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"I wrote it for you."
"Oh, sing it to me!"
"It's not finished but here's part of it." She sang and the girl stared raptly at her.
"That's a very good song," Mary-Gordon announced with a furrowed brow as if she were the artists and repertoire director of a major label, passing judgment on a young songwriter's submission.
Kayleigh continued to unpack, pausing momentarily to look at a picture of the family from fifteen or so years ago: Bishop, Margaret, Suellyn and Kayleigh on the porch of the old family house in the hills an hour north of here.
I've lived in LA, I've lived in Maine,
New York City and the Midwest Plains,
But there's only one place I consider home.
When I was a kid--the house we owned.
The girl turned her bright blue eyes toward the singer. "Are you crying, Aunt Kayleigh?"
The singer blinked. "Well, a little, Mary-Gordon, but you know sometimes people cry because they're happy."
"I didn't know that. I don't think I do."
"Not everybody."
"Where does this go?" she asked, picking up a pair of jeans. And placed them carefully in the drawer at which Kayleigh pointed.
"TIDE'S TURNED."
Dance heard the man's voice behind her in the lobby of her hotel. She wasn't alarmed. She knew his voice by now.
Though for a moment she didn't recognize P. K. Madigan. He was wearing civvies--blue jeans, a plaid shirt, cowboy boots and a tan cap embroidered on the crest with a hooked fish flying out of the water.
"Chief."
She was headed out--on her way to Bishop's house to continue the interviews of Kayleigh's family--but she diverted and walked u
p to him. She glanced into the bar. She almost asked, "You want some ice cream?" but decided: "Coffee? Soda?"
"Naw," the big man said. "See you're on your way out. Had to stop by and talk to you."
"Sure." Dance noted his slumped posture, very different from the in-your-face pose when she'd met him at the scene of Bobby's death.
"Here's the thing. Anita's playing it by the rules. Nobody in the division can talk to me--for their sake too. I'm cut out completely. And you're in charge now."
Ah, the meaning of the turned tide, she realized.
"Not exactly in charge."
"More than anybody else. Damn. Wish I'd listened to you back in that interrogation room and let that son of a bitch go then."
Her heart went out to the detective. He seemed lost.
"I asked the sheriff if I could consult or anything. But she said no. It'd look bad. Might prejudice the case." He gave a laugh, harsh and cold. "Didn't know whether she meant the case against the killer or the case against me. So, I'm sidelined."
"I'm sorry it worked out that way."
He waved his hand. "Nobody to blame but myself. I feel worse for Miguel. He's got a wife doesn't work and three kids. Won't have any savings." He was awkward now. "I've got to stay off the radar, Kathryn, but I'm just wondering, is there anything I can do?"
