Vanna returned with a carload of belongings, which Georgia helped unload. Within minutes, the apartment regained its cluttered, lived-in look. This time Georgia didn’t mind. It felt like home.
“Mom wasn’t there,” Vanna said. “I dropped my key off with the building manager.”
“Were her things there?”
Vanna nodded.
“Well, I guess that’s a good sign. If you want her to stay.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” Georgia said. It was the truth. She’d spent most of her life without her mother, so JoBeth’s sudden presence felt surreal, and the prospect of her staying filled Georgia with unease. She reminded herself that JoBeth rarely stayed in one place for long. Even if she did remain in Chicago for a while, she would undoubtedly pack up and flee when the downward spiral began again. She started to share her thoughts with Vanna, then thought better of it.
“So, listen,” she said. “I’m going out for an hour or two. You’ll be okay here?”
“Sure.” Vanna looked into the empty refrigerator and turned to Georgia with a smile. “Some things never—”
Georgia preempted her. “I’ll stop on the way home for groceries.”
Armed with a couple of pictures of Ruth she’d printed out from Facebook, Georgia drove back to Camping Unlimited. She wasn’t sure whether Jackie was still there. The salesgirl had been hired as temporary holiday help; it was already the end of February.
The store was as vacant as it had been the other times Georgia had dropped in, which made her wonder how long the place would stay open. She wasn’t sanguine about Jackie’s prospects, either, so she was elated to see the girl, her hair bright purple this time. Georgia thanked the gods or whoever was responsible for karma and hurried to the customer counter.
“Hi, Jackie. How’s it going?”
The girl looked up. She was wearing new earrings and a small nose ring. “Do I know you? Oh. Wait. You look familiar.” Georgia could see her searching her memory. “Right. You’re the detective on the Jarvis thing.” She nervously twisted her earrings. “Is everything okay? I told my family all about you. They were really curious. How can I help?”
Georgia pulled out one of the pictures of Ruth. “Remember when I showed you a photo of a woman who might have bought the yurt for Jarvis, but you didn’t think it was the right woman? Could you take a look at this photo?” She passed it over.
Jackie studied it. Georgia watched as recognition dawned. “That’s her! I’m sure of it. You know how I can tell?”
Georgia shook her head.
“The widow’s peak. I remember she took her hat off when she wrote the check. That’s definitely her.”
“Well done, Jackie. You are a miracle!”
The girl blushed with the praise. “Would you mind telling my boss that? I know they’re deciding whether to keep me on, and, well, I need this job.”
“Of course I will. Listen, I doubt it will come down to this, but I’m going to need a way to contact you. Email, cell, address. Could you write it down?”
“What for?”
“In case we go to trial. You would be a witness.”
“Really?”
“Like I said, it probably won’t happen, but just in case . . .”
“Wow.” She scribbled her info on a piece of paper and handed it to Georgia.
“Thanks, Jackie. You’re smart, observant, and enthusiastic. Anyone would be lucky to have you working for them.”
Jackie glowed like a candle flame in a dark room.
Georgia trotted back to the car, adrenaline pumping her. She now had proof of a relationship between Jarvis and Ruth. No evidence tying either to the shooting of Dena Baldwin. Yet. That would be her final task, and she knew she had to do it fast.
There was a reason. Dena Baldwin was dead. Jarvis was dead. Beef Jerky, too. Both the Prairie Rats and Ruth Marriotti knew Kitty Jarvis. And they both knew Georgia. They also knew that both Kitty and Georgia were aware of connections between Jarvis, themselves, and Dena Baldwin’s murder. The P-Rats operated on a strict need-to-know basis. They didn’t want anyone on the outside knowing their business. Ruth, too, had gone to great lengths to keep her connection to Jarvis and the shooting on the down low. How much time would pass until either the P-Rats or Ruth—or both—tried to silence anyone whom they thought knew too much? Georgia could take care of herself, but Kitty was up in Minnesota without a cell phone. There was no way to warn her. And if the P-Rats could suss out that “Nicole” was, in reality, Ruth Marriotti, it would be child’s play for them to track Kitty down. Georgia was running out of time.