we talk tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.You can tell me what you think of Miguel. He thinks you’re a doll, by the way.”
Of course she had already conferenced with Miguel. “You’re amazing, Stella. Did you ever think of a career in journalism?”
“Nope, I’m doing what I love. Improving people, people like you.”
“You’re not going to suggest something new with my hair, are you?”
“We’ll talk.” She hung up and Lacey returned to the trunk. She shook out the envelope that held the sketch of the Bentley suit. Instead of finding answers, another mystery fell in her lap, consisting of a packet of letters, sketches, photos, and a few yellowed news clippings from The Alexandria Gazette in May and June of 1944. “Local Woman Disappears in New York,” “Friends Fearful After Disappearance of Local Factory Girl,” and “Gloria Adams Still Missing.”
Lacey read the short news stories, dated from May 24 and June 5, 1944. Twenty-three-year-old Gloria Adams was from Falls Church, Virginia, a little town out in the country at the time, now a booming suburb well inside the Washington Beltway. She was working at the Bentley’s dress factory in Man hattan, which also had a contract for sewing shirts for the military, at the time she disappeared. Miss Adams was last seen on Thursday, May 11, at her place of employment, according to other factory workers, and police were following up on leads. She was described as five feet, six inches tall, weighing one hundred fifteen pounds. She had dark curly hair and she wore a light blue Bentley’s smock over a navy skirt, white anklets, and navy-and-white saddle shoes. One of the clippings quoted a Miss Mary Margaret Smith, a friend of the missing girl, who said Gloria Adams would not just leave without telling her friends and family.
Mimi in the midst of a mystery? How exciting, Lacey thought. Miss Smith had been in contact with Miss Adams recently and feared foul play. She urged anyone with information to contact the police or the Office of Price Administration, where she worked as an assistant to the director. The factory manager (and the owner’s son), Hugh Bentley, expressed his shock and sorrow, and offered a reward of $1,000 for information leading to her return.
So, Hugh, you don’t remember Aunt Mimi? I wonder if you remember Gloria Adams. Lacey told herself to be fair; old people had memory lapses. It might also be true that he had so many women in his life, he had forgotten some of them. The bastard.
Who was Gloria Adams, and how did her letters and dreams wind up in Aunt Mimi’s trunk? Lacey wondered. And how did the long-defunct Office of Price Administration fit in? The only thing Lacey knew about it was that Mimi had worked there during the war. Perhaps Lacey’s finding this cache of documents was another gift from Mimi, a glimpse into the nearly forgotten life of the only family member with whom Lacey had had a real bond.
She looked at one old photograph of three young women, including Mimi. On the back Mimi had written, The Three Musketeers, Spring 1942, and three names and places: Mimi Smith of Alexandria, “Morning Glory” Adams of New York City, and Mrs. Phillip “Honey” Martin of Georgetown. The black-and-white photo, hand-tinted with a soft wash of pastels, showed a picnic, an ideal day at Great Falls, Virginia. Mimi, so young, so pretty and full of life, wearing blue jeans and bare feet, was balanced on a log overhanging the Potomac. Lacey had never seen this photo, but she would know Mimi anywhere, at any age. Seeing her aunt so young gave her a pang of loss. She wished she could have known her then. Lacey guessed that Honey must be the pretty blond girl-next-door type with the big smile. That left frizzy-haired Morning Glory; she was no beauty, but she had a compelling intensity and a knockout figure. Obviously Morning Glory must be the missing Gloria Adams, she thought. Obvious to me, anyway.
One mailing envelope with a canceled