A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

the building, and it’s upstairs. There’s no easy way up, aside from
scaling the yellow siding.
And yet, if I was Bea, I’d open the door and let the police officer
see for himself that no one is there.
“Are you saying you won’t open the door?” he asks, staring Bea
down. Josh no longer holds my hand. He’s let go, moved closer to
Bea and the officer.
“That’s not what I said. I just don’t see how anyone could have
gotten inside. I’m worried you’re wasting your time,” she says, and
then I realize that she’s not being insubordinate and unwilling; she’s
trying to save them from a pointless search. Bea is helping.
“Bea,” Josh says. “We don’t know how long the girl has been gone
—”
“Carly,” Leo interjects again. He hovers somewhere behind me.
“Her name is Carly.” This time when he says it, he enunciates each
word at a time.
Josh swallows hard. “We don’t know how long Carly has been
gone,” he says, putting emphasis on her name, “or how far she could
have gotten by now. Please, Bea, please just open the door and let
them see, so we can get on with the search.”
“Of course,” Bea says, offering Josh a faint smile. She looks
embarrassed. Bea doesn’t embarrass easily. She didn’t mean to be
a burden, but from the looks of things, she has been. I offer her a
sympathetic smile, knowing she was only trying to help. “Of course,”
she says again, dropping her eyes. “I was just trying to save you
time. I’m happy to open the door, if that’s what you need. Just let me
go get the key,” she says as she steps past the rest of us and makes
her way to the concrete walk, rounding the side of the house for the
front door, which we left unlocked. The rest of us wait, unspeaking.
The day is hot. Sweat drips from me, from all of us, though we’re
standing still. The trees block the sun, though there isn’t the slightest
hint of a breeze. It’s stifling hot, a muggy Indian-summer day. The
mosquitoes and bees buzz around, attracted to our sweat.
It takes an eternity for Bea to come back. Josh and the officers get
anxious. “What’s taking her so long?” someone asks, looking to me
expectantly, as if I have the answer.