‘Well, thanks for your help, Trish. I’ll let you know if we find anything else.’
‘You really think somebody hurt Mom on purpose, to get out of the club?’
‘It doesn’t seem likely, what we’re learning,’ O’Neil said.
‘If they did,’ the girl said, ‘I don’t really blame them. What happened that night, the panic and everything, it wasn’t human beings doing that. Like you can’t blame a tornado or an earthquake. They don’t think, they don’t plan on doing anything bad. They just happen.’
CHAPTER 69
At her desk, O’Neil beside her, Dance answered the phone. ‘’Lo?’
‘Boss.’
‘TJ. On speaker with Michael,’ Dance told him.
‘Hey, Michael. I love it when people say they’re on speaker. Think of all the juicy things they were about to say but can’t.’
‘TJ?’
‘I pulled strings and got into the courthouse. Yes, on Sunday. The girl’s story checks out. Trish. It’s confirmed. I read the settlement agreement and court documents, talked to the lawyers. Frederick Martin had zero to gain if his ex was gone. He had negative to gain – except it’s not like you gain anything negative. You know. Anyway, it’s going to cost him a lot now that she’s dead. Michelle didn’t leave much to her daughter either. The house, in trust, is hers but it’s mortgaged to the throat. Trish gets a small stipend. Somebody named Juan got the rest but it’s only fifty K. Not worth killing for. Yep, I said Juan. I’m betting the pool boy.’
Dance sighed.
‘Good theory, though, boss. You’ve got two more fatalities at Solitude Creek. Maybe they were the intended victims.’
O’Neil said, ‘We thought of that and I looked at them, TJ. One was a college student, one was a woman in her twenties – there with a bachelorette party. No motive that we could find.’
‘Back to Square A. You need me in the office, boss?’
‘No. Just track down that company in Nevada, the one doing the surveying at Solitude Creek. Give me an update in the morning.’
‘Will do, boss.’ He disconnected.
O’Neil seemed preoccupied.
Dance looked at the time. She said, ‘Oh, wanted to ask. You do any more thinking about Maggie’s talent show? Tonight at seven?’
We might have plans. I’ll let you know. Bring a friend?
‘Oh, I should’ve mentioned. Can’t make it. Tell her I’m sorry.’
‘Sure. No worries.’
Together they walked out of the office and made their way to the exit. Dance noticed the Guzman Connection task-force conference room was dark, Foster, Steve Two, Allerton and Gomez gone for the night.
In the parking lot O’Neil and Dance walked to their cars, parked beside each other.
‘What a case, hmm?’
‘Yep,’ he replied. They stood together for a moment. Then he said, ‘Night.’
That was all. She nodded. They got into the cruiser and the Pathfinder respectively, and without another look they drove to the highway and turned in different directions.
A half-hour later she was home.
‘Mom!’ Maggie was waiting on the front porch.
Dance had called and told her daughter she was on the way. But Maggie looked agitated. Had she been concerned that Dance was going to be late? Or was she troubled that her mother had shown up on time and there was no excuse to miss the show? Even though Maggie’d changed her mind about singing Dance knew she wasn’t looking forward to it.
‘Give me a few minutes and then we’ll be on our way. Go get dressed.’
Her daughter had a special costume for the event.
Together they walked inside and Maggie disappeared into her room. Dance kissed Boling.
He whispered, ‘How’re you feeling?’ Touching her face gently.
‘Fine. You?’
‘My bandage’s bigger than your bandage.’
She laughed and kissed him again. ‘We’ll compare bruises later.’ She saw Wes and Donnie on the back porch. They weren’t playing their game but intently looking over a Japanese comic. ‘Hi, boys!’
‘Hi, Mrs Dance.’
‘Hey, Mom.’
‘We leave in fifteen. Donnie, you want to come to Maggie’s class’s show? At the grade school. It’s at seven. We can have you home by nine.’
‘No, that’s okay. I’ve gotta get home.’
Wes slipped the comic into his book bag.
Dance had a sip of the wine Boling had ready for her, then headed upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes.
She stripped off her outfit, which she now detected smelled of smoke – oil and rubber smoke. Might be destined for the trash. She ran the shower and stepped under the stream of hot water, feeling a one-two stab of pain: the right side of her torso from the pulled muscle and her cut cheek. She let the water pound her for five full minutes, then stepped out and toweled off.
Examining the facial injury, she noted that the cut would leave a scar and that the bruise was striving to conquer more of her face. Probably should have had it looked at in the ER, after all.
She thought wryly of the curious dynamics of her life. Caught in a stampeding herd of theme-park patrons, squeezing into an elevator car to rescue a pregnant woman and a choking victim … and now off to a ten-year-old’s talent show.
Then she was dressed – black blouse, fancy jeans and navy jacket. Gold Aldos with exotic heels. A look in the mirror. She let her hair hang loose, better to conceal the banged-up jaw and cheek.
Downstairs she called, ‘Donnie. Did you bike over? I didn’t see it.’
The boy stared at her for a moment.
Wes said, ‘No, we left them at his house.’
‘You want a ride home? It’s on the way to Maggie’s school.’
Donnie glanced at Wes, then turned back. ‘No, thanks, Mrs Dance. I’ll walk. I feel like it.’
‘Okay. Come on, Wes, we have to go.’
He and Donnie bumped fists and her son joined her in the front entryway.
‘Maggie!’ Dance called.
Her daughter appeared.
Boling said, ‘Well, look at you.’
She gave a shy smile.
Dance said, ‘Beautiful, Mags.’
‘Thank you.’ In a stilted tone. Formality is a form of deflection.