she might have hid it.
Yeah. Maybe tomorrow.
15
“I don’t understand,” Jennifer said. “What makes you think that Mrs. Trax wasn’t Bobbie’s mother?”
“Records,” Lucas said. “It’s down in black and white. Bobbie Jane Simney was born in Memorial Hospital to a Dorothy Simney, no father listed.”
“Bobbie Jane Simney doesn’t even have the same name as Bobbie Trax! And why—?”
“Do you want to listen and learn something?”
“Okay. I’m sorry. It’s just that what you said scares me. If Mrs. Trax isn’t Bobbie’s mother—then it looks worse for Bobbie, doesn’t it?” Jennifer clamped her lips together and waited.
“Don’t jump to unfounded conclusions,” Lucas said. “Right now we’re simply discussing facts. According to police records and old newspaper stories, when Bobbie was about two years old, her mother, Dorothy Simney, was killed in a knife fight in a bar. Dorothy’s sister, Mrs. Stella Krambo, and her husband, Arthur Krambo, were given custody of the child.”
“If they adopted her, then her name ought to be Krambo.”
“They didn’t adopt her. Soon afterward Stella and Arthur were divorced. By the time Bobbie was old enough to go to school, Stella had married Floyd Trax, and Bobbie was enrolled in school as Bobbie Trax. That marriage lasted only a few years, and Stella was divorced again.”
“But Elton and Darryl lived with Stella, too. I wonder why, when none of the children were hers.”
“I’m guessing, and it would take a lot of unnecessary research to find out. But I think we could say that since Stella’s ex-husband Arthur was in the navy, he was probably away on sea duty a lot. His first wife, the mother of his sons, died when they were very young. He could have sent an allotment to Stella to take care of the boys.”
Jennifer let out a long sigh. “You found out so much just by hunting through old records.”
“Still got the movie idea of what a private eye does? You’ll find out it’s mostly a lot of legwork, a lot of sitting in chairs going through old newspaper clippings and city and county and police records.”
Jennifer thought of the threatening telephone call she had received and gave a sharp laugh. “Yeah, boring stuff,” she said.
There was a pause. “Something wrong?”
“No,” Jennifer said quickly. “I was just thinking. Do we find out where those husbands are? They could be suspects.”
“Arthur lives in Arizona, mostly on disability pay from the navy. Floyd died a few years ago.”
“That puts us back with a lot of questions and no answers. Could we look in Mrs. Trax’s handbag? Maybe that would give us some clues. She carried this large bag, and it always seemed to be stuffed.”
“No handbag on the property list,” Lucas said. “If there had been a handbag, the police would have taken possession of it, and we would have no legal right to go through it.” He paused. “You know, a missing handbag was one of the reasons I decided to take this case. If Bobbie had taken money from Stella’s bag when she ran away, the bag would have been somewhere in the house. If she’d taken the bag itself, it would have been in that lean-to on the beach. But since a handbag seems to be nonexistent, I’ve felt from the beginning there was someone else involved.”
“But I—” Jennifer stopped herself in time, her heart thumping in her ears. “That is,” she amended, “you’re saying that even if the police had the handbag, we couldn’t look through it.”
“Right.”
“So what do we do next?” Jennifer knew what she was going to do, but she wasn’t going to tell Lucas. If he was aware of what she knew—that there was a loose board in the floor of one of the kitchen cabinets where Mrs. Trax always hid her handbag—he’d be honor bound to tell the detective working on the case. Jennifer didn’t feel honor bound to anyone but Bobbie.
“For the moment you don’t have to do anything,” Lucas was telling her.
Yeah. Maybe tomorrow.
15
“I don’t understand,” Jennifer said. “What makes you think that Mrs. Trax wasn’t Bobbie’s mother?”
“Records,” Lucas said. “It’s down in black and white. Bobbie Jane Simney was born in Memorial Hospital to a Dorothy Simney, no father listed.”
“Bobbie Jane Simney doesn’t even have the same name as Bobbie Trax! And why—?”
“Do you want to listen and learn something?”
“Okay. I’m sorry. It’s just that what you said scares me. If Mrs. Trax isn’t Bobbie’s mother—then it looks worse for Bobbie, doesn’t it?” Jennifer clamped her lips together and waited.
“Don’t jump to unfounded conclusions,” Lucas said. “Right now we’re simply discussing facts. According to police records and old newspaper stories, when Bobbie was about two years old, her mother, Dorothy Simney, was killed in a knife fight in a bar. Dorothy’s sister, Mrs. Stella Krambo, and her husband, Arthur Krambo, were given custody of the child.”
“If they adopted her, then her name ought to be Krambo.”
“They didn’t adopt her. Soon afterward Stella and Arthur were divorced. By the time Bobbie was old enough to go to school, Stella had married Floyd Trax, and Bobbie was enrolled in school as Bobbie Trax. That marriage lasted only a few years, and Stella was divorced again.”
“But Elton and Darryl lived with Stella, too. I wonder why, when none of the children were hers.”
“I’m guessing, and it would take a lot of unnecessary research to find out. But I think we could say that since Stella’s ex-husband Arthur was in the navy, he was probably away on sea duty a lot. His first wife, the mother of his sons, died when they were very young. He could have sent an allotment to Stella to take care of the boys.”
Jennifer let out a long sigh. “You found out so much just by hunting through old records.”
“Still got the movie idea of what a private eye does? You’ll find out it’s mostly a lot of legwork, a lot of sitting in chairs going through old newspaper clippings and city and county and police records.”
Jennifer thought of the threatening telephone call she had received and gave a sharp laugh. “Yeah, boring stuff,” she said.
There was a pause. “Something wrong?”
“No,” Jennifer said quickly. “I was just thinking. Do we find out where those husbands are? They could be suspects.”
“Arthur lives in Arizona, mostly on disability pay from the navy. Floyd died a few years ago.”
“That puts us back with a lot of questions and no answers. Could we look in Mrs. Trax’s handbag? Maybe that would give us some clues. She carried this large bag, and it always seemed to be stuffed.”
“No handbag on the property list,” Lucas said. “If there had been a handbag, the police would have taken possession of it, and we would have no legal right to go through it.” He paused. “You know, a missing handbag was one of the reasons I decided to take this case. If Bobbie had taken money from Stella’s bag when she ran away, the bag would have been somewhere in the house. If she’d taken the bag itself, it would have been in that lean-to on the beach. But since a handbag seems to be nonexistent, I’ve felt from the beginning there was someone else involved.”
“But I—” Jennifer stopped herself in time, her heart thumping in her ears. “That is,” she amended, “you’re saying that even if the police had the handbag, we couldn’t look through it.”
“Right.”
“So what do we do next?” Jennifer knew what she was going to do, but she wasn’t going to tell Lucas. If he was aware of what she knew—that there was a loose board in the floor of one of the kitchen cabinets where Mrs. Trax always hid her handbag—he’d be honor bound to tell the detective working on the case. Jennifer didn’t feel honor bound to anyone but Bobbie.
“For the moment you don’t have to do anything,” Lucas was telling her.
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