“What do you mean?” Amy asked. “What other problems does she have, and why shouldn’t we try to solve them?”
“I don’t know,” Peggy said uneasily.
“What makes you think something else is wrong?” Greta asked.
“I know something else is wrong,” Peggy said firmly. “It’s not just guesswork. The question is whether or not we have a right to poke our noses into Paula’s business.”
“Stop hinting, Peggy,” Amy said with unaccustomed sharpness. “Why don’t you just tell us what your suspicions are, and we can all contribute our thinking.”
“I suppose that’s best,” Peggy said sadly. “I just hate to tell you that I think Paula still hasn’t told us the truth about herself and the reason she had to go hungry. I saw things when I was at her apartment that convinced me of that. But I don’t know why.”
“You think she’s lying?” Greta asked. “Why?”
“To begin with,” Peggy said, determined to have the whole thing out in the open, “she’s lying about ever having worked in a department store, and about being a poor orphan. I know because of the clothes I saw in her closet and her bureau when I was getting her pajamas and robe for her.”
“How can clothes tell you she never worked in a department store?” Amy asked, puzzled.
“Shoes,” Peggy said. “Didn’t you ever notice salesgirls’ shoes? Standing behind a counter all day long is pretty hard on the feet, and your shoes have to be practical and comfortable. Paula had a large collection of shoes in that closet—all of them very smart and fashionable and expensive—but not one pair that a girl could stand in all day long, except for the sport shoes that a department store wouldn’t allow its clerks to wear. You know, moccasins and things like that.”