Not even Gus.
"We're back," Carla announced as she entered the house. She was carrying a bag of groceries in each arm. Morgan was behind her, toting a smaller bag. Gus met them in the kitchen.
"Hi, Morgan."
"Hi," she said softly.
"Can Daddy have a hello kiss?"
"I'm pretty dirty right now. I have to wash up before dinner." She hurried from the room before Gus could think of something to say. He looked helplessly at Carla.
"Is it my imagination, or am I actually losing ground with her?"
Carla set the bags of groceries on the counter and removed her jacket. "She's a little upset today."
"Is it the ad in the paper?"
"That could be part of it:'
"What's the other part?"
"I haven't been able to get anything out of her, but I think maybe somebody said something to her at school." "Like what?"
"I don't know. Kids can say mean stuff."
"Maybe I'll have a talk with her."
"I'd leave her be for a while. I worked her over pretty good in the car. She's not ready to talk about it."
He nodded once, reluctantly. "All right. Later."
Together they unloaded the groceries. Carla was like a machine, pulling things out in short and jerky motions, setting them down on the counter with a little too much force.
"You mad about something?" asked Gus.
"I was thinking about what you said this morning." "Which was . . . what?"
"How the police are even considering the possibility that Beth has something to do with her own disappearance. That really frosts me."
"Hopefully, they won't waste too much time on that." "You know they will. It's always been that way." "It's always been what way?"
"Everyone always wants to blame Beth."
"No one wants to."
The bag was empty. She looked directly at Gus. "But that's what they're doing. It's the same thing they did five years ago, when you two had your . . . your blowup. Beth's a wacko. Beth needs a shrink. Beth needs a life. It's always her fault."
"This is not the same thing as five years ago."
"How is it different?"
"I'm not a serial killer, for one."
"That's only a difference of degree. Beth was a victim both times."
"I was the one she falsely accused."
"You were the one who drove her nuts."
Gus angrily folded the paper sack, then shoved it in the cupboard and slammed the door. "I thought we were past this, Carla."
She drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm not blaming you." She paused, then added, "No more than you do, anyway." "What does that mean?"
"Come on. A reward of two hundred fifty thousand dollars? Even the FBI told you that was excessive. What prompted that, love?"
"Frankly, yes."
"And you want others to see how much you love her." "I'm not trying to prove anything, if that's what you're suggesting."
"People who feel guilty always have something to prove."
Had someone else said it, Gus would have erupted. But
there was no fooling Carla. Not his own sister. Not Beth's best friend.
"I don't see what good it does to say things like that." "Maybe it will help you understand why your daughter won't kiss you hello."
Gus stopped to think. "You think she blames me, too?" "Of course she does. And she always will. So long as you mope around blaming yourself."
"I'm not moping around. I haven't stopped looking for Beth since she disappeared."
"And that's all terrific. But I'm talking about the very private moments, the way you act around Morgan. The way you look at her. The things you say to her. The things you don't say to her. Guilt is dripping off of you."
"I just want her to know I'm sorry."
"No. You want Beth to know you're sorry. But it doesn't work that way. Morgan can't grant you Beth's forgiveness. So stop looking to her as if she can. Or you're just going to drive her further away."
He thought of his mea culpa at Morgan's bedside and her headphone response. Maybe Carla had a point, harsh though she was.
The phone rang, giving him a start.. He answered in a detached voice. A woman was on the line.
"I'm calling about that ad in the paper."
Gus was suddenly alert. "Yes?"
"I know Beth Wheatley. I think I can help."
"Who are you?"
"Shirley Borge."
Gus searched his mind but couldn't recall the name anywhere in Beth's past. "How do you know Beth?"
"Seen her around."
"Where?"
She didn't answer. From across the kitchen he felt Carla's stare. She stood motionless, listening, sensing the urgency in his voice. He asked again, "Where have you seen her?"
Still no answer. His voice hardened. "Is this a crank?" Your wife had bulimia."
For a second he couldn't speak.
She added, "And she's the dumbest shoplifter in King County."
His throat tightened. "What else do you know?" "Plenty."
"Where is she?"
"I got a pretty good idea."
"Tell me."
"Uh-uh. We gotta work out a deal first."
"If you're worried about the reward, don't. I'll even sign a contract with you. I'll promise to pay you a quarter of a million dollars if the information you give me leads to Beth's return."
"That would help."