Or had Agnes herself helped create the trap?
That evening, I visited Mrs. Wilson again.
She was sitting upright in bed, knitting slowly.
A nurse had brought her a fresh cardigan and brushed her hair.
She looked more like herself.
“Emma!” she said brightly.
I kissed her cheek.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. The doctor says I may be able to go home soon, once we've made sure everything is safe.”
I smiled.
“That's wonderful.”
Then her expression changed.
“Have you found the others?”
“Some of them.”
I told her about Helen.
About the suspicious property documents.
About the ongoing effort to locate Gloria and verify Agnes's death.
Mrs. Wilson listened without interrupting.
When I mentioned Agnes, her knitting needles stopped.
“Margaret?”
She stared at the blanket in her lap.
“Agnes and I were friends for nearly fifty years.”
“I know.”
“She used to tell me we would grow old together.”
