Alex Harris 00 - Armed

temporary staff as possible, at least in the early stages. Sam and I had worked on our proposal yesterday afternoon; well, Sam did most of the work. We were confident our agency could supply Levy & Avery with administrative staff and the more specialized copywriters and editors they needed.
    If Always Prepared could land this account and if Poupée Mannequins got the museum contract and used our agency for their temps, I felt sure the tide would turn and things would pick up again. I took a deep breath and smiled at my sister.
    “It’s show time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

    An hour and a half later, still pumped up from our positive meeting with Mr. Brandon, Sam dropped me off at my car. I headed toward the factory feeling better than I had in the last few days. I suddenly changed my mind along with my course, and made a U turn managing to shave off half a mound of snow with my right fender in the process.
    When I had cleaned out Mrs. Scott’s desk, I found her address. Now, for whatever reason, I headed my little black car in the direction of the neighborhood where Mrs. Scott had lived.
    I quickly located the street tucked among an area of small, well-tended homes with yards dotted with fir trees laden with icicles sparkling in the pale winter light. Next to autumn, I liked winter the best. It was just so darned pretty if you discounted the slushy brown snow accumulated along roadsides. I scanned houses as I slowly drove down a block where people still had weathervanes on their roofs. I made a mental note to get one. I liked bears and wondered if I could find a weathervane with a bear on it. Having forgotten the exact street number, I was relieved to see a woman out retrieving her mail.
    “Excuse me. Could you tell me where the Scott house is?”
    The woman, dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a thick cardigan over a turtleneck sweater, slowly closed the mailbox and eyed me speculatively. “This is it. Right here. But if you’ve come to visit Elvira, I’m sorry to tell you you’re a bit late.”
    I parked my car next to a mound of snow and walked over to where the woman stood. “Yes, I know about Mrs. Scott’s death. I work at the mannequin factory. I’m Alex Harris.” I extended my hand; the woman took it tentatively and then gave it a hardy shake.
    “I’m Mrs. Haddock. Frances Haddock,” she said with a hint of an accent; Irish or Scottish, I surmised. “Just out collecting the dear soul’s mail. No one else to do it. Don’t know what to do with it all, but, well…” Her words trailed as she glanced behind her at the small house. The walkway to the front door had been cleared of snow. I wondered if this woman before me, who had to be close to Meme’s age, had done it herself.
    “Don’t suppose you know if there’s anyone I should be sending all of this to?” Mrs. Haddock looked down at the mail she had just retrieved from the box.
    “Do you mind?” I took the assortment. “It looks like junk mail except for this gas bill. I don’t know who’s handling things, but I’m sure Mr. Poupée, the owner of the factory, could help. Would you mind if I passed it along to him?”
    Mrs. Haddock smiled. “I’d be very grateful. I’ve got a few more things back at my house if you’ve got a minute.”
    “Certainly.” I followed the tiny woman to the house next door.
    After we left our damp shoes at the front door, Mrs. Haddock ushered me into a small, but cozy living room. “Don’t imagine you’d like a cup of tea?” she asked, looking hopeful.
    “As a matter of fact, I’d love one.” I smiled, and the woman took off toward the kitchen.
    She returned a few minutes later carrying two china teacups. She handed one to me and then picked up a stack of mail from the coffee table. “Here’s the rest of the mail. I threw out all the flyers.”
    I took the stack and noticed a few bills and not much else. No suspicious letter with a return address of the killer saying, ‘I’m going to kill you.’
    After taking a sip of the tea, I looked up. “Did you know Mrs. Scott well, Mrs. Haddock?”
    “Oh, my yes. We’ve lived next door to each other for a long time. I came here first, mind you, but then Elvira and her husband moved in. Can I get you anything else, some biscuits perhaps?”
    “Biscuits?” I asked, wondering if she could throw in a few pieces of crisp bacon.
    “Cookies.”
    “Oh, no. Thank you, Mrs. Haddock. I’m fine. This tea is delicious. You were saying you and Mrs. Scott