think that, Mrs Cavallaro?” replied Marty with definite interest in his voice.
“You may not recall this, as this was before your time in the police force. There was a group based in Ohio, called the ‘Mother Seekers’. It was operated by a group of women. They would take into their care any waif, stray or homeless child, and then arrange for these unfortunates to be placed in the homes of people, who could not have children or had been rejected adoption for some reason or another.” Mrs Cavallaro took a deep breath this time and eyed Marty intently. “Its quite possible that Billy was picked up by this group. They were particularly active in California over a period of years. The authorities had the group disbanded a long time ago; but not before many children had just simply vanished! Now that is what I think really happened to Billy Parsons,”
Sitting back in the chair, Mrs Cavallaro gave Marty an autocratic stare of triumphal sovereignty. Her decision would prevail. This is a lot to assume Mrs Cavallaro, Marty’s brain was ticking over.
Finally, he answered with, “We will check it out, it’s a possibility. Thank you for your hospitality and help, Mrs Cavallaro. I really appreciate your assistance. Now I had best get back to the office.”
He was going to ask her about the couple that Billy stayed with, but that would have taken on another marathon story. As both parties were dead, Marty decided to leave it, well for the time being anyway. Marty’s ears were ringing by now and he was damned hungry!
Mrs Cavallaro positively beamed at Marty and said in a coy expression. “Oh Marty, an old lady like me, helping the police. I’m 98 you know, still got my marbles,” she said in a bragging tone of voice.
You ain’t bad for 98, I agree, exclaimed Marty to himself and smiling with wonder at the foible and vain woman.
As he walked out of the luxuriously furnished room, Marty saw a large glass vase displaying a bunch of the blue Hydrangeas, strategically positioned on an ormolu table against a wall.
Mrs Cavallaro followed Marty out of the drawing room and into the foyer.
With a wave of her right arm, she pointed to the painting at the top of the stairs, and said very proudly, “This was my husband, Chief Inspector. Antonio Cavallaro, but he was known as Tony. Wonderful man, I miss him so much. Passed away quite some years ago. He was a cartage contractor originally for Hal Roach Studios and then branched out into nationwide transport. You have probably heard of ‘Wagon Wheels’, that was my husband’s business and now I am head of the company. There is a fleet of over 400 trucks travelling all over the country, even into Canada and Alaska!” Perusing Marty with a look of “see how important I am”, Marty was searching the inner recesses of his mind. I’ve never heard of it. Sounds like something out of the Wild West, Marty thought.
Stifling a laugh, Marty answered with great care, “Yes, I have heard of the name, Mrs Cavallaro. They do a marvellous job!”
She gave a very false white flash of the perfect dentures embedded in her frivolous, yet intelligent, head.
Saying his farewell, Marty left Mrs Cavallaro behind to revel in her self-made importance. On his way to the car, he noticed a male chauffeur polishing a black stretch caddy and the gardener trimming the box hedges.
How the other half live! Marty shook his head.
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