Mad as Helen by Susan McBride

girl fiercely shook her head. “No, it wasn’t me, I swear it. I didn’t go over to Grace’s house until this morning, right before I ran into you. Wasn’t she killed last night?”
    Instead of an answer, Biddle asked another question. “Speaking of last night, where were you between seven-thirty and eight-thirty?”
    Nancy glanced up at Helen. “I was home.”
    “Alone?”
    “Yes,” Nancy insisted. “After I had dinner with Grandma at the diner, I went back to my apartment and shredded Grace’s notes, pretty much all night, if you must know.”
    “So no one can corroborate your story?” the sheriff asked.
    “No one except the shredder,” Nancy whispered.
    “Would you give me permission to search your apartment, Miss Sweet?” the sheriff asked. “If you have nothing to hide—”
    “I don’t,” Nancy said and got up, disappearing inside for a bit and returning with her purse. She reached inside and plucked out a key chain. Her fingers shaking, she worked one key off and handed it to the man.
    “Thank you, ma’am,” Biddle said and tucked the key in his breast pocket.
    Helen chewed on the inside of her cheek, fighting to stay quiet.
    “Speaking of keys . . .” The sheriff leaned forward and set his forearms on his knees. “I was over at Ms. Simpson’s office this morning, checking out the place, and I couldn’t seem to find the keys to any of the file cabinets or to Grace’s desk. Since those keys weren’t on the ring found in her purse, I thought you might have them.”
    “Sorry, but I don’t.” Nancy sighed. “Grace didn’t want those keys to leave the office, so she had me hide them.”
    “Where?”
    “They’re in the box of staples in my top desk drawer,” she said.
    Biddle pursed his lips. “Did she have an appointment book?”
    “Yes, an old-fashioned one,” Nancy told him. “She liked to make her own appointments, and she didn’t like storing that kind of information on the computer. It should be in the left-hand drawer of her desk. That was where she kept things of importance.”
    “One more thing and then I’ll leave you alone for now, Miss Sweet.” Biddle reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew several slips of crumpled paper. He smoothed the first one out on his knee and passed it across to Nancy.
    Helen squinted at it from over Nancy’s shoulder. It appeared to be a pink memo of some sort.
    “What do you know about divorce proceedings?” Biddle asked.
    “You mean Grace’s divorce from Max?” Nancy handed the note back and shrugged. “It was moving pretty slowly, I think.”
    “So this lawyer, Filo Harper, he’s the guy handling things?” Biddle said and put the note back in his pocket.
    “Yes.” Nancy twirled a strand of hair.
    “Was Max putting up a fight?”
    Nancy stopped fiddling with her hair and sniffed. “I wasn’t Grace’s confidante, Sheriff. All I do know is that she was impatient to get things rolling after, like, a year of separation. She said she’d waited long enough to get him out of her life. That he’d gotten all from her he was going to get.”
    “Which means?” Biddle asked, and his brow furrowed.
    Nancy threw up her hands. “I have no clue! Like I said, I worked with Grace. We weren’t best friends.”
    “You’re a bright girl, Miss Sweet,” the sheriff went on, looking cross. “You must’ve picked up on more than what Grace told you directly.”
    Helen still had her hand on Nancy’s shoulder, and she felt her granddaughter stiffen.
    “I didn’t spy on her, Sheriff, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
    “Let’s look at it another way,” Biddle said. “Did her husband ever come by to see her at work?”
    Nancy exhaled slowly. “I guess he did, maybe once or twice.”
    “Did they seem to get along?”
    The chair creaked as Nancy wiggled against the wicker. “He cheated on her, Sheriff. Everyone in town knows that. It’s why they were divorcing. So knowing how Grace likes to hold a grudge, I’d