Alex Harris 00 - Armed

event or another and neither of them ever acted like they were hiding things. There were no secret looks across the room and believe me, I watched,” Dolly said wistfully. “And in the four or so years since Irwin died, I’ve never given it a second thought. Until now.”
    Dolly poured milk into her coffee. “Are you seriously thinking something went on after all this time?”
    “No. And I can’t imagine what the police are thinking. I mean, even if something went on, why would it lead to murder?”
    “Maybe one of them wanted to call it off and the other didn’t. Are you sure there’s nothing there?” I added, hating myself for doing it.
    “I’m certain. I asked him. I had to know. He looked at me like I was crazy. Said something about how could I think such a thing after all these years. He’s overwrought with grief. But it’s for a friend and a colleague, not a lover.”
    I patted Mrs. Poupée’s hand. “Well, that’s good enough for me.”
    Dolly Poupée’s eyes watered. “But is it good enough for the police?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

    Sitting at Mrs. Scott’s desk I tried to sort out the information I had gathered so far. I opened my purse and took out the pad I had pilfered from her home and studied it again. Sure enough, it said could it be MS . I reached into the purse again this time taking out a small bag of M&M’s and tore it open popping a few in my mouth. I picked up the phone and called my office.
    “What’s up? Sam asked the minute she heard my voice.
    I told her about my morning outings.
    “Mrs. Haddock said she saw someone outside on several occasions. But so what?” I said with a shrug. “It could have been anyone. Someone walking a pet. Or a jogger stopping to catch his breath. But would a jogger stop at the same place every night?” I picked up a bunch of candies and popped three more into my mouth.
    “Probably not. But I don’t jog. Actually, I don’t walk a whole heck of a lot either, so I’m probably not the best person to ask about exercise habits,” Sam said on the other end.
    I told her about the shorthand.
    “Are you sure it says that, Alex? It’s impossible to read someone else’s shorthand.”
    “Not hers. It’s very precise.”
    “You think Mrs. Scott had MS?”
    “I don’t know. What else could it mean? And she capitalized the MS,” I said referring to the shorthand marks under the letters denoting capitalization.
    “So what does this have to do with the murder?”
    “Nothing. That’s the problem. All this time I’ve been thinking Mrs. Scott knew something that got her killed. But she didn’t. She was sick. That’s what upset her.” I opened my hand to get the last few M&M’s I had been holding. Like hell they melt in your mouth not in your hand. I reached for a tissue and wiped chocolate from my palm.
    “Jeez. This is terrible. That poor woman. She probably just found out the diagnosis and that’s why she wanted to talk with Mr. Poupée.”
    “That’s what I’m thinking,” I said.
    “So what does this do for the murder theory?”
    “Well, I’d say it means a serial killer murdered Mrs. Scott.”
    “You don’t really believe that do you?”
    “No. And wait a minute. It says could it be MS. It doesn’t say I have MS.”
    “But just having that hanging over your head would make you upset.”
    “I guess so.”
    “Did you find anything else in the house?”
    “No. Nothing someone would want badly enough to kill for.”
    “Let’s forget about the MS thing for now,” Sam said. “We need to find some way of confirming that with her doctor before we go any further. So getting back to what Mrs. Haddock said about someone watching, if they stalked her at home, how come they killed her at the office?”
    “Good point. I wondered about that myself.” I pulled a small notebook from my purse and wrote opportunity .
    I needed a system for keeping all my information together. I needed a plan. Winston had had a plan. A great plan. His plan saved the world. I only needed a plan to save Mr. Poupée so I figured using a notebook to sort everything out just might work. “The only thing I can come up with is opportunity.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Killing her at the factory couldn’t be opportunistic for a stranger on such cold night, in a place pretty much out in the middle of nowhere, and at a time early enough in the evening that other employees could have still been at work. But it was certainly opportunistic for an