“Guess so,” I said.

He came around from behind the desk.

I said, “What now?”

“Deliver the news, then get the bulletin expanded- it’s better than even money she’s out of the county by now.”

“Or the car is.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Meaning what?”

“It is possible that something happened to her, isn’t it? That someone else is behind the wheel.”

“Anything’s possible, Alex. But if you were a bad guy, would that be the car you’d rip off?”

“Who was it told me long ago it’s only the stupid ones you catch?”

“You wanna think foul play, fine. At this point I’d have to see something ugly to consider it anything more than an adult runaway. And not one that’s likely to turn me into a hero.”

“What do you mean?”

“Runaways are the hardest m.p.’s to locate under any circumstances. Rich ones are the worst of the worst. Because the rich get to make their own rules. Buying for cash, avoiding jobs, credit unions- all the stuff that leaves a paper trail. What just happened with Ramp and the kid is a perfect example. Your average husband would be a hell of a lot more in touch with his wife’s credit cards and social security number. Your average couple shares. These people live separately- at least where money’s concerned. The rich know the power of the buck- they rope their funds off and protect them like buried treasure.”

“Separate bank accounts and separate bedrooms,” I said.

“Real intimate, huh? He doesn’t seem to know her. Wonder why she married him in the first place- the kid has a point.”

“Maybe she liked his mustache.”

He gave a short, sad smile and walked to the door. Looking back at the windowless room, he said, “Designed for concentration. I couldn’t spend too much time here without going stir-crazy.”

I thought of another windowless room, said, “Speaking of interior design, when I was over at the Gabney Clinic, I was struck by the similarity between Ursula Gabney’s office decor and the way Gina furnished that sitting room upstairs. Exact same color scheme, same style of furniture. And the only art in Ursula’s office was a Cassatt lithograph. Mother and child.”

“So what’s it mean, Doctor?”

“I don’t know exactly, but if the print was a gift, it was a hell of a generous one. The last time I checked an auction catalogue, Cassatt prints in good shape were pricey.”

“How pricey?”

“Twenty to sixty grand for black-and-white. A color one would go for more.”

“The doctor’s print is a color one, too?”

I nodded. “Very similar to Gina’s.”

“Sixty grand plus,” he said. “What’s the current wisdom on therapists accepting gifts?”

“It’s not illegal but it’s generally considered unethical.”

“You think there’s some kind of Svengali thing going on?”

“Maybe nothing that ominous,” I said. “Just overinvolvement- possessiveness. Ursula seems resentful of Melissa- the way one sibling might resent another. Almost as if she wants Gina all to herself. Melissa sensed it. On the other hand, maybe it’s just professional pride. The treatment’s been intensive. She’s brought Gina a long way- changed her life.”

“Changed her furniture, too.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I’m overinterpreting. Or seeing it backwards. Patients influence therapists, too. It’s called countertransference. Ursula could have bought her Cassatt because she saw Gina’s and liked it. With the fees the clinic charges, she could sure afford it.”

“Big bucks setup?”

“Megabucks. When both Gabneys work, they bill five hundred an hour per patient. Three for his time, two for hers.”

“Didn’t she ever hear of equal pay for equal work?”

“Her work’s more than equal- my impression is she does most of the actual therapy while he sits back and plays mentor.”

He clucked his tongue. “She’s not doing too bad as a mentee, is she? Five hundred.” He shook his head. “Sweet deal. Get a handful of rich folk in serious psychic pain and you wouldn’t need much else to fuel the gravy train.”

He took a step, paused. “You think this Ursula’s holding back?”

“Holding back what?”

“Knowledge of the whole thing. If they were as close as you’re suggesting, Gina could have let her in on her plans for the great escape. Maybe old Ursula even thought getting away would be good for her- therapeutic. Hell, maybe she even helped plan it- Gina disappeared on the way to the clinic.”

“Anything’s possible,” I said. “But I doubt it. She seemed genuinely upset by the disappearance.”

“What about the other one- the husband?”

“He mouthed the right words but didn’t come across too stressed. He claims he doesn’t worry. Trained himself not to.”

“Doctor heal thyself, huh? Or could be he’s just not as good an actor as his wife.”

“The three of them in cahoots?” I said. “Thought you didn’t like conspiracy theories.”

“I like what fits- not that any of it does at this point. We’re just head-tripping.”

“There are two other women in Gina’s group,” I said. “If she did plan to run away, she might have mentioned it to them. When I suggested to Ursula that they be interviewed, she got really defensive: told me Gina didn’t socialize with them- they couldn’t be any help. If she is hiding something, that could have been stonewalling.”

He gave a small smile. “Stonewalling? I thought you guys called it confidentiality?”

I felt myself go hot.

He patted my shoulder. “Now, now, what’s a little reality between friends? Speaking of which, I’d better deliver the news to my clients.”

We found Ramp sitting and drinking in the rear room with the painted beams. The drapes were drawn across the French doors and he was staring off into space, eyes half-closed. His face had taken on a ruddy glow and his shirt was wilting around the edges. When we came in he said, “Gentlemen?” in a hearty, greeter’s voice.

Milo asked him to get Melissa and he called her room, using an intercom on the phone. When she didn’t answer, he tried several other rooms without success, then looked up helplessly.

Milo said, “I’ll catch her later,” and told him about the car being sighted.

“The 210,” said Ramp. “Where would she be going?”

“Can you think of anything?”

“Me? No, of course not. None of this makes any sense to- Why would she be driving the freeway? She just started driving, period. This is just crazy.”

Milo said, “It would be a good idea to have that bulletin expanded statewide.”

“Of course. Go ahead, do it.”

“It’s got to come from a police agency. Your local cops have probably been informed of the sighting by now, may have requested it already. If you want, I can call to confirm.”

“Please,” said Ramp. He got up and walked around the room. A shirttail had come loose in front. It was monogrammed with a red DNR.

“Driving the freeway,” he said. “That’s nuts. They’re sure it was her?”

“No,” said Milo. “The only thing they’re sure of is that it was a car just like hers.”

“So it had to be her. How many damned Silver Dawns could there be?”

He looked down, tucked in his shirt hastily.

Milo said, “The next step would be to call airline companies, then get to the bank tomorrow morning and take a look at her financial records.”

Ramp stared at him, groped like a blind man along the edge of a nearby armchair, and lowered himself into it, still staring. “What you said at the beginning- about this being… about her running away. You think that for certain now, don’t you?”

“I don’t think anything yet,” Milo said with a gentleness that surprised me and raised Ramp’s head a couple of inches higher. “I’m taking it step by step- doing the things that need doing.”

A door slammed somewhere in the house.

Ramp bounded up and left the room, returning a few moments later trailing Melissa.