J. Jance: Failure to appear

At least I knew my opponent's name. "Well, Mrs. Connors, I would very much like to see my daughter, if she's home."

"She's out back, playing with Amber."

"Who's Amber?"

"The girl Kelly baby-sits. Amber and her mother live here, too."

"I see. Which way?"

Marjorie Connors didn't move. Her striking eyes never left mine. "You're the policeman, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm a detective. With Seattle P.D."

"You may be a detective in Seattle," Marjorie Connors said pointedly, "but not here. Understand?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you try to bully your daughter in any way, I won't hesitate for a moment. I'll call the sheriff. Kelly came here of her own free will. As far as I'm concerned, she's welcome to stay as long as she wants. Do I make myself clear?"

Gorillas have a way of making their wants and desires known. So did Marjorie Connors. "I believe we understand one another, Mrs. Connors. Now, if you don't mind…"

"Come with me," she said, moving toward the back of the house. She set off at a brisk pace, with me trailing along behind. We walked around to a side yard and threaded our way through a collection of ladders. Here, the scraping was finished and painting was well underway. Around the corner, on the back of the house, restoration was complete. Fresh paint gleamed in the sun. A spacious, newly built, multilevel deck covered the entire length of the house. Slotted trellis material lined the insides of the rails, making the deck totally child proof.

"You'll find Kelly in the play area," Marjorie said, pointing down a slight incline to where a small enclosure had been fenced off into a carefully mowed play yard. Inside it I could see a swing set, a small tricycle, and a huge tractor tire filled with sand. The sandbox was shaded by an unfurled Martini and Rossi umbrella that presumably had been liberated from the now-naked table of some unfortunate sidewalk cafe.

At first, I saw no one but a small red-haired child playing alone in the sand. She was enthusiastically pushing a plastic bulldozer back and forth, building mounds and destroying same.

"Kelly," Mrs. Connors called. "Someone's here to see you."

A pair of suntanned, shorts-clad legs appeared under the umbrella. "Who is it?"

At the sound of Kelly's voice, a hard lump formed in my throat. Dave Livingston hadn't been making it up, I realized in sudden relief. Kelly really was here-here and safe both. At least, her voice sounded fine.

"It's me, Kelly," I managed, forcing words out over a fist-sized, throat-closing knot that threatened to cut off all ability to speak or breathe. "It's your dad."

I don't know what I expected. Maybe I thought Kelly would come running up to me with her arms outstretched and her blond braids flying behind her the way they used to when she was little and we were all still living out at Lake Tapps. Instead, the tanned legs stopped moving altogether. She stayed where she was as if frozen, her face and most of her body concealed behind and beneath the spread of that mammoth umbrella.

"Daddy?" she returned uncertainly. "Is it re-ally you? What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

I shot a triumphant glance in Mrs. Connors' direction. With her unblinking violet gaze piercing into me, I somehow caught myself and managed to remember Ralph Ames' cautioning words. Don't blow it, I told myself. Don't say something you'll regret.

With laudable self-restraint, I avoided blurting out the indignant, accusatory things I'd planned to say, such as-"I came to get you and send your ass back home." That would never do.

My problem with telling lies has always been that I'm incapable of carrying the process off with any kind of good grace. As soon as I try it, something in my facial expression gives me away. Generally speaking, that's probably a good thing. It keeps me out of poker games and politics.

This time, though, I did it. From somewhere inside me, I summoned up a set of more acceptable weasel words, ones that allowed both Kelly and me a little room to maneuver. "I came to see how you were," I returned carefully, "to see if you were all right, or if there was anything you needed."

The little girl, Amber, stopped pushing her bulldozer and sat gazing up at Kelly-a Kelly whose body and face were still obscured from view. When she didn't move, I did, starting to close the distance between us, but Marjorie Connors' surprisingly strong suntanned arm barred the way.

"Wait!" she commanded. "You wait right here."

I stopped as ordered. For the longest time, Kelly stayed where she was as well. Then, finally, she came shooting out from behind the umbrella, running toward me just like in the old days.

"Oh, Daddy!" Kelly cried, launching herself at me from four feet away and throwing her arms around my neck in a flying tackle that threatened to carry me over backward. She hugged me and kissed me at the same time. It was exactly like the old days-with two exceptions, one minor and one major. The minor one was easy. The blond braids were gone; Kelly wasn't my little girl anymore. I could live with that.

The major one, I wasn't so sure I could survive. As soon as she stepped out from behind the concealing umbrella, I could see that Kelly Louise Beaumont was pregnant.

Profoundly and undeniably pregnant. Damn!

I held her close, but all the while my mind was on fire. Where the hell is that lousy little son of a bitch of a singing actor now? I wondered. Just let me get my hands on that worthless fucker and…

What is it the Good Book says? Ask, and it shall be given unto you? Sure enough. Jeremy Todd Cartwright III-that no-good jerk who thought he was going to be my future son-in-law-chose that exact moment to make his grand entrance, driving into the yard in a worn old rattletrap Econoline van with three other people in it. He stopped directly beside us.

Kelly was standing on tiptoes with her arms wrapped around my neck, still laughing and crying, while tears ran down her face and dripped onto my shirt.

"Daddy," she said, taking me by the hand and leading me toward the van. "I'm so glad to see you. I wanted to call you and tell you, but I didn't know what to say, where to start. But come meet Jeremy. You're going to love him."

Sure I was! Like hell I was!

Unwillingly, I allowed myself to be led forward. We stopped by the driver's door of the beat-out van just as a long, tall kid in jeans and worn Birkenstocks clambered out. He was six-five if he was an inch, well-built, good looking, and impossibly clean-cut. The son of a bitch didn't have long hair. Or an earring.

He went around to the back of the van, opened the door, and then carefully handed out a series of loaded grocery bags to the other three passengers, who dutifully carried them into the house. Amber toddled up to one of the three-a woman whose hair color matched the child's-and followed her up onto the deck. Only then did Jeremy Todd Cartwright turn around and come back to Kelly and me.

He stopped directly in front of me and looked me in the eye. He didn't even have the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Jeremy," Kelly said breathlessly. "Look who's here. It's my dad."

She was holding me by the hand and blubbering joyfully, oblivious to everything around her, including the fact that it was all I could do to keep from reaching out and punching that goddamned upstart kid smack in the face.

"Jeremy, my father, J.P. Beaumont," Kelly continued. "Dad, Jeremy Cartwright. We're getting married Monday afternoon."

And Jeremy Todd Cartwright III, who couldn't have been a day over twenty-three, after one quick questioning look in Kelly's direction, turned back to me, nodded politely but warily, and extended his hand.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Beaumont," he said.

His toothpaste smile pissed me off. I wanted nothing more than the chance to rearrange his mouthful of too-white, too-straight teeth. But Kelly is my daughter-my only daughter. She's had me wrapped around her little finger from very early on, from the first moment she realized she owned a finger. Jeremy Todd Cartwright put out his hand, and, so help me, I shook it.