Mecca. Never do Mecca.
How anybody could manage to hang on to faith after hearing about those deaths was beyond him. Thousands had died.
India was pretty bad too, crowds of hundreds of thousands. Oh, what he could do with a herd like that …
Ahead he could see the venue he’d checked out earlier. There was a church supper planned there tonight. The site was particularly good. Two exit doors that could be bound shut with flower-arranging wire. Perfect.
This also happened to be an African-American church. And someone in the area, conveniently, had been targeting ethnic facilities just like this. That meant the people would be particularly paranoid, fast to escape if there was any sign of threat.
Fast to crush their fellow congregants to save themselves.
He’d start a small fire outside, just like he’d done in Solitude Creek. That would be enough, smoke wafting in. They’d be thinking the neo-Nazis had returned and, tired of simple-minded graffiti, were now intent on doing the real thing. Burn them to the ground. March thought it would be— But, no, what was this?
As he approached he noted a sign on the billboard out front.
Dine with Jesus Supper Postponed. Join us for Services next week. Pray for the victims of Solitude Creek and the Bay View Center.
March sighed. He guessed he should have anticipated that. The bigger venues were probably robo-calling ticket holders and cancelling shows.
He wondered if Kathryn Dance was behind this.
Maybe not behind. But involved.
Well, he certainly couldn’t leave the area just yet. So, what to do? Out-think them, out-think dear Kathryn. Well, performance venues were out, reception halls too. Maybe weddings were going on but they would probably have been moved outside – the weather was temperate enough for that.
What venue wouldn’t be closed down?
Movie theaters, but they wouldn’t work. After the abortive attempt the other day, sure, cineplexes with substantial crowds would have guards, if not police.
What else would remain open?
Ah, wait. Here’s a thought: management of hotels would resist closing, certainly on a nice Sunday afternoon, everybody in for brunch or an early supper.
Hotel or inn … Yes.
Some ideas began to form. Good, a solid plan.
But he’d pursue it only after he had completed his immediate task – the errand that had been interrupted by his trip to Orange County after the Bay View incident.
The task of slowing down, if not stopping completely, his pursuers.
Well, one pursuer. Singular.
He smiled. Yes, truly singular.
What better word to describe Kathryn Dance, of whom he’d dreamed at glorious length last night?
CHAPTER 57
The Kathryn Dance Situation.
That’s how Jon Boling had come to think of it. The phrase could have a negative connotation but he didn’t mean it like that. Boling, a product of academia who made his living in the world of computers, was analytical by nature.
This drab, gray Sunday he was bicycling down Ocean Avenue in Carmel, the main shopping drag, while his partner at the college, Lily, chipped away at Stanley Prescott’s and his killer’s passcode. There was nothing more for him to do until she finished, so he’d taken a ride. Besides, he had an errand that needed attending to.
He was not paying much attention to the pretty scenery but was, instead, reflecting on the nature of the KD Situation.
Yes, he loved her. No question about that. The tug in his gut whenever he saw her. He could, always, call up the smell of her hair as they lay together. He could see the sparkle in her green eyes, hear her breezy laugh. They gave to each other, didn’t hesitate to speak about their vulnerabilities. He remembered feeling her pain when the worst – to her – happened: she’d fail to catch a perp. He’d wrap his arms around her at moments like that and she’d yield to the comfort. Not completely. But to a degree. This was love.
He continued downhill. Don’t fail me here, he thought to the brakes. It was a long, fast stretch straight down to the rocks and traffic at the beach. He eased to a stop at an intersection, then continued.
And the children, he loved them too. Wes and Maggie … He’d always wanted to be a father, but that hadn’t worked out. No dark angst there but it was a gap he was determined to fill and fill soon. Boling admitted he wasn’t a natural parent but he worked hard. And he could see that the effort had paid off. When he’d first met Kathryn, the children were moody, depressed from time to time, Wes more but Maggie too. After all, they hadn’t been without their father for all that long. They still grew morose or attitudinal at times.
But wasn’t that just life? Adolescents and adults.
So, a lyrical comfort with Kathryn, a rapport with the children … and even the formidable Edie Dance liked him – enough. Stuart, of course, and Boling had become solid friends.
But something wasn’t quite right. Hence, the ‘situation’.
Suggesting issues requiring consideration. Formulation. Adjustment. Solution.
Jon Boling hardly knew kinesics but he’d learned enough from Kathryn to be aware of tension. And when was it most in evidence? Not when she was entangled in a case. Not when one of the kids was sick. But when she and Boling and Michael O’Neil were in the same room together.
Computer code, the language Jon Boling spoke most fluently, is written according to the laws of logic. The parameters are clear and allow for not a single mis-spaced character. He wished he could write out a program on the Kathryn Dance Situation, compile it and have his answer pulsing on a monitor in front of him.
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<body>
<h1>The Kathryn Dance Situation</h1>
<p> Love her.</p>
<p>Love the children.</p>
<p>It works, many, many ways.</p>