“Keep on believing her,” Dale advised as he ushered Judy back to the table. “My own opinion is that your beloved employer has worked a screw loose somewhere in her upper story.”
Judy giggled, partly from excitement. But the thought would be less entertaining when she was catering to the old lady’s whims at the office.
On the way home they discussed the mystery. When questioned, Irene seemed glad to contribute scraps of the missing poetry for the others to puzzle over. It was remarkable how much of it she remembered, and Dale was charmed with the soft tones of her voice as she recited.
When the word “Joy” came up for the fifth time Judy stopped her to exclaim, “That must mean Joy Holiday, the girl Emily Grimshaw thinks took the poetry.”
“Then she must have been ‘Golden Girl,’” Irene said unexpectedly.
Dale turned to her in surprise. “That’s right! We never thought of that. I’m glad to see you so interested in it; I thought at first you weren’t keen on detecting.”
“I’m not,” Irene admitted. “It’s the poetry I like.”
Judy shuddered. “Those creepy poems! I’d rather read a good murder mystery any day. At least there’s always a solution. What do you suppose this poet means when she says ‘Better to crumble in a tower of flame than sit with ghosts...’? Could the ghosts be memories, too?”
“They could be,” Irene said thoughtfully. “It’s queer, but Golden Girl mentions a tower.”
“So it does!” Dale exclaimed, growing excited. “It looks as though there might be some connection. Do you know, girls, we may find the solution to this whole mystery in that poetry!”