Jeffery Deaver - XO

Kayleigh lowered her voice. “It’s all too much, Kathryn. I’m really thinking of canceling the show on Friday. My heart is totally not in it.”

“And your father’s okay with it?” Dance asked, because she’d noted the swivel of her eyes toward Bishop Towne and the decrease in volume when she used the word “canceling.”

“Yes,” she said, but uncertainly. “He seems to agree but then he goes on like I never mentioned anything. ‘Sure, I understand. But if you don’t cancel, when you play “Drifting,” I think you should modulate up to D for the third and fourth verses.’”

She waved her hand, indicating where they sat. “Remember what I was telling you after you recorded the group at Villalobos’s? This is all the stage I’d like, my front porch. Cook big dinners, get fat. Play for the kids and family, have a bunch of Mary-Gordons and Henrys. Don’t know why I picked that name. I don’t know a single Henry in the world.”

“You could have a family and still be a pro.”

“I don’t see how. That kind of life takes its toll.”

“Loretta Lynn did it.”

“Nobody’s Loretta Lynn. She’s one of a kind.”

Dance had to agree.

And yet despite Kayleigh Towne’s protests, she suddenly dug into her pocket and pulled out a pen and small pad of lined paper and jotted words and musical notes.

“A song?”

“‘Just can’t stop.’”

“You have to write your songs, you mean?”

Kayleigh laughed. “Well, that’s true. But what I mean is, that’s a line that just occurred to me. ‘Just can’t stop… spending hours… with you.’ First it was ‘spending time with you,’ but it needed the other syllable in ‘hours.’ I’ll write it up tonight.”

“The whole song?”

“Hank Williams said any song that takes more than twenty minutes to write isn’t going to be any good. Sometimes it takes me a day or two but for that one, it’s pretty much done.”

She hummed a very hummable few bars.

“You record it, I’ll buy it,” Dance said. “You…” Her voice faded as lights appeared through the trees. A car was approaching slowly.

Kayleigh stiffened. She whispered, “It can’t be him. I mean, it can’t. We weren’t followed. I’m sure not. And when we left, Edwin wasn’t at my place. He doesn’t even know I’m not there.”

Though Dance wasn’t so sure about that. It made sense for her to come here largely so she wouldn’t be alone-Bishop always had plenty of his crew around. And they could hope Edwin wouldn’t figure it out but he’d proved persistent, to say the least, when it came to finding Kayleigh’s whereabouts.

The lights seemed to stop, then continue on as if the driver wasn’t sure of the route.

Or didn’t want to be seen.

“Should we get Darthur?” Kayleigh asked.

Not a bad idea, Dance decided.

But before she rose to summon the guard, twin lights crested a hump in the drive and the car they were attached to stopped.

Kayleigh froze-literally in the headlights.

Dance eyed the vehicle carefully but it was impossible to see anything specific.

What was the driver doing?

Was it Edwin? Was he going to jam the accelerator to the floor and crash into the house, in a bid to kill Kayleigh and then take his own life?

Dance stood up and pulled Kayleigh to her feet.

Just as the car bucked and started forward.

BUT THE VEHICLE turned out to be a very unthreatening-and slow moving-powder blue Ford Taurus.

And one did not need to be a kinesics expert to note the sea change in Kayleigh’s body language when she saw the driver.

“Oh, it’s Barry!” she cried, offering a smile.

A very tall man, lanky and long-faced handsome, was climbing out. He had a shock of black curly hair and round glasses. Kayleigh ran down the stairs and embraced him hard.

She said, “I didn’t expect you for a couple of days.”

Glancing once toward Dance, Zeigler said, “Really? I called Bishop earlier and told him I was driving in tonight.”

“Oh, that man,” Kayleigh muttered. “Never said a word.”

“I was in Carmel seeing Neil. I got your message about Bobby. Terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s the worst, Barry.” Kayleigh turned to Dance and introduced them. Zeigler, Kayleigh’s producer at her record label, was based in Los Angeles. Dance realized he looked familiar and recalled, at Kayleigh’s house, seeing him in a half dozen framed pictures with the singer going back years. In one they both held a Recording Industry Association of America platinum record award, signifying that she’d sold more than a million of one of her songs or albums.

In jeans, a white T-shirt and dark jacket, Zeigler seemed a bit nineties to Dance but it was a reasonable look for a record producer from any decade. Except for a touch of gray and only at the temples, he didn’t look any different from the man in those photographs.

“And Sheri was attacked too?”

“She was hurt but she’ll be all right.”

“Do you have any leads?” he asked Dance. “Is it that guy Sharp?”

Kayleigh nodded and explained, “Barry knows all about our friend. Edwin’s sent plenty of letters to the label, complaining about production standards, orchestration, technical quality.”

“Pain in the ass,” Zeigler grumbled.

The law enforcement disclaimer: “We’re just gathering information at this point. But tell me, did he ever threaten you or anyone?”

“Like physically?”

“Yes,” Dance replied.

Zeigler shook his head. “He’s been more insulting. I mean, BHRC’s the third oldest record company in L.A. We’ve been producing Kayleigh for six years. She’s had eight gold and four platinums. We must be doing something right. But not according to Sharp. Just last week he sent us a two-page email about the acoustic dynamics on the download of ‘Your Shadow.’ He said it was off in the high ranges. Why was Delmore playing Dobro and not pedal steel?… He said, ‘Kayleigh deserves better than this.’ And then he said we should issue her on vinyl. He’s an analog hound.”

But Dance didn’t think comments about acoustic tonal quality, however harsh, rose to the level of threat under California Penal Code section 646.9.

Zeigler said to Kayleigh, “Bobby was the greatest guy in the world. I can’t believe somebody’d hurt him on purpose. And to die that way. You must be…” Then he grew silent, apparently deciding he shouldn’t be further revisiting the horror.

“Aaron and Steve said if there’s anything anybody at the label can do, you let us know. You’ve got the whole company behind you.”

“Barry, I think he’s going to keep doing this. He picks verses of my songs and plays them and then kills somebody or tries to.”

“That’s what Bishop was telling me.” The producer turned to Dance. “Can’t you arrest him?”

She demurred but Kayleigh said, “He’s too smart. They haven’t been able to find anything he’s done that quite breaks the law. Oh, this is just terrible.” The anger was gone and her eyes welled with tears. Then she tamed the emotion and the same stillness came over her as it did onstage.

Control…

Zeigler’s voice dimmed as he said to Kayleigh, “I want to say hi to Bishop and Sheri. But could I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”

“Sure.” To Dance she said, “Be right back.”

The two rose and walked into the living room, the producer ducking automatically as they approached the doorway arch. He had to be six feet, seven inches tall, Dance estimated.

She gave it a minute, then rose quietly and moved to the swing Kayleigh had just occupied, which was next to a half-opened window. From there she could hear their conversation. Whatever Zeigler was going to tell Kayleigh might have something to do with the case, even if neither of them realized it, provided she could make out the conversation.