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Page 227
same night.'' Jess giggled. "Myra told them both you'd suddenly been taken ill, and you joined your friend Peter at the Dodger game."
"Which time was that?" Mike asked, his face red but smug.
Jess's smile was fond. "That kind of thing happened a lot, didn't it?"
As everyone but Grace laughed, Abby wished she had known Mike in his carefree, mischievous days. Had the responsibility of a business changed him? Or perhaps Dixie was to blame.
Grace rose, her thin lips pursed. "You're never going to track down those journals this way. I'll go make some tea."
"Tea? And the journals." Jess suddenly tried to rise but sank down again on the settee. Her wrinkled face had gone white. "That's right," she murmured. "Myra kept the journals under the bed when we were young to read from them, but after the burglary we had back in 1979, she put them with the tea set."
Abby met Mike's glance. Her heart was beating wildly, for here was a clue. But the only tea set she had seen in her search was one in the sideboard in the dining room. It had contained no journals.
"What tea set?" Mike queried gently.
"Arlen's, of course. The pretty silver one he carried on the wagon train west."
Abby felt her excitement ebb. "Arlen had no tea set," she whispered despondently. She had sometimes driven his wagon when he had to be on horseback, and she had seen inside it. He'd

 
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