"Six months is a long time to let this ride."

Her cheeks tinted slightly. "I'm aware of that, but I kept thinking I'd hear. Frankly, I haven't wanted to brave her wrath. I warn you, she's a horror, especially if she's on a tear. She's very independent."

I thought about the situation, scanning the possibilities. "You mentioned that she has no regular address. How do I find her?"

She reached down and picked up a leather jewelry case she'd tucked under the chaise. She removed a small envelope and a couple of Polaroid snapshots. "This is her last note. And these are some pictures I took last time I was there. This is the trailer where she lives. I'm sorry I don't have a snapshot of her."

I glanced at the pictures, which showed a vintage mobile home painted flat blue. "When was this taken?"

"Three years ago. Shortly before Clyde and I moved up here. I can draw you a map, showing you where the trailer's located. It'll still be there, I guarantee. Once someone at the Slabs squats on a piece of land-even if it's just a ten-by-ten pad of concrete-they don't move. You can't imagine how possessive people get about raw dirt and a few creosote bushes. Her name, by the way, is Agnes Grey."

"You don't have any pictures of her?"

"Actually, I don't, but everyone knows her. I don't think you'll have a problem identifying her if she's there."

"And if I find her? What then?"

"You'll have to let me know what kind of shape she's in. Then we can decide what course of action seems best. I have to say, I chose you because you're a woman. Mother doesn't like men. She doesn't do well among strangers to begin with, but around men she's worse. You'll do it then?"

"I can leave tomorrow if you like."

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that. I'd like some way to reach you beyond business hours," she said. "If Mother should get in touch, I want to be able to call without talking to your machine. An address, too, if you would."