Lacey's Murder Case (A Lacey Thompson Humor Mystery)

Chapter 8

I had always believed in the importance of not wasting time. Productivity is key, right? So come noon the next day, exemplifying a professional sleuth-style mission-driven focus, I crossed the offices and padded to the Creative Department.

Since it was lunch time, the large room was almost clear of employees, save for a few who'd rather work than 

make their bellies happy. Lucky for me, my 'target' was one of that few.

Taking a deep breath, I approached Mike Huitz's table.

At quick glance you'd think he was making out with his computer. He was so wrapped up in work that his thick eyeglasses were almost touching the screen. 

Which meant I had to get his attention to get him to notice me. I slapped the table as loud as I could. My hand stung but it was worth it. I got the junior copywriter's attention. 

Only he didn't look too happy about it. "What?"

I smiled warmly, ignoring his rudeness. "Hi, Mike. Do you have a minute?"

"No, I don't, Thompson," he replied coldly.

"It won't take long. I just--"

"Can't you see I'm busy?" Mike cut off, now openly glaring at me.

Ugh. This was going to be harder than I thought. "Yeah, I can see that--"

"Then move along and bother someone else." Mike shook his head and turned to his computer, muttering something about "dimwitted" and "secretary" under his breath.

That did it. I grabbed a handful of papers and covered the computer screen with it.

"What the --"

"Listen, buster!" I snapped, causing Mike to jolt. "I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me. I need some answers and you're going to give them to me. Kapeesh?" I was being loud but I didn't care. He was pissing me off.

"Okay, geez!" Mike raised his hands as if to surrender. Folding them over his chest, he said, "What answers are you talking about?"

Apparently, acting like a bitch did the trick nowadays. I'd have to keep that in mind, in case I encountered another Mike Huitz in the future.

Putting the papers back on the desk, I told him, "I was told you were one of the last employees to left the building last Monday night. Is that true?"

"What's this? An interrogation?" Yes.

"No. Just answer the question!"

"Jesus, Thompson. You're starting to scare me."

Right. If I wanted to get an answer from him, I had to keep my temper in check. Even if I was so close to strangling him.

In a calmer voice, I said, "Please, Mike. This is very important."

Mike sighed, adjusted his glasses, and ran his fingers through his dark, unruly hair. "Yes, I was one of the last ones left. I had to do an overtime and finish a copy for Frankie's."

I nodded. "So did you, by any chance, notice anything off going on that night? Maybe you saw someone who doesn't work here sneak into the Executive Department?"

"No, I didn't." Mike paused then narrowed his eyes at me. "Is this about George's death?"

"Yes."

"I knew it," Mike said with a smug look, leaning back against his chair. "Wait, wasn't the cause of his death ruled out as suicide?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes."

There's no way in hell I'd tell Mike that it was murder. For all I knew, he was the killer. Telling the truth would cause him to panic and run, knowing that the cops were on to him. Fat chance, I knew. But still.