“Where’s Aunt Kayleigh?”
“She’s getting ready to sing a show. The one we’re going to on Friday.”
Maybe. Her sister hadn’t actually invited her to the concert.
“Good. I like it when she sings.”
With a blare of a horn and a flashing orange light, the baggage belt started to move.
“See, you wouldn’t have had time to get off.”
“Yes, I could. And then I could ride around and see what’s behind that curtain.”
“They wouldn’t like that.”
“Who?”
Suellyn was not going to talk about TSA and terrorists.
“They,” she repeated firmly and Mary-Gordon forgot about the question as she spotted the first suitcase and gleefully charged toward it, her white Keds squeaking on the linoleum, her pink dress, accented with a red bow, fluttering around her.
The luggage was retrieved and they both walked away from the belt and the crowds and paused in front of one of the doors.
Her mobile rang. She glanced down. “Hey, Daddy.”
“You’re in,” the man growled.
And hello and nice day to you too.
“Ritchie’s on his way to pick you up.”
Or you could’ve come to collect your daughter and granddaughter in person. Bishop Towne didn’t drive but he had plenty in his crew to play chauffeur—if he’d wanted to come.
Suellyn found a bogus smile on her face as often happened when she was talking to her father, even though he was miles away. Bishop Towne intimidated Suellyn less than he did his younger daughter but it was still plenty.
“I can take a cab.”
“No, you won’t. You got in early. Ritchie’ll be there.”
Then as if he remembered he should be saying something—or possibly had been prodded by Wife Number Four Sheri—he asked, “How’s Mary-Gordon?”
“She can’t wait to see you,” Suellyn told him.
Is that passive-aggressive? A little.
“Me too.” And he disconnected.
I’m taking a damn cab, she thought. I’m not hanging around. “Do you need to use the girls’ room?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? It’ll be a while before we get to Aunt Kayleigh’s house.”
“No. Can I get some Jelly Bears?”
“There’ll be treats at your aunt’s house.”
“Okay.”
“Excuse me, Suellyn?”
She turned to see Bishop’s minion, Ritchie, a young man looking every inch the member of a country musician’s entourage. “I’m your chauffeur. Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand and smiled toward Mary-Gordon. “Hello.”
“Hello,” she said.
“Welcome to Fresno. You’re Mary-Gordon, I’ll bet.”
“He said my name right.” She beamed.
Hers wasn’t Mary with Gordon as a middle name. It was a good, double-barreled Southern name and the girl wasn’t shy about correcting anyone who got it wrong.
“Let me get those for you,” he said and took both suitcases.
Mary-Gordon yielded up the bag without protest to the Man Who Knew Her Name.
“Get ready for the heat, a lot different from Oregon. You going to your father’s or Kayleigh’s?”
“Kayleigh’s. We’re going to surprise her.”
“That’ll be fun.”
Suellyn hoped so. Bishop had been adamant that Suellyn not call Kayleigh and tell her of the visit—because the younger of the sisters would probably have told her not to come. She wouldn’t want any sympathy because of Bobby’s death, Bishop said. But family had to stick together.
Father knows best … Uh-huh.
“Kayleigh’s got a great swimming pool,” Ritchie said to Mary-Gordon. “You going to go swimming?”
“I have two suits so one can dry and I can still swim in the other.”
“Isn’t that smart?” Bishop’s associate said. “What kind of suits are they? Hello Kitty?”
Mary-Gordon wrinkled her nose. “I’m too old for Hello Kitty and SpongeBob. One has flowers on it and the other is plain blue. I can swim without floaties.”
They stepped outside and the heat was as fierce as promised.
He turned around and glanced down at the girl with a smile. “You know, you’re cute as a button.”
Mary-Gordon asked, “What does that mean?”
The young man looked at Suellyn and they both laughed. He said, “I don’t have any idea.”
They waited for traffic then crossed into the lot. He whispered, “It’s good you’re here. Kayleigh’s pretty upset about Bobby.”
“I can imagine. Do they know what happened?”
“Not yet. It’s been terrible for everybody.” He lifted his voice and said to Mary-Gordon, “Hey, before we go to your aunt’s, you want to see something fun?”
“Yeah!”
“It’s really neat and you’ll like it.” He glanced at Suellyn. “Little detour? There’s this park practically on the way.”
“Please, Mommy!”
“All right. But we don’t want to be too late, Ritchie.”
He blinked. “Oh, I’m not Ritchie. I came to fetch you instead.” They arrived at his car. He took the suitcases and her computer bag and stashed them in the trunk of the big old Buick. It was bright red—a color you didn’t see much nowadays.
Chapter 24
AT KAYLEIGH’S HOUSE Kathryn Dance was talking to Darthur Morgan, who was holding but, being on duty, not reading, one of his old books.
“You’ve got an unusual name,” she said.
“Means ‘morning’ in German. Spelled different.” The huge man’s still face didn’t break character.
“That’s funny,” Dance told him. She’d been referring to his given name.
“Used it before.”
They were sitting in the living room, all the shades drawn, while Kayleigh was upstairs, changing clothes, as if being in the place where Bobby Prescott had died had somehow tainted what she’d worn.
The security man continued, “You know people think, being black, I was named Darthur because my parents didn’t know how to spell Arthur, or got confused. You hear that sometimes.”
“You do, true.”
“Fact is, they were both teachers and they like the classics.” He lifted his leather-bound book. Dickens. He added, “Malory’s Morte d’Arthur was one of their favorites.”