Let's "whatsit" again!

... have you missed this game?

Did you know Blake Broadmore has a voice in the upcoming J.D. Pierson story? Here’s a teaser:

“How could you possibly tell?” I asked the woman who had pushed the newspaper forward along the table between us.

“She’s my daughter. Surely you think I would know my own daughter.”

I shrugged, but from the corner of my eye I saw Jenny step a little closer and sit down beside me. I wasn’t sure why but she’d remained aloof after meeting Miram Negley’s mother, refusing to take the offered chair and instead standing over my shoulder. I didn’t push because Jenny Dee always had her own reason for doing something.

The restaurant was a fine place, replete with expensive porcelain dishware, low-lighted chandeliers and waiters in formal attire. It was without a doubt an excess for what was sure to be only a five or ten minute conversation, but Mrs. Negley had chosen the location. Although my company had given me an expense account, Jenny and I hadn’t ordered anything, and I hoped Mrs. Negley would fit the bill for her own cocktail.

She had insisted on seeing us somewhere other than her home. Apparently she didn’t want her husband to know she was cooperating with us. Mr. Negley had lost interest in locating his stepdaughter and wanted neither the police nor the insurance company involved.

“Listen, I am aware that you think I’m crazy,” she pulled out a silver cigarette case and I immediately retrieved a pack of matches from the table, lit one, and put it to the end of the cigarette. Nodding a thank you, she pointed to the photograph in the newspaper. “It’s not a clear picture, that’s true enough, but this is how Miriam always wore her hair. It’s not the vogue, but she liked it this way. I tried to talk her out of it so many times I would know it anywhere.”

I must have looked unimpressed because she sighed. “Also that dress we bought her only a few months before Christmas on trip to New York. I assure you there is nothing like it in any shop here in Texas,” peering at the image, she continued low, under her breath, “It’s a pale shade of lavender, suits her complexion perfectly.” Raising her eyes to mine, “That is my daughter, Miriam Negley.”

The newspaper was the Fort Worth Star Telegram, and the photo was a story about an exhibition boxing match in Lubbock.

It had been about a week since Jenny had joined me in this case, but we had only come up with dead ends. How did you find a girl who didn’t want to be found without any clue about where she would have gone?

“What sort of provisions did she have?” Jenny asked Mrs. Negley.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow you,” the woman said, blowing smoke from the side of her red-stained lips, “Provision?”

“Does she have access to funds? A spending account?”

“Well, of course she did at one time, but…” she hesitated and used two of her finely manicured nails to retrieve something from the tip of her tongue, “None of those accounts are active at this time. My husband insisted it was the best way to force her to come home.”

I could see the question in Jenny’s eyes. Then how did a girl with no money even get to Lubbock?

The photograph was fuzzy at best, but the young woman in the picture certainly didn’t look like one who was without provision.

Jenny leaned in again, studied the newspaper with a shrewd expression, then she glared at me with a raised eyebrow, “It’s worth a shot, I suppose.”

I inclined my head sharply. “I guess,” Then I raised a shoulder and leaned back in my chair. “Are you sure?” I asked Mrs. Negley, “that she might not have gotten access to some funds. How do you think she’s living?”

Samantha Negley pursed her lips and looked down, I could see that she was hesitant to answer. Perhaps she felt uncomfortable about what she might say, or perhaps she was thinking of the best way to say it,

“I can only tell you that she has no funds that we’ve provided. Still, Miriam had fine things,” she put out her cigarette into the tray, then glanced at Jenny, “Mrs. Pierson…”

“Miss,” Jenny was quick to correct.

“Miss Pierson, she certainly had items that might have been sold for money.”

“Pawned?” Jenny corrected.

Mrs. Negley bristled, wrinkled her nose, and set down her cocktail as though she might need both hands free to distance herself from the word. I rubbed the back of my neck and frowned. Pawning wouldn’t have brought much, even for the finery that Miriam Negley owned, not in this economy. But what other options would a single girl have?

While I chewed on the dilemma, Jenny continued speaking to the woman, “I understand she went away before for about a week.”

“Yes,” Samantha picked up her cocktail and sipped, “But that was simply a time for getting away, and I knew where she was the entire time. I may have helped he,” she chuckled, “Mr. Negley didn’t know at the time, but I arranged for that distraction. She only needed time. She wasn’t doing well in school, and she needed some space, so I helped her find an apartment in Austin for about a week.”

She only needed time.

I’d shared with Jenny the notes from my interviews with Miriam Negley’s friends. They had indicated that week away was after some sort of dispute with Miriam’s stepfather, and they thought that Miriam had been manipulating him to get what she wanted, namely a mink stole.

Jenny had snorted and shaken her head at me, “Doesn’t make her sound like a very nice person, doesn’t it?”

Now I wondered–and not for the first time–what type of person Miriam Negley really was. Just a spoiled rich girl or a poor, innocent person who was trying to recover from a bad breakup.

“What was the cause of the break-up Miram had with her boyfriend?”

“Fiance,” Mrs. Negley corrected me with her chin a little higher, “They were engaged, though we hadn’t made the formal announcement. And I haven’t the slightest what the argument was about. I’m sure just the usual.”

Jenny side-eyed me, “The usual? Could she have had another beau?”

I could always count on Jenny to know where any line of questioning was heading. Without any financial assistance from her family, and the prospect of pawning her property for any substantial sum limited, the next best idea was that Miriam had another gentleman supporting her.

“Of course not,” she replied quickly and retrieved another cigarette from the case, though she only tapped it on the table, then put it back down, “I would know if Miriam were seeing someone else.”

Jenny stood quickly. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Negley. We appreciate your time today and this information.”

I followed suit, picking up the newspaper with a questioning expression, then tucking it into my jacket when Samantha Negley nodded,

“Do you…” she inhaled and cast her eyes at the table, “Do you think you’ll go to Lubbock? I truly am worried, Miss Pierson. I only want my daughter back.”

Jenny gave her an empathetic smile and patted her hand, “We will let you know what we find out. I’m certain we will find Miriam.”

We made our way out of the restaurant and Jenny stopped just in front of my car. “She’s lying. I don’t know what about, but she’s definitely keeping something from us.”

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Our June “whatsit” is an odd antique-store find!

About a month ago, the hubby and I had a grand time with fellow mystery author Carolyn Dean and her husband, visiting antique shops in a quaint downtown near us. This object caught my eye immediately and I knew it would make a fantastic “whatsit.”

If you know this "whatsit" email me your guess or comment on this post.  I’ll choose one correct answer at random and that person will get a gift (announced later this month.) 

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