Alex Harris 00 - Armed

us?”
    “No one, Honey. Look, I forgot to give my friend her Christmas present. I’m going to run over there right now and I’ll be back before anyone notices I’m gone so don’t say anything.” I took the phone book from under the counter and flipped through the pages. Everything fell into place. Could it be MS?
    “Where are you going?”
    I pulled on my jacket. “To my friend’s. I’ll be back shortly.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Monica Scott.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

    I found the address in an older section of Indian Cove. I turned left onto the street and started to search for number 104. Number 104 belonged to a large house toward the end of the block, surrounded by a tall hedge with several large maples in front. I parked my car and walked over to the house thinking for a minute I’d made a terrible mistake. The huge house looked vacant. I assumed Monica lived with her parents and they had gone away for the holidays.
    There were two mailboxes by the driveway. I went to check for the names. Nothing. But one box said 104 and the other, 104B indicating another house in the back. On the other side of the driveway a path led to the back of the property. Up and down the block, dark houses bordered this one but a party going on down at the corner seemed to be in full swing. The path curved behind the large main house.
    A light glowed from one of the windows above the garage and, hesitating, I wondered how to handle this. My parents—not to mention John—were going to kill me. Our relationship would be over before it started, but I’d come this far; a few more questions couldn’t hurt. I climbed the outdoor staircase on the side of the garage, slipping a few times on the ice. Music came from inside. I knocked on the door as hard as I could. A few seconds later the music abruptly stopped. The door opened.
    Monica stood there staring for a long moment not recognizing me. She had on dirty sweats and looked like she might be high on something.
    “Monica, its Alex Harris from Poupée. Can I come in?”
    “Why?”
    “I’m sorry to bother you on Christmas. I know it sounds strange but I just had a thought and I wanted to ask you a few more questions.”
    Monica stepped back and I entered, hitting a cast iron doorstop with the tip of my boot. The lamp on top of a table by the door shone, but other than that, the apartment was dark. No Christmas tree and no presents brightened the space. The room looked neat and clean but very plain. On the far wall cinder blocks and wood planks formed a set of shelves, and I suddenly had an image of my first apartment. A partially opened door in the back seemed to lead to a bedroom. To the right I spied a small kitchen with packaging from a frozen dinner on a table.
    I stepped further into the room. Monica shut the door behind me. Then I heard something more—a click? On the cinder block shelves rested a picture of a very solemn looking child and two elderly, stern people. I stared at the picture and everything fell into place. All the puzzle pieces fit. A sound behind me made me jump and I turned to see Monica about a foot away. Monica, with the same eyes as Irwin Scott.
    “You’re not from Redding, Connecticut , are you?”
    “I never said I was.”
    “That’s true. Those two people in that picture...” I pointed at the photo. “They’re your grandparents, aren’t they? Your mother’s parents.”
    “Yes.”
    “Your mother, where is she?”
    “Dead.”
    I looked into a face the same round shape of Irwin Scott but which held none of the warmth. Her eyes were cold and bitter, and something more—maniacal. But the eyes were almost exactly like Irwin’s. Why hadn’t Mrs. Scott noticed? Then I remembered something Ian Reiser had said—Monica had green eyes.
    “Mrs. Scott was your stepmother and before she died you wore green contacts to change your eyes.”
    Monica paused for a moment. “Stepmother? You’re certainly being kind to a woman who ruined my life. Ruined my family. Yes, I wore contacts,” she said with curiosity.
    “You killed her, didn’t you?” The words came out before I could pull them back. I should have just excused myself and gone quickly down the steps, jumped in my car and locked it. But no, I had to ask.
    “Yes.” Monica moved away from me and I saw my chance to go for the door but something kept me glued to the floor. “Yes, I killed her. I waited my whole life to kill her. Your precious Mrs. Scott. A bitch, you know, a