Having got more than she bargained for, Anna finally managed to interject a question relating to a matter more to her interest. “What about Prudence?”
Maureen frowned, her little fingernail raking the thick dark hairs of her eyebrow, an apparently unconscious mannerism. “What about Prudence?”
“Did you ever hear from her again?”
“Thank God, no. I’ve no idea what became of her.”
“I think it all must have disturbed you even more than you let on. Your letters seemed different somehow after that.”
“Different?”
“I don’t know — less forthcoming in a way. Poor dear, it must have been awkward for you.”
“Awkward is hardly the word, girl. Of course I should never have allowed Prudence to move in on me the way she did.”
In her letters Maureen had pictured Prudence Colefax as a loner like herself, a fugitive from conventional society in need of a temporary sanctuary. By then the pottery was flourishing and Maureen had welcomed a pair of willing and eager hands. But then apparently something had gone wrong, a conflict of personalities. The young woman had revealed a domineering streak, began making demands on Maureen, who in her letters to Anna had even implied a suspicion of mental instability in Prudence. Only when Maureen had caught the imprudent Prudence stealing money from her had she put her foot down and ordered the woman to leave.
“You sort of left me hanging after that,” recalled Anna. “Then everything seemed fine when you finally wrote again.”
Maureen nodded. “Oh, she took off meekly enough when I finally got up the gumption to boot her out.”
Over coffee, Maureen maneuvered the conversation back to Anna’s mysterious trouble. “If I’m to help you, girl, I have to know precisely what the problem is. You said in one of your letters that if it weren’t for Carter you’d pack your bags and come West, at least for a vacation. That might be a very sensible idea. We could be partners. Quite frankly, my little business could do with an infusion of fresh capital. It might be a very good investment for you.”
This unexpected proposal was accompanied by a more vigorous raking of the eyebrow. By now this mannerism had begun to provoke a vaguely uncomfortable sensation in Anna’s mind; not annoyance, but something as disturbingly elusive as the shadow of a memory that refuses to surface.
“Can you see me living in an adobe hut in the mountains?” Anna laughed.
“It’s rather more than a hut, girl. I’m not the primitive I used to be. The change would do you good.”
Anna was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate, distracted by that nagging hint of a memory, or was it only her imagination, she wondered.
“As for my investing in anything, that’s hardly feasible at the moment, everything’s in such a muddle.”
“You’re confusing me, Anna. All those hints of some earth-shaking crisis. If it’s so bad you can’t even tell me what it is, I can’t see the point of my having dropped everything to fly out here.”
“I’m sorry, Maureen. It isn’t something I can just blurt out. Oh, if only you knew how distressing it’s all been.” Anna realized she was waffling now, deliberately evading the issue, not from any faltering of resolve but because she dared not risk confiding in Maureen before she’d had a chance to pin down whatever was troubling her at the moment even more than the Carter problem.
“Have you decided you can’t trust me, is that what’s stopping you?” Maureen asked. Anna dropped her eyes, disconcerted by this seemingly clairvoyant observation.
“It’s not that at all, dear. My brain’s all topsy-turvy. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. My mother used to say, cry before midnight, you’ll laugh with the dawn. Believe me, it doesn’t work. And I know you must be tired. I promise I’ll tell you everything in the morning.”
Maureen had to settle for that, although with a visible air of dissatisfaction. As soon as they’d parted for the night and Anna was alone in her room, she rushed to the closet and pulled down the shoebox holding all the letters she’d received from Maureen over the past score of years. Unfortunately, she had no precise recollection of when she had received that particular letter; for all she knew her imagination might indeed be playing tricks on her. The idea seemed so outlandish, so implausible. At least Maureen had always typed her letters, which made the chore somewhat easier.
The downstairs clock had chimed midnight before she found the specific letter and passage she was looking for. The muscles of her throat tightened as she devoured the words.
Now that we live in this atmosphere of smoldering hostility everything about Prudence annoys me, especially that irritating little quirk she has of digging at the corner of her eyebrow with her little fingernail. It quite sets my teeth on edge...
Making an effort to suppress a swelling tide of panic, Anna carefully refolded the letter, replaced it in the shoebox, and returned the box to the closet shelf. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t uncommon for one person who has lived with another for a long period of time to adopt, perhaps unconsciously, certain physical mannerisms, just as one tends to appropriate individual turns of phrase and pungent expressions. Oh, if only Maureen had sent snapshots of herself or of Prudence Colefax. Prudence must have known Maureen never had or she would not have dared venture upon such a risky impersonation. That Maureen should have mentioned in her letters something as insignificant as one of Prudence’s minor peculiarities obviously had not occurred to her or she might have suspected it could be a dead giveaway.
But what did it mean? If Prudence had not disappeared then what had happened to Maureen? Now a fresh and sinister construction could be placed upon that discernible change in the tone of the letters after Prudence had allegedly “gone away.” Naturally, Prudence would not have dared discontinue the correspondence, not while there was a chance Anna might grow anxious, make inquiries, or even fly out to New Mexico, as she might have done.
Money. That had to be the only reason to induce Prudence — if the woman in the other bedroom was indeed Prudence — to chance coming out here. She smelled money. And what stronger inducement could there have been than Anna’s disclosure about leaving everything she owned to Maureen? What this implied about Prudence’s motives sent a convulsive shiver through Anna’s body.
Panic gave way to despair. What was she to do? Instead of only one pressing problem, what to do about the Carter situation, she now had two to worry about. Neither decision could be put off indefinitely. Anna felt more helpless and alone than ever. And frightened.
By dawn she had thought of a way to verify her suspicions. Casually, at the breakfast table, she said: “I meant to ask you in one of my letters, Maureen — oh, this must have happened the third or fourth year you were out there — you’d taken that trip to Mexico and had your lovely emerald ring stolen in that hotel. Did you ever get it back?”
The other woman worried her eyebrow, then smiled absently. “Never did. Not that I expected to.”
“Pity,” murmured Anna. “You were so fond of that ring.”
A cold lump formed in her throat. So far as she knew, Maureen had never owned an emerald ring.