He knew she had dropped off Morgan at the youth center at two o'clock. Morgan had confirmed that much. Gus had gone over it with his daughter several times, but she just couldn't remember if Mommy had said she would be back at four, or if she had said Daddy would pick her up. He racked his brain, trying to recall if Beth had told him she was going somewhere and had asked him to pick up Morgan. Maybe he'd just forgotten about it. That had to be it. Over the past few months they'd become the world's worst communicators. She'd probably mumbled something to him three days ago on his way out the door. Typical Beth.
Gus rose from his chair and went to the kitchen. The breakfast nook in their hillside mansion was built like a hexagonal glass jewel box, its floor-to-ceiling windows taking in a twohundred-seventy-degree vista. The night view was his favorite. It was the only one he really knew. He was always gone before dawn, home after dusk. The Wheatleys lived north of downtown in the more upscale section of Magnolia, where new dream homes and magnificent century-old estates offered both city and water views. Glass and stone office towers lit up the skyline to the southeast. Tonight, as on many nights, the tops of the tallest buildings were cut off by low-hanging clouds. His own office sat right at the cloud line, a perpetually lighted cubicle in the sky. To the west was Puget Sound, the huge north-south finger of water that separated the port city of Seattle from the Kitsap and Olympic peninsulas. It took some imagination, but if you thought of northwest Washington as a big right-hand mitten, it was the thumb-like peninsulas and Olympic Mountains to the west that kept the Pacific Ocean from ravaging Puget Sound and Seattle to the east. The Sound was dark now, only some shipping lights visible. A few more twinkling signs of life dotted Bainbridge Island. Gus focused on the faintest light in the distance, somewhere in the night.
Where the hell is Beth? he wondered.
Monday morning was anything but routine. Gus had been up all night. At six a. M. he felt the programmed urge to make the usual spate of calls to his East Coast clients, all of whom were three hours ahead of him. The urge, however, was not compelling. It came as somewhat of a surprise, an affront to the priorities of a man consumed by his profession. But his heart and mind were elsewhere. Morgan would be awake in thirty minutes. She'd want to know where Mommy was.
He wanted to know where her mommy was.
Gus poured himself a cup of black coffee and sat alone at the kitchen table. The Wall Street Journal, New York Times and Seattle PostIntelligencer lay rolled up and unread on the counter. The rain pattered lightly against the kitchen window. The sun had not yet risen. A thick predawn fog robbed him of any view out the window, no moon, no stars, no downtown city lights. It was still early, but he needed some answers before his daughter woke. Since Morgan's birth Beth had kept a list of phone numbers taped to the refrigerator, people to call in case of emergencies. He dialed the top number and braced himself for a battle.
The fourth ring was followed by a raspy "Hello." "Carla, it's Gus. Sony to wake you."
She didn't reply. For a second Gus thought she might hang up. Carla was his younger sister, but that was secondary. First and foremost, she was his wife's best friend. Growing up, they had never been close. Marrying Beth and effectively coming between her and her best friend had only made things worse. Whenever Beth had a complaint about Gus, Carla was on her side. Sometimes it seemed as though Carla was even leading the charge. Through it all, however, they had managed a level of civility. A low level.
"It's twenty after six," she said, groaning. "What do you want?"
"I'm a little concerned about Beth."
Her voice took on urgency. "What did you do to her?"
The accusatory tone angered him. God only knew what Beth had been telling Carla. "I didn't do anything to her. Can you please just answer a simple question for me? When's the last time you talked to Beth?"
"We went out for brunch yesterday. Why?"
"Did she say she was going anywhere--going away?" "You mean, like a vacation?"
"Anything at all. In town, out of town. It doesn't matter."
"The only thing she mentioned was that she had to take Morgan over to the youth center at two. Why are you asking me all this?"
He sighed, then said, "Beth dropped Morgan off, but she never picked her up. I had to get Morgan myself. Beth never came home last night. I don't know where she is." "She's not here with me, if that's what you're implying." "I wasn't implying anything. I'm just trying to locate my wife. Do you have any idea where she might be?" "No. But I can speculate."
"Go right ahead."
"Has it occurred to you that perhaps Beth has finally seen the light and found the courage to leave you?"
She sounded so smug, he wanted to tell her to go to hell. But he knew Carla's theory wasn't out of the question. "If that was the case, don't you think she could have found a better way to do it than to leave her sixyear-old daughter stranded at the youth center with no ride home? Does a reasonably intelligent woman do something like that?"
"If she's confused enough, maybe she does. Beth was very unhappy. You have no idea how unhappy she was."
"That doesn't explain everything. I've been through her closet, her drawers. All her clothes are still there. Her shoes. Her photo albums and collectibles. Nothing seems to be missing. It just doesn't look like she was planning an escape. Even her car is still in the garage."