XO

“One last question. Did you ever see him get violent or lose control?”

A pause. “Yeah, I did.”

“Tell me.”

Sally explained, “Okay, once me and my girlfriend and Edwin were walking down the street and this drunk guy came up, I mean, way, way drunk. And he called us sluts. And Edwin goes up to him and shouts, ‘Apologize right now, you asshole.’ And the guy did.”

Dance waited. “That was it? He never hit this man?”

“Oh, no. Edwin’d never do that. I mean, he’s scary-looking, sure. Those eyebrows, you know. And he’s big. But he’d never hurt anybody. Look, there’s a lot Edwin doesn’t get, you know what I mean? He’s kind of like a kid. That’s part of what makes him so charming, though.”

Hardly a word Dance would use. But she’d given up trying to figure out what made couples click.

Dance thanked the young woman and disconnected. She jotted a summary of the conversation into her notebook. So, what do I make of this? A relatively normal relationship with one woman didn’t mean he couldn’t stalk another. But stalking was habitual. For Sally to be involved for a year and to live with him for part of that time yet not see any danger signs was significant.

On the other hand, he’d exhibited some obsessive interest in music and performers.

But then, Dance admitted, so did she. Hence, her trip to casa de Villalobos with her tape recorder here in beautiful downtown Fresno during the dog days of September.

After a furtive examination of the park revealed no cigarette-smoking surveillance, Dance took a shower. She dried off and slipped into the Mountain View bathrobe, which the sign announced ironically she was free to take with her for $89.95.

Dance curled up in the sumptuous bed. Who needed views of snowy peaks when the furniture was so opulent?

She now wished Jon Boling were here with her. She was thinking of the recent overnight trip they’d taken to Ventana, the beautiful, surreal resort in the cliffs near Big Sur, south of Carmel. The trip had been a milestone-it was the first time she’d told the children that she and Boling were going away overnight.

She offered nothing more about the trip and the news was greeted with no interest whatsoever by either Wes or Maggie. At their ages, though, the broader implications had probably been lost on them. But their bored response was a huge victory for Dance, who’d stressed about their reaction to the fact Mom was traveling with another man. (Wes worried her most; Maggie wanted her mother to get married again so she could be “best woman.”)

The weekend away had been wonderful and Dance had been pleased that the last holdout of widowhood-the discomfort with intimacy-was finally vanishing.

She wanted Boling here now.

And was thinking it curious that they hadn’t spoken for two days. They’d traded messages but voicemail had reared its head at every instance. She was involved in a murder investigation so she had an excuse, she reflected. But Boling was a computer consultant. She wasn’t quite sure why he was so inaccessible.

Dance called her parents, chatted with her father for a few minutes then asked to speak to the children.

It was a pure comfort, pure joy, hearing their voices. Dance found she was smiling to herself as they rambled on enthusiastically about their days at camp. She laughed when they signed off with a “Loveyoumom” (Maggie) and “Gottagoseeya” (Wes), verbal signals perfectly defining the differing parent-child relationships at the moment.

Then her mother came on the phone. Edie reported that Dance’s father was finishing up some work at her house in Pacific Grove to get it ready for the party she was hosting this weekend; house guests would be staying for a few days, after driving down from San Jose on Saturday.

And then there was a pause.

Dance tried not to practice her profession in her personal life. Nothing ruins a date faster than a man saying he’s divorced as he leans forward and looks her in the eye-a complete deviation from his earlier baseline behavior. (One of her favorite Kayleigh Towne songs, “The Truth About Men,” was a hilarious look at how that gender tends to be, well, less than forthright.)

But now she noted that something was up.

“How’s it going there?” Edie Dance offered some clumsy verbal padding.

“Good. Fresno’s actually kind of interesting. Parts of it are. There’s a real-estate development built around a runway. You get a hangar for your plane, instead of a garage. Well, maybe you get a garage too. I didn’t look.”

Throughout Kathryn Dance’s life, her mother had been kind and fair but also resolute, opinionated, unyielding and at times exasperating. Get to the point, Dance thought.

“There’s something I found out. I wasn’t sure what to do. If it weren’t for the kids…”

Of course, those words are like gasoline on the candle of motherhood and Dance now said bluntly, “What? Tell me.” The tone was unmistakable: Don’t screw around. I’m your daughter but I’m an adult. I want to know and I want to know now.

“Jon brought some computer games over for the kids. And he got a phone call… Honey, he was talking to a broker about property. I heard him say he’d gotten a job and wanted to take a look at a house.”

This was interesting. But why the concern in her mother’s voice? “And?”

“It’s in San Diego. He’s moving in a couple of weeks.”

Oh.

Weeks?

Dance now understood what Edie meant about the children. They were still vulnerable from the death of their father. For them to lose the new man in their life would be very hurtful, if not devastating.

And then there’s me.

What the hell was he thinking of, not telling me anything? Here I was just offered a job in D.C. and the first thing I think of is talking to him about it.

Weeks?

So that’s why he hadn’t picked up the phone but used the coward’s hideout of voicemail.

But the first rule of law enforcement was not to make assumptions. “Are you sure? You couldn’t have misunderstood?”

“No, no. He was alone, in the back by the pool. He thought I couldn’t hear. And when Wes stepped out, he changed the subject completely. He basically hung up on the broker.”

Dance could say nothing for a moment.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mom. Just need to think about this a little.”

“You get some sleep now. The kids are happy. We had a fun dinner. They love camp.” She tried to be light. “And more important, can you believe it? They’re looking forward to school. We’re going book bag shopping tomorrow.”

“Thanks. ’Night.”

“I’m sorry, Katie. ’Night.”

A moment later Dance found she was still holding her phone, disconnected, in front of her face. She lowered it.

The loss of her husband was like a digital event to Kathryn Dance, as Jon Boling the computer genius would describe it. On or off. Yes or no. Alive or dead.

But Jon Boling’s leaving? It was analog. It was maybe. It was partly. Was he now in her life or not?

The big problem, though, was that he’d made this decision without her. It didn’t matter that the job had probably happened quickly and he’d had to move fast.

Dammit, she was a part of his life. He should have said something.

She recalled that Edwin Sharp had referred to a song of Kayleigh’s at the restaurant yesterday. “Mr. Tomorrow.” It was about an abusive, straying man who swears he’ll get his act together and mend his ways. He promises he’ll change. Of course, the listener knows he never will.

As Dance lay in bed now, the lights out, she stared at the ceiling and that song looped through her mind until she fell asleep.

You know me by now, you’ve got to believe

You’re the number-one girl in the world for me.