"How often does she usually get in touch?"

"It used to be once a month. She hitches a ride into town and calls from a little cafe" in Niland. Sometimes she calls from Brawley or Westmorland, depending on the ride she manages to pick up. We talk, she buys supplies and then hitchhikes back again."

"She has an income? Social Security?"

Mrs. Gersh shook her head. "Just the checks I send. I don't believe she's ever had a Social Security number. All the years I remember, she supported the two of us with housework, which she did for cash. She's eighty-three now and retired, of course."

"How does mail reach her if she has no address?"

"She has a post office box. Or at least, she did."

"What about the checks? Has she been cashing those?"

"They haven't showed up in my bank statement, so I guess not. That's what made me suspicious to begin with. She has to have money for food and necessities."

"And when did you last hear from her?"

"Christmas. I sent her some money and she called to thank me. Things were fine from what she said, though to tell you the truth, she didn't sound good. She does sometimes drink."

"What about the neighbors? Any way to get through to them?"

She shook her head again. "Nobody has a telephone. You have no idea how crude conditions are out there. These people have to haul their own trash to the city dump. The only thing provided is a school bus for the children and sometimes the townspeople raise a fuss about that."

"What about the local police? Any chance of getting a line on her through them?"

"I've been reluctant to try. My mother is very jealous of her privacy, even a bit eccentric when it comes right down to it. She'd be furious if I contacted the authorities."