Steve Gannon - Kane

Outside in the parking lot, Catheryn sat behind the wheel of her Volvo. Numbly, she revisited her conversation with the newswoman. Nothing had gone as she had anticipated. To her chagrin, toward the end she had even found herself thinking that were it not for what had happened, she and Lauren might have even become friends.

Angrily, Catheryn started her car and jammed it into gear. After pulling around an array of gigantic satellite dishes, she sped past the guard gate and exited onto El Centro. A half block down she turned right on Sunset, heading west.

At the signal at Vine, a white van dropped in behind. Unobserved, it followed her all the way to the beach.

Nice threads, Dad,” said Travis, inspecting me with a nod of approval. “You look pretty good in a monkey suit. In fact, you look good enough to bury.”

“The ol’ dad can hob with the best of nobs,” I declared crossly, shooting the cuffs of my tuxedo. “Seen your mom?”

Travis peered across the terrace, searching a sea of women in evening gowns and men in formal attire. “We got separated a half hour ago, but she’s around here somewhere. Nate and Ali are with her.”

Turning, I scanned the Music Center plaza, squinting against a glare from one of several searchlights ringing the concourse, raking the sky with dazzling shafts of light. In days past the Music Center fundraisers had been large; this year it was immense.

Transported as if by magic to some earlier time, the plaza dividing the Mark Taper Forum from the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion bore little resemblance to the deserted patio of my previous visit. Now a parade of white tents topped with colorful streamers covered the terrace, their billowing canopies reminiscent of a medieval fair. Beneath their canvas roofs, paintings, jewelry, sculpture, and other artwork donated by patrons and artists were displayed for sale, while white-gloved waiters carrying silver trays meandered among the crowd serving champagne, white wine, and hors d’oeuvres. From the north end of the plaza, the sounds of a string quartet floated over the assembly; from the south I could make out the drone of an auctioneer calling for bids on a diverse collection of items listed on the program ranging from Van Goghs to an Arabian stallion.

“There have to be at least a couple thousand people here,” I noted. “Maybe more. I’ll never find her.”

“You should’ve been here on time,” chided Travis.

“Some of us had to work.”

“If we don’t spot her out here, let’s try the Dorothy Chandler banquet hall,” suggested Travis. “They’re serving food there, and there’s a silent auction going on, too. Mom likes that kinda stuff.”

“Food, huh?”

“Nothing you would want. Barons of beef, honey-cured ham, leg of lamb, lobster Newburg, and a dessert table that won’t quit.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said. “Hold on. Is that your mom over there?”

“Where?”

I pointed toward the plaza fountain, where a small figure had just broken away from a group on the far side. Nate. Skirting the illuminated jets, he was running around the fountain perimeter, timing his advances and retreats to the rise and fall of the geysers.

“You’re right,” said Travis.

“Your eyes are better than mine, kid. Who’s your mom talking to?”

“Mr. West. Ali’s there, too.”

“Mr. West, huh? Who else?” I said harshly.

“The music director and some other musicians,” Travis answered, seeming puzzled by my glacial mood. “They’re probably discussing tomorrow night’s performance,” he went on, referring to a concert that the Philharmonic would be performing on Christmas Eve. I nodded, remembering that the special engagement had been scheduled to celebrate the orchestra’s return, as well as to culminate the final day of the Christmas fundraiser. “Mr. West will be playing the Dvorak Cello Concerto,” Travis added. “I heard it was the highlight of the tour.”

“Is that so?” Without another word, I began bulling my way across the plaza.

Catheryn glanced up as I approached, Travis in my wake. As I continued plowing through the crowd, I saw her excuse herself from the group. Linking her arm through Arthur’s, she started toward Nate, keeping the fountain between us.

I intercepted her and Arthur on the far side.

“Hello, Dan,” Catheryn said coolly. “Nice of you to make it.”

I stopped several feet away, scowling as I noticed that Catheryn and Arthur were still arm in arm. “I got jammed up at work.”

“I’m sure you did,” said Catheryn, making no move toward me in greeting.

“Good evening, Detective,” said Arthur. Faced with the choice of extending his hand in greeting or leaving his arm entwined in Catheryn’s, he chose the latter.

“We need to talk, Kate,” I said. “In private.”

“In private?” laughed Arthur. “In the midst of three thousand people? I think not.”

“I’m not talking to you, Arthur. Stay out of this.”

“Hi, Pop,” interjected Allison. “You’re looking sharp tonight,” she added, apparently sensing an approaching storm and trying to lighten the tension.

“Hi, Dad,” echoed Nate. By then he had rejoined his mother, surprisingly unscathed by his game of chicken with the fountain.

“You kids take a hike,” I ordered. “I need to talk to your mom. Nate, go up to the banquet hall with Travis and Allison and get some chow. We’ll see you there.”

“We already ate,” said Nate.

“And now isn’t the time or place,” added Catheryn.

“Oh? Would a hotel room suit you better?”

Catheryn frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Before I could reply, Arthur spoke. “Listen, Detective. You’re clearly upset about something, but Catheryn and I have obligations to the Philharmonic tonight that-”

“I told you to stay out of this,” I broke in, my voice ominously flat.

“Go away, Dan,” said Catheryn, tightening her arm in Arthur’s. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Later, maybe. Not now.”

“All right. You want to be with this turkey, go ahead. You seem to have made your choice.”

“ I’ve made a choice? That sounds strange coming from you.”

I noticed that Travis, Allison, and Nate were watching our exchange in shock. Like all married couples, Catheryn and I occasionally quarreled, but humor had always leavened our differences and rarely did we fight in the presence of our children-let alone in front of a crowd of strangers. All at once Nate, with the unerring instinct of youth, sensed the heart of the matter. Rushing forward, he squirmed between Catheryn and Arthur. “Leave my mom alone,” he said, trying to disentangle the cellist’s arm from Catheryn’s.

“This is simply too much,” said Arthur. Using his thumb and forefinger, he pinched Nate’s earlobe and dragged him out to arm’s length. “Mind your manners, boy.”

“Ow!” yelled Nate, throwing an ineffective swing. “Lemme go!”

“Arthur, don’t,” said Catheryn. “He’s just-”

My arm shot out. Without thinking I closed my fist on Arthur’s hand. Nate broke free of Arthur’s grasp an instant later, but I didn’t let go. Angrily gripping the cellist’s hand in mine, I squeezed. Arthur paled, his lips drawing back in a wordless grimace.

“Dan, no!” Catheryn screamed.

“Let him go, Dad,” pleaded Travis, tugging at my arm. Allison and Nate stood paralyzed, watching in horror.

I released Arthur’s hand and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You may think you can put your paws anyplace you want on my wife,” I said softly, “but keep them off my kids.”

Though my warning had been meant only for Arthur, Catheryn heard. I saw her eyes widen in comprehension. Furious, she threw herself between us. “Let him go, Dan.”