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Page 174
kled chin toward the ceiling. "Arlen's wife? No . . . but the recipes were in the journals. That's what Myra said. Maybe Arlen's wife is in them, too."
"Journals! You found journals?" Abby's voice came out in a gasp. Her heartbeat surged into a tumultuous cadence, and she held her breath. The journals could be the answer to everything! "Oh, Jess, who wrote them? Could it have been Arlen's wife?"
The old woman's brow knit in confusion. "Those journalsthere were three? Four? The handwriting was so pretty. Way back when we were young ladies, Myra read parts to me some evenings. I pretended not to listen; I didn't like old things. But the writing was so interesting."
Abby prompted gently, once more holding back her excitement, "Do you recall who wrote them?"
Jess shook her head sadly. "Who wrote them? I don't . . ." Her voice tapered off.
"Where are they now, Jess?" Mike asked. "Maybe we could take a look."
Jess bit at her bottom lip with teeth too perfect to be her own. "I don't know," she said peevishly. "Ask Myra."
Abby's head drooped, but she could not give up. Not when she knew that journals existedand that they could be Lucy's.
Looking into Jess's confused, rheumy eyes that somehow hinted at Lucy's gleam, Abby smiled. "I'm sorry, Jess. I didn't mean to upset you, but I'm very interested in those journals. Could I look

 
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