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“You must be run off your feet.”
“I’d rather be working, actually. The night job and the waitressing don’t pay enough. I was hoping someone might buy that Stormfield place and hire me back, but I guess that will take a while.”
“Yes, I think it will. Now, it seems that Mr. Pottinger failed to pay into the unemployment insurance fund.”
Gross’s face fell. “Does…does that mean I won’t get no money? Like I said, I filed, but I ain’t got nothing yet.”
“Well, that’s one reason I’m here, to help with that. Now, before he fired everyone, did Mr. Pottinger have any visitors?”
“Why does that matter?” Gross said, her expression suddenly wary.
Clarisse leaned forward and said in a confidential tone, “Just between you and me, it seems possible that Mr. Pottinger was engaged in something that might be criminal.”
“Criminal!”
“Nothing has been proved yet, of course, but the state is looking into it. If you could assist us in our investigation, well, it certainly would help your chances of being compensated.”
Gross smoothed down her wrinkled shirt and said, “I’ll help you if I can, Miss, I swear. It’s not like I owe Mr. Pottinger nothing. Man made my life miserable.”
“I can understand that. So, any visitors?”
“He only had the one, Miss. We used to joke that the only friend he had was the devil.”
“When was this visit?”
“About a week before he let us go. I remember it because he showed up out of the blue again. I walked in one morning and there he was, standing right in the foyer staring at me. I don’t know how my heart didn’t stop.”
“Do you think he showed up because he knew he was going to have a visitor?”
“I thought that might be it, but he never said nothing until right before the person got there.”
“And what can you tell me about the visitor?”
“It was a man. About your age.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Tall man. Thin.”
“Hair and eye color?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Well, we will want to find this man, of course.”
“Oh, sure, yeah. Blond hair, thinning, and green eyes, least I think.”
“How was he dressed?”
“Jeans and a sweater. He was very polite, but there was something about him, I don’t know, gave me the creeps.”
“Did you find out his name?”
“It was Mr. Marshal.”
Clarisse sat back.Marshal? Touché.“Did you happen to hear what they discussed?”
“Oh, no. I took him to Mr. Pottinger’s study and left them there. I went off and continued my work.”
