Roadside Crosses

it?”
    “No!” he protested, right on the edge of credibility. “Billy Sojack at school has it. He told us about it.”
    “Make sure you don’t.”
    “All right. I won’t. Anyway,” the boy added, with another glance at Boling, “you don’t have to use a chain saw.”
    “I never want you to play that game. Or the others that Mr. Boling mentioned.” She said this in her best mother voice.
    “Okay. Geez, Mom.”
    “Promise?”
    “Yeah.” The look at Boling said, She just gets this way sometimes.
    The two males then launched into a discussion of other games and technical issues whose meaning Dance couldn’t even guess at. But she was happy to see this. Boling, of course, was no romantic interest, but it was such a relief that she didn’t have to worry about conflicts, especially tonight—the evening would be stressful enough. Boling didn’t talk down to the boy, nor did he try to impress him. They seemed like peers of different ages, having fun talking.
    Feeling neglected, Maggie barged in with, “Mr. Boling, do you have kids?”
    “Mags,” Dance interjected, “don’t ask personal questions when you’ve just met somebody.”
    “That’s all right. No, I don’t, Maggie.”
    She nodded, taking in the information. The issue, Dance understood, wasn’t about possible playmates. She was really inquiring about his marital status. The girl was ready to marry off her mother faster than Maryellen Kresbach from the office (provided Maggie was “best woman”—no retro “maid of honor” for Dance’s independent daughter).
    It was then that voices sounded from the kitchen. Edie and Stuart had arrived. They walked inside and joined Dance and the children.
    “Grams!” Maggie called and charged toward her. “How are you?”
    Edie’s face blossomed into a genuine smile—or nearly so, Dance assessed. Wes, his face glowing with relief too, ran to her as well. Though stingy with hugs for Mom lately, the boy wrapped his arms around hisgrandmother and squeezed tight. Of the two children, he’d taken the arrest incident at the hospital closer to heart.
    “Katie,” Stuart said, “chasing down crazed felons and you still had time to cook.”
    “Well, somebody had time to cook,” she replied with a smile and a glance at the Safeway shopping bags, hiding near the trash can.
    Ecstatic to see her mother, Dance embraced her. “How are you?”
    “Fine, dear.”
    Dear . . . Not a good sign. But she was here, at least. That’s what counted.
    Edie turned back to the children and was enthusiastically telling them about a TV show she’d just seen on extreme home makeovers. Dance’s mother was brilliant at dispensing comfort and rather than talk directly about what happened at the hospital—which would only trouble them more—she reassured the kids by saying nothing about the incident and chatting away about inconsequential things.
    Dance introduced her parents to Jon Boling.
    “I’m a hired gun,” he said. “Kathryn made the mistake of asking my advice, and she’s stuck with me now.”
    They talked about where in Santa Cruz he lived, how long he’d been in the area and the colleges he’d taught at. Boling was interested to learn that Stuart still worked part-time at the famous Monterey Bay aquarium; the professor went often and had just taken his niece and nephew there.
    “I did some teaching too,” Stuart Dance offered, when he learned Boling’s career. “I was pretty comfortablein academia; I’d done a lot of research into sharks.”
    Boling laughed hard.
    Wine was dispensed—Boling’s Conundrum white blend first.
    But then Boling must’ve sensed a wind shift and he excused himself to head back to the computer. “I don’t get to eat unless I finish my homework. I’ll see you in a bit.”
    “Why don’t you go out back,” Dance told him, pointing to the deck. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
    After he’d collected the computer and wandered outside, Edie said, “Nice young man.”
    “Very helpful. Thanks to him we saved one of the victims.” Dance stepped to the refrigerator to put the wine away. As she did, emotion took the reins and she blurted softly to her mother, “I’m sorry I had to leave the courtroom so fast, Mom. They found another roadside cross. There was a witness I had to interview.”
    Her mother’s voice revealed no trace of sarcasm when she said, “That’s all right, Katie. I’m sure it was important. And that poor man today. Lyndon Strickland, the