-five minutes later I stood in front of my bathroom mirror clad in a black lacy bra and black French hi-cut briefs. I’m five-foot seven, thin, but not skinny, and most of the time I’m content with what I see in the mirror. I have an addiction to M&M’s but manage to keep pounds off by riding my bike and doing a lot of walking. I pulled on a pair of slacks and groaned. The briefs peeked out over the top of the pants. I have a hard time keeping up with the rapid changes in fashion and staying well stocked with all the accoutrements necessary to achieve the latest look. I hadn’t given any thought to underwear when I bought the sits-below-natural-waist pants and didn’t feel like changing. I pulled a light sweater over my head, put the final touches on my hair, and headed out in search of something to eat.
    After a muffin and another cup of tea at a local coffee shop, I now sat behind my desk watching my sister pull off a boot.
    “I called a few times last night,” Sam said, as she yanked off the other boot.  “That must have been some mailing. I tried calling until about ten o’clock. You weren’t alone with them , were you?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
    She knew, of course, about my phobia with dolls. I hate them. They’re scary. Especially at night when you wake up and one is just sitting there looking at you ready to pounce the minute you fall back to sleep. Sam had taken full advantage of this as a child, placing one on the chair by my bed in the hopes I would wake up and have a coronary.
    “Something terrible happened.”
    Sam slipped her feet into a pair of black pumps and grinned at me. “What—do they come alive after six?”
    “Someone killed Mrs. Scott last night,” I blurted.
    My sister, Samantha Daniels still bent over fiddling with her shoes, sat up. “Good Lord! In a car accident?”
    I reached for a tissue and shook my head. “At the factory. Murdered.”
    “Murdered?”
    “Someone bashed the back of her head in with a mannequin arm.”
    Sam gave a small laugh. “Is this some kind of sick mannequin factory joke?”
    I sniffled and silenced her with a hand. “It’s true. Horrifically true.”
    “Were you there when it happened?” Sam asked, panic rising in her voice. “Where did it happen? Did they catch who did it? Oh, no, not someone from the factory?”
    “I found her. Lying on the floor. I needed a shovel and went out to the factory and oh, Sam. Her eyes were…” I ducked my face in my hands and started to cry. Sam rushed around the desk and put her arms around me.
    “It’s all my fault,” I said through gulps of air. “If I’d gone into the factory right away to look for a shovel instead of being such an idiot about those damned mannequins! And now one of them is after me. I didn’t take the arm,” I said thinking back to my garish nightmare.
    “Okay.” Sam rocked me gently while I sobbed, getting tears and God knew what else on her new silk scarf. 
    “What’s going on in here?” Neither of us had heard our assistant arrive. “Why are you crying?” Millie Chapman asked.
    I pushed away from my older sister and looked up. “Sit down. I have something to tell you.”
    “Does it have to do with Mrs. Scott being killed? It’s in the morning paper.” Millie handed it over, taking a seat across from me.
    I took the paper and silently read the article.
    “I’m the employee who found the body.”
    “Oh, God!” Millie stood up, the bells on her sweater jingling. “What we need is some hot tea.” She sprinted into the small kitchen and banged things around returning a few minutes