Xo

of the bluntrealization that he’d come all the way here—three hours—to tell her he was leaving her and moving to San Diego.
    At least he’s got the balls to tell me face-to-face….
    A line, Dance reflected wryly, that had a good country beat to it, though she guessed it wasn’t the sort of phrase that would ever appear in a Kayleigh Towne song.

 
     

Chapter 79
    “YOU LOOK MORE surprised than I thought you would,” Boling said, stepping back from the embrace.
    He looked around, an exaggerated frown on his face. “Your secret lover must be here somewhere. And, dammit, I bought a ticket. You probably got him comped.”
    Dance laughed, though the sound only made her feel worse, a reminder of the many good times they’d shared. They walked to a deserted part of the backstage area.
    Boling looked around. “What’s going on? Everybody okay?”
    “Hard to say.” She couldn’t avoid the cryptic response.
    He looked her over. “We’ve had the worst phone luck. I’ve been doing ten-hour days. And you, your mom said you were working on that kidnapping case. Some vacation you had, hm?”
    My mother, my spy.
    “And Lincoln and Amelia were here?”
    “Couldn’t’ve done it without them.” She told Boling about the minute bits of trace that gave her the idea that Edwin had taken Kayleigh’s song to heart, the one about growing up near a silver mine. “That’s how we traced him.”
    Boling leaned forward and kissed her quickly, his lips firmly against hers.
    Her phone vibrated. A glance downward. It was Michael O’Neil.
    Well, how’s that for some irony?
    “You have to get that?”
    “I’ll let it go,” Dance said.
    “Good turnout,” he said. “I listened to one of Kayleigh’s CDs on the way here. I can’t wait for the show.”
    “About that … there may be a rain check situation.”
    And she told him about the blowup between father and daughter.
    “No! You mean cancel the whole show?”
    “Looks like it.”
    The crew, Kayleigh’s band, the local backup musicians, a children’s choir … everybody was standing around awkwardly, heads and eyes pivoting, engaged in a radar search for the centerpiece of the evening. The sense of dread was evident. Kayleigh was the least temperamental performer on earth. If she stormed out it was not diva drama, with her in the trailer waiting to be coaxed back. Her absence probably reflected the sentiment in one of her early hits: “Gone for Good (and It’s Good to Be Gone).”
    Bishop Towne, alone, wiped his hands on his slacks. It was five minutes past showtime. The audience wasn’t restless yet but they soon would be.
    Dance found her shoulders in a terrible knot. She glanced back at Boling’s handsome face, his thinning brown hair, his perfect lips.
    But, she told herself, feeling the spring steel of her soul flex within her, she’d lost one man to tragedy and she would far rather lose one this way—everyone going forward in life, healthy and with some vestige of affection. Something might work out in the future. At least there wasn’t—she assumed—somebody else in his life. She would make sure that Boling and the children stayed in touch. Thank God they hadn’t actually moved in together.
    “Here. Snuck this in.”
    He handed her a Starbucks cup and she smelled immediately that it contained red wine, and since Boling was the barista it would be a good one. Yes, a nice Malbec, she deduced from a sip—one of the varieties they’d been exploring lately at wine tastings in Monterey and Carmel. They’d had so much fun on those nights….
    Kathryn Dance told herself: No tears.
    That was nonnegotiable.
    “Everything okay?”
    She explained, “Tough case.”
    “I was worried about you when we kept missing calls.”
    Quit doing that! she silently raged. Make me hate you.
    He sensed her tension and backed off, let go of her hand, gave her space.
    And that conscientiousness irritated her even more.
    But then he decided it was time. She could easily tell from his stance.Yes, he probably wanted to wait before delivering the bad news but preferred to get it over with. Men did that. Either they never said anything personal and serious, or they blurted it all out at the wrong moment.
    Boling said, “Hey, wanted to talk to you about something.”
    Oh, that tone.
    God, how she hated that tone.
    She shrugged, sipping some of the wine. A big sip.
    “Okay, I know this is going to seem a little odd but …”
    For God’s sake, Jon, get on with it.