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never finish her work if she kept daydreaming. More than that, she sensed something below the surface, something that could cause tremendous complications if she let it.… She quickly returned to copying, forcing herself to concentrate.
    In the next file, something caught her attention. It was a fairly recent complaint. Miles must have picked it up by accident, Winifred mused, for this wasn’t one of the older ones to be copied. She was about to put it aside when she noticed that the complaint was filed against a woman who had reportedly tried to kill her husband. Interested, Winifred began reading it.
    The woman, a Mrs. Black, had been jailed because her husband believed that she had tried to murder him. She had given him a cup of tea to drink, andshortly afterward, he had become violently ill. The tea had been sent out for testing. The results had not yet been returned. More than likely, nothing would be found, and the case would never go to trial. And yet …
    Putting the copying aside, she headed for the research books. It couldn’t hurt just to take a peek and see if there had ever been a case like this one. As she cracked the books, keen excitement rose within her. This was her milieu, her element. It was like detective work, looking for the clues that would solve the mystery. Excited, she surrounded herself with books and began making copious notes. She would prove to Charles that she could do it, and in the process, she would prove the same thing to herself.
    A short time later, as she was just finishing her research, Miles entered her office and dumped another armload of work onto her desk.
    “Miss Appleton,” he said smugly, “Mr. Howe asked if you could bring the coffee into the two o’clock meeting, since Mr. Crocker is out. What are you doing?” He lifted up a sheet of her notes and tried to decipher it.
    “Nothing,” Winifred said defensively, fighting the impulse to snatch the sheet back from him. “There was a complaint here that I thought I would research. Nothing important.”
    “Did you?” Witherspoon looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “Miss Appleton, I thought your orders were very clear. We have a lot of copying that needs to be done. If you cannot follow instructions, I am afraid I will have to report that to Mr. Howe.”
    “But it is just a simple complaint! It will probably never even go to court—”
    “Then our lawyers will not have any trouble withit, will they? I will take this with me. The coffee, Miss Appleton. Try not to forget.”
    He walked off, carrying her work with him. Winifred scowled, fighting the urge to dump the files on his head. Picking up the coffeepot, she carried it down to the kitchen and washed it in the sink, then put it on the gas stove to boil. As she assembled the cups, she tried hard not to feel resentful.
    But she also felt a rush of pleasure. She had found several other poisoning cases that could help. Although her accomplishment would go unnoticed, she knew that she had succeeded in one of her personal aims.
    When the coffee was ready, she put the pot on the tray and carried the assemblage into the conference room. The rumble of voices fell to an awkward hush as she entered and deposited the tray on the side table. Charles gave her a brief smile, then addressed the group of men.
    “Good afternoon, everyone. Let us get started. Marton, why don’t you go over the caseload?”
    Winifred placed the coffeepot in the center of the table, then set the cups where they could easily be reached. She was about to leave when Charles stopped her.
    “Miss Appleton, would you mind taking notes during the meeting? Our secretary is out today.” He handed her a notebook.
    “Not at all,” Winifred replied, accepting the book and taking a seat. A few disgruntled noises came from the lawyers. The elderly Whitcomb played with his mustache, thoughtfully twirling it while he gazed in her direction, the younger Marton sent her a flirty smile, Witherspoon scowled at