Lynn was thinking fondly of her brave mother, who had shed but one tear during their time at the cemetery, when she turned her key in the keyhole and didn't hear the quiet click she had been expecting. She was certain she'd left the door locked when she'd left in the morning.

She entered the house with a disturbing premonition. "Miss Blanche?" she called out when she didn't find the actress in the living room as she'd expected. "I'm home!"

When no answer came, she threw the door shut and hurried through the living room and kitchen, crossing the gallery and for some odd reason, looking into her own room before stopping at the door of the actress's bedroom. She could actually feel her heart sink at finding the room uninhabited. Lynn called out the older woman's name in anguish, and even managed to bring herself to stand still and hold her breath for a brief moment to see if she could hear anything but the rapid beating of her own worried heart.

A couple of seconds later she had already bolted to the French doors at the back of the house and flung them open. "Miss Blanche!" Lynn ran through the large garden, her eyes roaming her surroundings and her mind willing her to believe she would find the familiar wheel chair just beyond the next bush. "Miss Blanche!"

To Lynn's increasing displeasure the neighbours' radio started playing the same moment she called out, and the woman barely held herself back from shouting something rather unpleasant over the fence.

After circling the garden at least thrice, Lynn came to the thrilling realization that she had forgotten to consider the bathroom. She let out a relieved laugh at her silly self, and hurried back into the house.

Her heart must have missed a beat or two when she first stopped in the doorway of the empty bathroom. Clinging on to the door frame, Lynn struggled to catch breath and call out Blanche's name at the same time.

She remained leant against the door frame for a minute, panicky thoughts rushing through her mind. If she'd found Blanche fallen out of her chair again or tripped over the stairs outside, she'd have been eternally grateful. Even in her wildest nightmares she hadn't thought she'd ever come home to find her invalid friend missing. With a shuddering intake of breath, Lynn attempted to think of all the possible explanations and of the reasons the actress might have left the house.

Stumbling twice on her way, she rushed over to the telephone on the kitchen counter. As she dialled the first number she could think of, she breathed in and out deeply, hoping to make her voice sound at least a bit calmer than she was feeling. Her mind vaguely registered that Blanche hadn't left her any note that might have helped her.

"Hello?"

It took Lynn quite a long moment to fully realize who it was she had called in her confused state of mind.

"Pauline," she breathed into the telephone. "This is Lynn… Lynn White. You remember me, don't you? I'm Blanche Hudson's maid." Lynn reached over and pulled a chair closer from behind the nearby kitchen table. She sat down shakily as she listened to Mrs. Bates's cheerful voice at the other end of the line.

"Yes, well, you wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you? I mean, I haven't forgotten about any arrangements you and Miss Blanche might have had, have I?… No-no, everything is fine!" she added hurriedly as soon as the other woman's tone turned concerned. "I was just—You know what? I've just remembered where she's at. It's so silly of me. There is absolutely no need for you to worry, Pauline. I'm sorry for bothering you… Yes, I'll tell her you said that. Bye!"

Lynn dropped the receiver back on the hook with a worse feeling than the one she'd had when she had first picked it up. Now she was lying. The moment Mrs. Bates had responded to her question, Lynn had understood the woman had not a clue about the actress's whereabouts.

Suddenly Lynn had a powerful urge to cry. Before meeting Blanche she had never thought she would be responsible for someone's well-being at such an early age. With that somewhat frightening responsibility had also come a satisfying feeling of pride. But now she just felt so helpless; a scathing feeling of failure crept up to her. She felt tears welling up in her eyes as she thought of the one thing she'd had to and failed to do—look after Blanche Hudson.

A shuddering sound of despair left her as she picked up the receiver once again. She hesitated for a moment before dialling the number, praying that the right person would pick up.

She bit her lip to restrain a disappointed sob when a merry female voice answered the phone. "Hello, Margaret," she spoke thinly. "This is Lynn. Is William there?" Lynn let out a relieved sigh when the woman on the other side of the phone called out to her husband, "Bill! Telephone! Lynn's calling, and she sounds upset."

So much for restraint!

"Hi, Lynn! How can I help you?" Bill's warm and happy voice reached her. Somehow he seemed to have a calming effect on her, and when Lynn spoke, she even managed to convince herself of her composure.

"I was wondering if you knew where Miss Blanche was. She's not with you, is she?"

"No, I don't think so," Bill replied carefully. "Is she not there with you? I just spoke to her—not two hours ago."

"She's not here," Lynn answered and heard her own voice starting to tremble again. "But I think she's… She's just…"

"Lynn," Bill interrupted her firmly. "Is Blanche missing?" He waited a beat. "Lynn? Do you know where she is?" There was another long moment of silence.

"No," the girl sighed into the phone. Bill held his breath in anxious anticipation. "I came home and she was gone. I don't know where she is. I'm scared." She was sobbing now.

"Now, listen here, Lynn," Bill told her, trying to sound confident, panic of his own rising in him. "Are you sure you've looked everywhere?" Naturally, he already knew the answer to that, or else the young woman would not have called.

"She's not in the house; I've looked into the garden… I… I don't know what to do…" she wept.

"All right," Bill managed a reassuring tone. "Now, Lynn, listen to me. Don't you worry. It's all going to be all right. You just pick up that phone and call the police now. I'm coming over."

His mind riddled with worries, Bill realized he was not exactly thinking straight. He was supposed to have a table-read with his new colleagues on his new movie in an hour.

"What's the matter, Bill?"

Bill turned to face his intrigued wife. She must have seen the pallid fear on his face because her voice had taken on a concerned tone.

"Blanche," Bill replied plainly, dashing past his wife and grabbing his jacket from the back of an armchair. "I'm going over there."

As he passed a cabinet with framed family photographs on the top of it, a frightening thought stood out from all the frightful possibilities that had leaped to his mind. "Find the number for the sanatorium and ask them if Jane Hudson is still there," he asked of his wife as he made his way hurriedly over to the door.

"Why? What's happened?" Margaret asked worriedly.

"And call Jim. Tell him I'll be late for our table-read!"

Bill rang the doorbell impatiently and twice. On his way here he'd figured he was the one who had to keep a clear head about this. Lynn would be beside herself, and if there was nothing to be done about helping Blanche for the moment, the next best thing was to help Lynn.

"Lynn!" Bill called insistently, pounding on the door. But when he didn't hear a sound from inside, he began to make his way around the house and to the back door he knew to be made of glass. He wondered fleetingly if this was his fate—to be the last one to speak to a woman before she disappears. He'd have to remember never to take Maggie's calls again.

Once he'd rounded the corner, he thankfully found the girl he'd started to fret about. She was kneeling in the middle of the garden, her face buried in her hands.

Bill approached her with enough stealth to not frighten her and also make his presence known. When he reached her, he crouched down next to her and placed a friendly reassuring hand on her shoulder. He'd done that in his pictures, so he reckoned it must be the right thing to do on a dismal kind of occasion such as this one.

"Lynn, dear," he spoke quietly, and a pair of wide, teary eyes looked at him from between the girl's fingers. "You mustn't worry yourself so much. I know this must be hard for you right now. God knows, I know what it's like to miss Blanche Hudson. But if you called the police, then that's all we can do for her right now."

Lynn nodded her head without raising it from her hands. Bill could see from the redness of her eyes that she had been crying a lot since he'd last spoken to her. He assumed that she had been looking for Blanche again in the garden when she'd finally broken down completely.

The ring of the doorbell that, despite what Bill had thought, could actually be heard way back in the garden, startled them both, for a heavy silence had fallen upon them during the last couple of minutes. Bill tilted his head to look at Lynn inquisitively, and lowering her hands from her face, the girl muttered, "That's the police."

Carefully aiding her to stand up, Bill watched the girl wipe at her tears decisively. She straightened up bravely and turned to head into the house. Bill followed her silently, taking her curt manner as a way of coping with the emotional turmoil inside her.