Free The Listening Walls by Margaret Millar Page A

By ‘we’ I mean she wrote to her husband and he forwarded her letter to me.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy? Well, I—he realizes I’m very concerned about my sister. He wanted me to know she is all right.”
    â€œAnd is she?”
    â€œCertainly. She’s in New York. I should have guessed she might go there—we have relatives in Queens and Westchester.”
    â€œDid you bring the letter with you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’d like to see it. There’ll be no extra charge, of course,” Dodd added, after a quick study of Gill’s expres­sion. “I’m just curious.”
    Gill passed the letter across the desk, reluctantly, as if he were afraid that Dodd might suddenly alter his opin­ion and claim all the letters were forgeries.
    Dodd knew at first sight that the handwriting was iden­tical with that in the other letters, but he went through a few motions for Gill’s benefit. Using a magnifying glass and a ruler, he measured and compared spaces between lines and words, margins, paragraph indentations. It was, however, the text of the letter that interested him: it seemed so much sharper and more positive than any of the others. The handwriting was the same, certainly. But was the woman?
    Â 
    Dear Rupert:
    Â 
    Whatever made you do such an absurd thing? I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the ad in the Herald Tribune. Gill will be furious if he finds out. You know how livid he gets at the mere mention of publicity.
    Â 
    Of course I’ll come home. But not right away. As you can see by the postmark, I’m in New York. It’s a good place to be when you want to figure things out by yourself. Everyone lets you alone. For the time be­ing, this is just what I need.
    Â 
    Don’t worry about me. I miss you, but in a way I’m quite happy and I know this is what you would want for me.
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    Please take that advertisement out of the paper. (Or is it papers? I hope to heaven not!) Also, please phone Gill and Helene and tell them everything’s fine. I’ll write to them eventually. This business of writing is very difficult for me—it seems to bring be­fore me so clearly and sharply some of the very things I’m trying to forget—not forget, but get away from. The old Amy was a baby and a bore, but the new one isn’t quite sure of herself yet!
    Â 
    Mack is fine. There are quite a few dogs in New York, mostly poodles, but we meet the odd Scottie now and then, so Mack is not lonesome.
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    Before I forget, the Christmas card list is in the top left drawer of the desk in the den. Order the cards early and have both our names printed on them, naturally.
    Â 
    Take care of yourself, dear. Love,
    Amy.
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    â€œChristmas card list,” Dodd said without expression. “This is September.”
    â€œI taught Amy—that is, we were both brought up to at­tend to such matters well in advance.”
    â€œIsn’t this overdoing it a bit?”
    Gill knew it was, but he asked, “What do you mean?”
    â€œIt sounds to me as if she doesn’t intend to be home for Christmas and is trying to tell you in a nice way.”
    â€œI can’t believe that.”
    â€œWell, you don’t have to,” Dodd said cheerfully. “May­be it’s not true. Have you talked it over with your brother- in-law?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI suggest you do. He’s probably better acquainted with his wife than you are.”
    â€œI doubt that. Besides, Rupert and I are not exactly on the best of terms.”
    â€œFamily friction, eh? Maybe that’s the real reason Amy decided to leave town.”
    â€œThere was no family friction until she left. Some has developed since, of course.”
    â€œWhy ‘of course’?” When Gill didn’t answer, Dodd went on, “Cases like this are a lot commoner than you might imagine, Mr. Brandon. Most of them don’t get as