know that no way did she write that postcard." Any idea who might have written it?" "Not the faintest. Why on earth would anyone..." Qwilleran said, "Was there any reason why she might want people in Pickax to think she had gone to Florida? Was she afraid of someone here? Afraid of being followed and brought back? Were the police looking for her? Had she stolen something? She may have gone out west but I arranged for someone else to mail the card in Maryland. Was she clever enough to figure that out? Did she have an accomplice?" Mildred looked distressed as well as bewildered. "She I took a rather pricey object from the decorating studio, but I Amanda didn't prosecute. Honestly, I can't imagine Daisy being involved in a serious theft." "What kind of guys did she go around with?" "Not the most respectable, I'm afraid. She started... hanging out after she left school." "Would her mother know her friends?" "I suspect her mother would neither know nor care." "I'd like to talk with that woman." "It might not be easy. The Mulls are suspicious of strangers, and Della isn't sober very often. I could try to see her when I go to Dimsdale to check on my craft workers. Della does nice knitting and crochet, and she could make items for Sharon's shop, but she can't get herself together." "You could tell her I've found her daughter's belongings," Qwilleran said, "including a valuable piece of gold jewelry.
Stress 'valuable,' and see how she reacts. Ask if I might deliver Daisy's luggage to her." "Did she really have some good jewelry?" Mildred asked.
"It was in her suitcase in the attic. The question is: why did she leave it behind? She disappeared in the month of July and left both summer and winter clothing, including her toothbrush and... Did you know she was pregnant?" "I'm not surprised," Mildred said sadly. "She never got any love at home. How do you know she was pregnant?" "She'd been buying baby clothes from Lanspeak's - that is, buying or shoplifting. She left those behind, too. My first hunch was that she was running away to have an abortion." "She could have had a miscarriage. That can unhinge a woman, and Daisy wasn't the most stable girl in the world - or the healthiest." "To tell you the truth, Mildred," said Qwilleran, "I'm getting some unsavory vibrations about this case. But I can't say any more - just yet." Driving back to Pickax he made a detour at the Dimsdale intersection. Just as Roger had said, a dirt road led back into the woods, and among the trees were flat-roofed shacks and old travel trailers. The number of small outhouses suggested a lack of plumbing in this shantytown. Junk was scattered everywhere: bedsprings, an old refrigerator without a door, fragments of farm machinery, rusted-out cars without wheels. The only vehicles that looked operative were trucks in the last stages of dilapidation. Here and there a dusty vegetable garden was struggling to survive in a clearing. Gray washing hung on sagging clotheslines. Flocks of small children played among the rubbish, shrieking and tumbling and chasing chickens.
Comparing the scene with his own lavish residence, Qwilleran cringed - and put the Dimsdale squatters on his mental list for the K Foundation: decent housing, skill training, meaningful jobs, something like that.
At the K mansion he was surprised to see a motorcycle parked at the back door. The service drive was usually occupied by a pickup or two. The green jumpsuit was constantly mowing, edging, watering, spraying and pruning, and Amanda's crew was always coming and going on obscure missions. This afternoon there was a black motorcycle - long in the wheelbase, wide in the tank, voluptuous as to fairings, and loaded with chrome.
Qwilleran stepped into the entry hall and heard voices: "Whaddaya see, Iris baby? Gimme the bad news." "Your palm is very good, very easy to read. I see a long lifeline and - oh my! - many love affairs." "Baa-a-a-a!" There was no mistaking the
Stress 'valuable,' and see how she reacts. Ask if I might deliver Daisy's luggage to her." "Did she really have some good jewelry?" Mildred asked.
"It was in her suitcase in the attic. The question is: why did she leave it behind? She disappeared in the month of July and left both summer and winter clothing, including her toothbrush and... Did you know she was pregnant?" "I'm not surprised," Mildred said sadly. "She never got any love at home. How do you know she was pregnant?" "She'd been buying baby clothes from Lanspeak's - that is, buying or shoplifting. She left those behind, too. My first hunch was that she was running away to have an abortion." "She could have had a miscarriage. That can unhinge a woman, and Daisy wasn't the most stable girl in the world - or the healthiest." "To tell you the truth, Mildred," said Qwilleran, "I'm getting some unsavory vibrations about this case. But I can't say any more - just yet." Driving back to Pickax he made a detour at the Dimsdale intersection. Just as Roger had said, a dirt road led back into the woods, and among the trees were flat-roofed shacks and old travel trailers. The number of small outhouses suggested a lack of plumbing in this shantytown. Junk was scattered everywhere: bedsprings, an old refrigerator without a door, fragments of farm machinery, rusted-out cars without wheels. The only vehicles that looked operative were trucks in the last stages of dilapidation. Here and there a dusty vegetable garden was struggling to survive in a clearing. Gray washing hung on sagging clotheslines. Flocks of small children played among the rubbish, shrieking and tumbling and chasing chickens.
Comparing the scene with his own lavish residence, Qwilleran cringed - and put the Dimsdale squatters on his mental list for the K Foundation: decent housing, skill training, meaningful jobs, something like that.
At the K mansion he was surprised to see a motorcycle parked at the back door. The service drive was usually occupied by a pickup or two. The green jumpsuit was constantly mowing, edging, watering, spraying and pruning, and Amanda's crew was always coming and going on obscure missions. This afternoon there was a black motorcycle - long in the wheelbase, wide in the tank, voluptuous as to fairings, and loaded with chrome.
Qwilleran stepped into the entry hall and heard voices: "Whaddaya see, Iris baby? Gimme the bad news." "Your palm is very good, very easy to read. I see a long lifeline and - oh my! - many love affairs." "Baa-a-a-a!" There was no mistaking the
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