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and sat on the windowsill, the outside panes frosted with a white lacework. “And he’s too old.”
    “I don’t think there’s an age limit for murderers,” Sam said.
    “I’m sure he’s not involved, Alex. Maybe it has something to do with what’s going on over there?” Millie said with a knowing look.
    My sister placed her mug on the corner of my desk and shifted in her seat. “What do you mean?”
    “I went to get my mail last week,” Millie said. “You know, most people check their mail everyday, but I always forget. And Gran and Mom never have time. I never get anything but bills. No letters. I’ve lived here all my life so who’s going to write to me.”
    I came back to my desk. “Millie!”
    “Oh, right. Sorry, Alex. So I went to check my mail and saw my neighbor checking hers and we got to talking. She works at Poupée on the assembly line. Can you imagine putting arms and legs together all day long and…” I gave Millie the look . “Sorry, I’m getting off track again. She said something at work must be going on because some people seemed secretive.”
    “Secretive? In what way?” I asked, leaning forward, my interest piqued.
    Millie shrugged. “I don’t know. She said they had lots of closed-door meetings. And Mr. Poupée came out to the factory more than usual.”
    “Hmmm,” I mused.
    “It could be anything,” Sam said. “Maybe they’re planning to have a layoff, or maybe they’re just talking about Christmas bonuses.”
    “No, it can’t be a layoff. They’re supposed to get that big project,” I said with hope; hope they would get it and hire us to fill the temporary positions. “Maybe it has something to do with that. I’m sure whatever it is has nothing to do with Mrs. Scott. She doesn’t—I mean didn’t—work in the factory. It’s probably some kind of production problem.”
    “Do you want to go home?” Millie suggested. “Your calendar is fairly light today. I can take over your interview.”
    “No, I’d rather stay here, but thanks. Speaking of interviews, how’d it go yesterday?”
    “Not bad. The secretarial candidate passed all her tests and the French translator scored perfectly. Maybe I should learn French. Take a class over at the university,” Millie said, lapsing into a dreamy state.
    Sam and I rolled our eyes. Millie’s last foray with a hobby had been a photography course. She had done nothing for months but try to catch us in natural poses. I couldn’t imagine her muttering all day in a foreign language.
    “Well, if you two don’t mind, I’ve got some things I’d like to get done,” I said, while looking in a small mirror I keep in my desk. I had cried off my eyeliner, and once again my mascara left smoky smudges under my eyes. On further inspection I decided I liked the effect; it made me look mysterious. I made a mental note to duplicate it the next time I had a hot date.

 
     
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
     
    “I have your mother on the phone. Can you speak with her?” Millie asked me over the intercom a short time later.
    “Sure. Give me a minute to finish this call and then put her through.”
    I went back to my call with Mr. Abbadini, a cute little farmer whose wife had died a year before. He wanted to sell the chicken farm that had been in his family for several generations. The current generation of Abbadinis had long left to pursue careers in the city leaving Mr. Abbadini alone with lots and lots of chickens.
    “Yes, Mr. Abbadini, I think we can find someone to come help you count all the chickens for your inventory. Yes, I understand. I’ll make sure they know exactly what the job entails and aren’t squeamish about farm creatures.”
    The last person we sent out, a young woman working to put herself through junior college, had stumbled over when a large rodent had scurried past her legs, landing right on top of a basket of fresh eggs. We put our applicants through a long day of testing making sure we match them perfectly with the