Alex Harris 00 - Armed

nodded. “About two, maybe three nights before Elvira was killed. But the first time must have been a good six months ago. Of course, whoever was out there could have been there every night. Maybe I just didn’t see them.”
    “True. Did Mrs. Scott go to bed late as well?”
    “Yes, sometimes. She enjoyed watching the news and some nights she would be over here. We’d do our needlework together and talk.”
    “Did she ever mention anything bothering her at work?” I asked hopefully.
    Mrs. Haddock thought a moment, then shook her head of white hair slowly. “No. She never mentioned anything. But the last week or so, she seemed, well, like she had a lot on her mind. I thought that odd because she loved her job so I wondered what could be troubling her. I thought with the holiday, and being alone, she probably just missed Irwin so I didn’t intrude. But now I wish I had pried a bit. Maybe then I would know something that could be of some use.”
    I smiled. “You’ve been a great help already. Knowing someone might have been stalking Mrs. Scott will certainly give the police a place to start.” I gave a silent moan and wondered if there was a Mrs. Haddock living over by Richard Sheridan that had seen my pitiful attempt at a stakeout last night and was this very minute giving the police a precise description of my car. Getting back to Mrs. Haddock, I asked, “Do you know if the police searched Mrs. Scott’s house?”
    “Yes, they did. I have a key, you see. I let them in.”
    “Did they take anything?”
    “I don’t think so. Why would they? The murder happened someplace else.”
    “True. But if you saw someone, maybe they were…” I paused, searching for the right word. “Casing the joint. Did Mrs. Scott have any valuables that would entice someone to break in?”
    Mrs. Haddock shook her head. “No. Not really. But I still have the key. Would you like to take a look?”
    Would I like to take a look? Heck yeah. I didn’t think entering the house would break any laws. “Okay. I don’t know what I expect to find, but one never knows.”
    After putting our shoes back on, we went next door. The front door opened onto a small foyer with a coat closet. I stepped inside and walked through to the living room.
    The house was old but neat and clean, both inside and out. The furnishings in the living room were simple. Against the far wall a dark brown sofa with throw pillows in muted tones of blue had been placed. A comfortable recliner faced a small TV nestled in a built-in nook brimming with books and knickknacks. A large blue porcelain bowl at one end of the sofa contained the accoutrements of needlework. The same color scheme ran over into the dining room.
    “There are two bedrooms upstairs and that’s about it,” Mrs. Haddock said.
    I followed Mrs. Haddock up the steps and went into a room. As with the rest of the house, it was nicely done in soft colors. The bed was made and I thought with a tug at my heart that Mrs. Scott probably never left the house without first making the bed; a trait I also held along with washing all the dishes and making sure I put on mascara. I made a mental note to look into the waterproof stuff from now on. On the dresser stood several pictures of Irwin. Again, I looked at his face, and was drawn to the warmth of his eyes and his happy smile.
    “That’s Irwin. I can’t believe they’re both gone.” Mrs. Haddock’s voice caught and she turned and left the room.
    I followed her down the steps. We went into the kitchen where a clean bowl and spoon along with a small juice glass rested on a towel. Mrs. Haddock stood in the doorway while I turned slowly, my eyes taking everything in and noticing nothing of importance. I took a step to leave when I spotted a pad and pencil sitting on a placemat on the kitchen table.
    “Elvira always made lists,” Mrs. Haddock said.
    I gave her a nod. The first few lines had items to be picked up at the grocery store. Further down Mrs. Scott had written cleaners and mall . There were some doodles in the blank space to the right of the page and further down near the bottom of the paper. I started to turn and then stopped. I picked up the pad and took a closer look at the doodle at the bottom. But it wasn’t a doodle. It was something written in a dying language but one that I still practiced. Shorthand. Mrs. Scott had written something in shorthand. I stared at it properly impressed with how clear she wrote. It said could it be MS