Jeffery Deaver - Roadside Crosses

As if moving from the synth world back to the real, Dance now reflected.

She hugged Steven, who promptly vanished into the den to join the menfolk, his Birkenstocks flapping in time to his long ponytail.

The adults had wine while the children held an impromptu dog show in the backyard. Raye had apparently been doing his homework and was, literally, running circles around Patsy and Dylan, doing tricks and leaping over benches. Martine said he was a star in his obedience and agility classes.

Maggie appeared and said she wanted to take their dogs to school too.

"We'll see," Dance told her.

Soon candles were lit, sweaters distributed and everybody was sitting around the table, food steaming in the false autumn of a Monterey evening. Conversation was whirling as fast as the wine flowed. Wes was whispering jokes to the twins, who giggled not because of the punch lines but because an older boy was spending time whispering jokes to them.

Edie was laughing at something Martine said.

And for the first time in two days, Kathryn Dance felt the gloom fade.

Travis Brigham, Hamilton Royce, James Chilton…and the Dark Knight-Robert Harper-slipped from the forefront of her thoughts and she began to think that life might eventually right itself.

Jon Boling turned out to be quite social and fit right in, though he hadn't known a single soul there before today. He and Steven, the computer programmer, had much to talk about, though Wes kept injecting himself into the conversation.

Everyone studiously avoided talking about Edie's problem, which meant that current affairs and politics took center stage. Dance was amused to note that the first subjects to come up were ones Chilton had written about: the desalination plant and the new highway to Salinas.

Steve, Martine and Edie were adamantly opposed to the plant.

"I suppose," Dance said. "But we've all lived here for a long time." A glance at her parents. "Aren't you tired of the droughts?"

Martine said she doubted the water produced by the desalination plant would benefit them. "It'll be sold to rich cities in Arizona and Nevada. Somebody'll make billions and we won't see a drop."

After that they debated the highway. The group was divided on this, as well. Dance said, "It'd come in handy for the CBI and sheriff's office if we're running cases in the fields north of Salinas. But that cost-overrun issue is a problem."

"What overrun?" Stuart asked.

Dance was surprised to see everyone looking at her blankly. She explained what she'd learned by reading The Chilton Report : that the blogger had uncovered some possible malfeasance.

"I hadn't heard about that," Martine said. "I was so busy reading about the roadside crosses that I didn't pay much attention… But I'm sure going to look into it now, I'll tell you." She was the most political of Dance's friends. "I'll check out the blog."

After dinner Dance asked Maggie to bring out her keyboard for a brief concert.

The group retired to the living room, more wine was passed around. Boling lounged back in a deep armchair, joined by Raye the briard. Martine laughed-Raye was a bit bigger than a lapdog-but the professor insisted the puppy stay.

Maggie plugged in and, with the gravity of a recital pianist, sat down and played four songs from her Suzuki Book Three, simple arrangements of pieces by Mozart, Beethoven and Clementi. She hardly missed a note.

Everyone applauded and then went for cake, coffee and more wine.

Finally around 9:30, Steve and Martine said they wanted to get the twins to bed, and they headed out the door with the children. Maggie was already making plans to enter Dylan and Patsy in Raye's dog classes.

Edie gave a distant smile. "We should go too. It's been a long day."

"Mom, stay for a while. Have another glass of wine."

"No, no, I'm exhausted, Katie. Come on, Stu. I want to go home."

Dance received a distracted embrace from her mother, and her comfort from earlier diminished. "Call me later." Disappointed at their quick retreat, she watched the taillights disappear up the road. Then she told the children to say good night to Boling. The professor smiled and shook their hands, and Dance sent them off to wash up.

Wes appeared a few minutes later with a DVD. Ghost in the Shell, a Japanese anime science fiction tale involving computers.

"Here, Mr. Boling. This is pretty sweet. You can borrow it if you want."

Dance was astonished that her son was behaving so well with a man. Probably he recognized Boling as a business associate of his mother's, not a love interest; still, he'd been known to grow defensive even around her coworkers.

"Well, thanks, Wes. I've written about anime. But I've never seen this one."

"Really?"

"Nope. I'll bring it back in good shape."

"Whenever. 'Night."

The boy hurried back to his room, leaving the two of them together.

But only for a moment. A second later Maggie appeared with a gift of her own. "This is my recital." She handed him a CD in a jewel box.

"The one you were talking about at dinner?" Boling asked. "Where Mr. Stone burped during the Mozart?"

"Yeah!"

"Can I borrow it?"

"You can have it. I have about a million of them. Mom made them."

"Well, thanks, Maggie. I'll burn it on my iPod."

The girl actually blushed. Unusual for her. She charged off.

"You don't have to," Dance whispered.

"Oh, no. I will. She's a great girl."

He slipped the disk into his computer bag and looked over the anime that Wes had lent him.

Dance lowered her voice again, "How many times have you seen it?"

He chuckled. " Ghost in the Shell? Twenty, thirty times…along with the two sequels. Damn, you can even spot the white lies."

"Appreciate your doing that. It means a lot to him."

"I could tell he was excited."

"I'm surprised you don't have children. You seem to understand them."

"No, that never worked out. But if you want children, it definitely helps to have a woman in your life. I'm one of those men you have to be careful of. Don't you say that, all you girls?

"Careful of? Why's that?"

"Never date a man over forty who's never been married."

"I think nowadays whatever works, works."

"I just never met anybody I wanted to settle down with."

Dance noted the flicker of an eyebrow and a faint fluctuation of pitch. She let those observations float away.

Boling began, "You're…?" His eyes dipped to her left hand, where a gray pearl ring encircled the heart finger.

"I'm a widow," Dance said.

"Oh, gosh. I'm sorry."

"Car crash," she said, feeling only a hint of the familiar sorrow.

"Terrible."

And Kathryn Dance said nothing more about her husband and the accident for no reason other than she preferred not to talk about them any longer. "So, you're a real bachelor, hmm?"

"I guess I am. Now there's a word you haven't heard for…about a century."

She went to the kitchen to retrieve more wine, instinctively grabbing a red-since that was Michael O'Neil's favorite-then remembered that Boling liked white. She filled their glasses halfway up.

They chatted about life on the Peninsula-his mountain-biking trips and hikes. His professional life was far too sedentary for him so Boling would often jump into his old pickup truck and head out to the mountains or a state park.

"I'll do some biking this weekend. It'll be some sanity in an island of madness." He then told her more about the family get-together he'd mentioned earlier.

"Napa?"

"Right." His brow wrinkled in a cute and charming way. "My family is…how do I put this?"

"A family."

"Hit the nail on the head," he said, laughing. "Two parents healthy. Two siblings I get along with a majority of the time, though I like their children better. Assorted uncles and aunts. It'll be fine. Lot of wine, lot of food. Sunsets-but not a lot of those, thank goodness. Two, tops. That's sort of the way weekends work."