Pushing Up Bluebonnets

14

Diva and I lay in bed past our usual time to get up on Wednesday morning. While she purred next to me, I thought about the case. Each family member offered me something different to consider.

Matthew's discovery that JoLynn's license was a fake made me wonder why no one in the family came right out and said JoLynn might be faking other things—like why she made her entrance into their lives. So what made Elliott Richter so trusting? Did he need the closeness and affection their relationship seemed to provide? Something that simple might be the answer.

As I stroked Diva, she turned on her back and stretched out, her purrs almost as loud as that dumb clock last night. Now in possession of a photo of JoLynn, I could return to my missing-persons Internet search with a better idea of what she looked like. Though she was using an invalid driver's license, she did have a name, though perhaps not JoLynn Richter. The birth certificate could have been fake, too. But maybe her story wasn't. Maybe JoLynn was put up for adoption— but never found a home as a child. I reached for my phone on the bedside table. Penny Flannery, here I come with more questions.

I got Penny's voice mail and left a message for her to call me when she was free. She didn't phone back until after I'd done forty minutes on my new elliptical trainer. I bought the contraption after deciding to give up running in Houston's summer heat. It was just too draining, not to mention very bad for the skin. I have nice skin, one of my decent features, and was discovering that ugly red bumps erupted after every outdoor run.

While I'd exercised, Diva watched me huff and sweat with great interest and seemed to be smiling slyly and maybe thinking, When will she figure out she's not getting anywhere? I just finished and was about ready to shower when Penny called back.

"Same problem case?" she asked.

"Yup. Question: You put up pictures of foster kids on a Web site, right?"

"Sure. First names and case numbers only," she answered.

"And I'll bet like all things on the Internet, those pictures are available for eternity, even if they've been removed from the site."

"I—I guess so. I'm sure someone has those files on their computer, maybe in Austin, maybe in Houston." She paused. "And that's what you want me to do? Find an old photo array that might have your girl's face?"

"Can you do that for me?" I asked.

"I can, but I don't know how long it will take."

"I know you're busy and I'm sorry, but—"

"This is no problem, Abby. You've done so much for the foster kids, we'll help any way we can. I don't have any dealings with our Web site people, that's all. But I promise I will find someone in the know as soon as I can. What years are we looking at?"

"If she was in the system, she would have aged out about five years ago max."

"To be safe, I'll get as many files as I can," she said.

"Great. In the meantime, I'll keep checking missing-persons databases. I have a photograph now, which will help. You're the best, Penny. I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything," she said.

An hour later, fresh from the shower, I sat down at my computer with my coffee and a day-old bagel that turned out to be as hard as a frozen turtle shell. I gave up after two attempts to bite into it and concentrated on the work instead.

I tried the HPD missing-persons site first and discovered there were very few photos. It seemed to be geared more to giving information on whom to contact to file a missing-person's report. I sat back. Maybe Jeff could make this chore a whole lot easier.

I picked up the phone again and punched his speed dial number. Lucky for me, he actually answered with, "Hey, you. You're the kind of distraction I can use."

"Because you're dealing with something gruesome right now?"

"About as gruesome as it gets. Court. I'm outside and don't plan to go in until the last possible minute."

"You don't care if you're sweating like a penguin on the equator when you have to testify?"

"Couldn't care less. What do you need, hon?"

"A little help. I've already made one swipe at missing-persons databases on the Internet and it's a little overwhelming. Do you know anyone in the missing-persons division who could help me?"

Jeff laughed. "You gotta be kidding. Do you know how many people are reported missing in Houston in a year?"

"I have no idea."

"Try seven thousand. And with only nine investigators to handle the load."

"Shut up. I had no idea. Guess I need to handle this myself."

"That would be wise," he said. "How's your aunt, by the way?"

"Shoot. I need to call her. I've gotten so wrapped up in this case, I've been ignoring my obligation to be nice to her while she tells me how the cow ate the cabbage."

Jeff laughed again. "I was thinking about asking Loreen to stay late tonight with Doris so you and I can spend some alone time. That sound good?"

I smiled. "Sounds better than good. Now I'm the one who'll be distracted all day. I'll see you later, then."

"Bye, hon." He disconnected.

I sighed. Alone time. And he would arrange it. God, I loved that guy.

I got busy on my computer, the conversation with Jeff making me feel upbeat and the recent picture of JoLynn making me feel a tiny bit more optimistic about my chances of finding out if anyone reported her missing.

But my optimism was about used up by two that afternoon. The bagel had been replaced by a ham sandwich I didn't even remember making, the coffee by two Dr Peppers. I was beginning to believe way too many people in this country had been kidnapped, been run off by their families or died without anyone finding their bodies. The saddest part was that many of the faces I kept seeing were of missing children. Most of them were probably parental abductions, but that didn't make me feel any better. Those kids were lost to someone who loved them dearly, someone who probably waited every day for a phone call that might never come.

Some of the databases allowed me to narrow my search; some of them didn't. I checked all the bigger sites in Texas first, but I couldn't exclude any state in the Union. Though JoLynn sounded like she was from Texas, according to Adele, that didn't mean JoLynn hadn't moved around and been reported missing from someplace other than here.

I took a Snickers from my desk drawer stash, opened the wrapper and enjoyed a taste of comfort as I pulled up what had to be my hundredth missing-persons site, an obscure one put together by a Houston group called "Friends of the Lost." Sounds like a cult, I thought. No wonder it didn't come up right away. Thank goodness the site was blessedly easy to navigate and allowed me to narrow the search by entering fields like age, ethnicity and hair color.

I'd just loaded JoLynn's data when the phone rang. I picked up and said hello, my eyes on the newest rows of faces.

"It's Penny. Sorry it took me so long, but it was a struggle finding out who takes care of our archived pictures. I'm sending you an e-mail now with a zip file. All the Web photos of adoptable foster kids from 1995 to 2005."

But I didn't reply, instead focusing hard on the current photo display.

"Abby? You there?"

My heart quickened as I honed in on one grainy picture. I blinked a few times and found my voice. "Sorry, Penny. Thank you so much. Anytime you need my help, you know where to find me."

"Damn right I do. Good luck." She hung up.

I fumbled to find the recharging stand for the receiver, unwilling to take my eyes off the screen. I held the photo Elliott Richter had given me next to the unfocused face on the monitor.

The computer copy was poor quality and another woman had obviously been cropped out of the picture. I could see a shoulder and a dark-skinned feminine hand holding fast to the blonde's upper arm. The blonde had to be JoLynn. Same jawline, same tilt of the head. But though I believed I had finally found her, the caption under the picture did not say "JoLynn Richter."

This young woman's name was Elizabeth Dugan. She disappeared from Houston over a year ago and was listed as "missing from home." Her height, weight and gender matched what I knew, but there was little else. Maybe I was wrong—maybe this wasn't JoLynn.

I sat back and squinted at the photo and still found the similarities too close to be ignored. Though some of the pictures had case numbers and police contacts listed beneath them, this particular picture gave only an email address.

I jotted it down but decided to try something else first. I typed "Elizabeth Dugan" into Google and the only promising hit led me to a missing-persons message board. The same e-mail address was attached to a message that read,

No one seems to think Elizabeth is really missing, especially since her husband reported to the police that she left on her own after an argument. She wouldn't do that without talking to me. She is 5 feet 4 inches, 105 pounds, blond hair and blue eyes, twenty years old. You can see her picture on the Friends of the Lost Web site. E-mail me if you have any information. My name is Roberta Messing.

A husband? A different name? A friend or relative who was worried about her? Would this be a break in the case that might also break Elliott Richter's heart? I sent out an e-mail to Roberta Messing with trembling fingers.