Saturday wasn't a day off for the Harlan Detective team. With no solid leads to follow up on, Carl, Michael, and Jackie poured through everything a second time. Jackie's back was starting to hurt, so she took her laptop to the sofa, slipped her shoes off and got more comfortable. "Mathew had quite a racket going with the jewelry. There must be a million dollars' worth so far. Traveling from place to place, and buying from different stores each time, kept anyone from getting suspicious."
Michael asked, "And a girlfriend in every place to return the jewelry for him?"
"Probably. Of course, he could only charge $5,000 at a time. I bet he found that frustrating."
"I bet he did too. You know what a girlfriend in every town means, don't you?" asked Carl.
"What?" Jackie asked.
"He's a walking, talking disease. A guy could go to prison for that, if the women could prove he has AIDS and knows it."
"Probably," Jackie agreed, "but that doesn't help us find Georgia. Michael, what are you doing now?"
"I'm still looking for Georgia in English speaking countries. Nothing so far."
The Harlan Detective team remained quiet for several minutes. Occasionally, Michael glanced at his second laptop - the one that was trying to find the boarding school password. It had six letters and three numbers so far. On his main laptop, he was searching family trees. Finally, he found something. "This is interesting."
"What?" Jackie asked.
"Georgia Marie James died thirty years ago in Wisconsin."
"Connelly stole her identification?" Carl asked.
"Possibly," said Michael.
Jackie leaned forward so she could rub the small of her back. "Send me a link."
"Me too," said Carl. He glanced at Jackie and then stood up. "You need a back rub?"
"I need a new back."
"I'll order one," said Carl. He went to her, set her laptop on the coffee table and then motioned for her to turn her back toward him. He sat down beside her and started rubbing where it hurt. "We need a massage table."
"Except we never have time for the long massages we truly need," said Jackie. "Maybe we should retire again."
When Michael whistled, both of them turned to look toward the dining room table. "What?" Jackie asked.
"According to the obituary, Mr. Mathew Connelly was her fiancé at the time she died."
"Fascinating," said Jackie, "but it still doesn't help us find Georgia."
"I know." Michael turned his attention to the printed report Jackie wrote about her meeting with the nanny.
"Naturalization papers," he muttered. "You have to be in this country for two years before you can file a Declaration of Intent, and then another three years to file a Petition for Naturalization. I wonder how he pulled that off."