A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

My question goes unanswered.
Where are you? I ask.
She doesn’t reply.
I try calling again. It rings once before going to voice mail. I call
again and again, feeling frantic now, wondering what Bea has done
that she didn’t mean to do. What am I to forgive her for, other than
leaving me in the lurch like this?
What is she running from?
I hurry barefoot, back around the side of the house, my bra strap
sliding out from beneath a sleeveless shirt, falling down my arm. I
force it up. It falls again. My heart is beating hard inside my chest.
My mind is restless, reeling. Where did Bea go? What is she up to?
My hair hangs in my eyes, wet with sweat. “She’s gone,” I tell
them, breathless, when I return to the backyard. My chest hurts. I
can’t catch my breath.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Josh asks.
“I don’t know, Josh. I don’t know. The house is empty. I looked
everywhere for her. I tried calling her. She texted this,” I say, forcing
my cell phone into Josh’s hands.
He looks at it, at Bea’s disclosure, and asks, “What does this
mean?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Josh passes the phone to the officers. Bea’s car is parked in the
alley beside mine. Wherever she went, she went on foot. She can’t
be far.
“Can you let us inside the garage, ma’am?” one of the officers
asks. There’s something in there that Bea doesn’t want the police to
see. Stolen audio equipment is all that comes to mind. But Bea and I
have enough money. She could buy anything she needs.
“I don’t know where the key is,” I admit. “There’s only one. It’s
gone. Bea must have taken it with her when she ran off,” I say,
ashamed for many reasons, but mostly that Bea cut and run and left
me in the dark like this. It’s so unlike Bea.
I go on to explain, my eyes moving between Josh and the officers,
“I never go in there. It’s Bea’s space. It’s where she works. I don’t
like to intrude.” I’m spinning, remembering how I used to have a key
to the studio. But then many, many years ago, Bea told me how she