Her neighbors in the quiet New England town of Saint Margaret's Mews, less than half an hour’s drive from Cambridge center, would've been shocked to learn that the gentle old soul harbored a secret. They'd have considered Miss Oriflamme incapable of any act more covert than the discreet insertion of a saucer beneath an errant teacup, the ginger elision of a name from an item of neighborhood gossip, or the surreptitious excision of an encroaching weed from her much-beloved garden. They'd no inkling at all that she'd been supplementing her meager widow's pension by designing websites from her home.
The following additional text appeared once the Dossier meta had been solved:
Throughout 2007, Miss Oriflamme’s busy double life had her spending half her time in the Silicon Valley. Every Saturday, after dinner, she’d board a jet and fly across the country, arriving in time for either a power breakfast with her clients in Sunnyvale or an hour of tea and crumpets with her chums in Saint Margaret Mews while watching the sun rise. These cross-country trips so exhausted her, that she did no other long-distance travel over the course of the year. August was a particularly busy month for her, during which she did not work on or think about the hunt at all.
One morning as she looked forward to preparing her heirloom violets, which she grew year round in a hot-house of her own design, for entry in the monthly tri-county flower show, Miss Oriflamme discovered that they had been trod upon by a pair of size 11 boots – just Dr. Awkward’s size. She burst into tears and ran to her thriving belladonna bush. Miss Oriflamme vehemently denies any wrongdoing, claiming to have been at Gray House, talking to the president about her gardens, at the time of Dr. Awkward’s unfortunate demise.