The Missing Party-Girl: A Rags-to-Riches Cozy Mystery Romance by Nhys Glover (read after .txt) 📗

truly is. Like liquid fire flowing down her back. When she’s in a good mood she’ll let me brush her hair for her. The silver-backed brush is part of a set her husband gave her when he was still lusting after her. Her words not mine.

I wish I had her hair. Mine is so anemic in comparison. It belongs on either a very young child or a very old woman. I thought to dye it. But Georgie reminded me of the American actresses with platinum blonde locks. She says its separates me from the other beautiful girls. Anything that makes us stand out is good.

Adie paused in her reading. Was it a stretch to think the silver-backed hairbrush she found earlier was the same one Minerva was describing?

Jumping to her feet, Adie went to her dresser where she’d placed the silver items. Her plan was to buy some Silvo polish to remove the tarnish from them. They were pretty and would look prettier still after a good clean.

Now, though, they were more than pretty or interesting. They were possibly something that belonged to Georgie.

Carefully pulling one of the long strands of hair from the brush, Adie took it into the bathroom. The fluorescent light over the mirror provided just what she needed. By its light she could see the true color of the strand. Red! It was a bright, fiery red. Not Adie’s rusty brown the hairdresser in New York had been polite enough to call auburn. Nor was it carrot red. It was a more ruby red. She could easily see why Minerva thought it looked like fire. If this was Georgie’s hair.

Reverently, Adie returned the hair to the brush before rushing out to tell Cage what she’d discovered. It didn’t solve the Mystery, but it was something. She couldn’t say what, as yet, but it was something.

Cage was interested, but not as excited by her find as she was, so Adie returned to her task. It would take a lot more than a hair in a brush to get Cage excited.

She was getting a better picture of Georgie now. An almost regal picture, from a young adoring acolyte, of a larger-than-life woman who carried immense pain with strength and resilience. How could Minerva just let Georgie disappear as she did, without thought? It seemed to go against everything she was learning about the relationship between the two friends.

 Then she got her answer.

 

19th February

 

Georgie has taken off without a word. I know she can be a bit scatty at times. Very well, a lot of the time, but she has always told either Tansy or I where she was going if it was for longer than an overnight stay with one of her men-friends. I am torn between calling the police or contacting her ex-husband. He has been around here a few times ranting and raving and threatening her life. I think he might have done something to her this time. I really do. Or maybe it’s the rapist or one of the other men from that cesspool where she works. If she wasn’t so tall, and definitely doesn’t walk the streets of West London, I’d think she was a victim of Jack the Stripper. The huge manhunt for the murderer of all those girls is all anyone is talking about. I would call Daddy, but he’d come up to London and make me pack my bags. Without the influence of an older woman, Daddy wouldn’t let me remain here.

 

 

21st February

 

Thank Heaven she’s back! Georgie floated in, some time after lunch today, filled with stories about her gentleman, whom she calls ‘Rolly-Polly Roland’, and his country home. He’d invited her to a house-party on the spur of the moment, and so she caught the train to be with him. She was vague about where his country home is, but I gather it’s at least an hour’s train journey from London. I gathered this from the fact she complained about being hungry on the interminable trip, and that the food on the trolley was abysmal.

She reeked of alcohol and marihuana when she came in, and she didn’t seem concerned one bit that she’d worried us!

“I’m a big girl! I can look after myself. You don’t have to worry about me!” she said airily, as she flamboyantly threw off her mink coat. (Another present from her husband when he was still enamored with her.)

When she’s not home I sometimes sneak into her room to try on that coat. It makes me feel like a film star. I can imagine Georgie wearing it as she sashays down the red carpet on opening night. One day I’ll have a coat just like it. I am determined to make it so!

I want to be angry with her. Georgie. I AM angry with her. But at the same time, I know this is just who she is. And she’s right. Who am I to worry about a woman who is ten years older than I am? A worldly woman at that. If anyone’s a survivor it’s Georgie. I know that now.

Minerva had told Adie that this disappearing act was not unusual, but reading about it made it suddenly real. For a couple of days there, Minerva had been beside herself with worry, fearing the worst, not only because it would mean going home, but because the flatmate she idolized was possibly in danger. She must have been thinking about the rape and other dangers the woman faced on a nightly basis. It would have been a slap in the face when she waltzed in, acting as if nothing had happened. And given the rape and her later disappearance, it was totally untrue that Georgie could look after herself.

Who was this Jack the Stripper Minerva mentioned? Adie had an image of a Victorian gentleman with a big knife slowly