“We saw the mirrors afterwards, too—and your yellow dress. But that was when we searched the house. You were gone by then.”
“Yes, and Grandma was gone, too. Poor soul! It really made me happy to think she could die in peace, believing that her golden girl still lived. That poem you just quoted, Judy, was written to me. She thought I was immune to death.”
“Well, people never do die if you look at it that way,” Judy said thoughtfully. “Your mother’s beauty was reborn in you, and you may pass it on to your children and their children——”
“What about your children?” Arthur asked, smiling quizzically at Judy.
“Oh, me? I’m too young to be thinking about them. My career comes first. Now I’m sure Chief Kelly will listen to me when I tell him I want to be a detective.”
They all agreed. No one could doubt that solving mysteries was Judy’s one great talent.
And yet—the missing poetry was still unexplained.
CHAPTER XXVII
WHO TOOK THE MANUSCRIPT?