“I’d vote no,” Gomez said. Allerton nodded her agreement.

Dance turned to Overby. Her gaze lasered him briefly.

After a moment, eyes on the well-examined linoleum floor, he said, “We’ll keep it private for the time being. No releasing the details to the media.”

Well, score one for us, Dance thought and made an effort not to reveal her surprise.

Chapter 15

Mom, Donnie’s got a, you know, a question.”

Dance, thinking: You know. But she rarely corrected the children in front of anyone. She’d give a gentle chide later. She cocked her head to her son, lean and fair-haired. Nearly as tall as she.

“Sure. What?”

Donnie Verso, a dark-haired thirteen-year-old in Wes’s class, looked her in the eye. “Well, I’m not sure what to call you.”

Dusk was around the three of them as they stood on the expansive porch—known to friends and family as the “Deck”—behind Dance’s Victorian-style house, which was dark green with gray railings, shutters and trim, located in northwestern Pacific Grove; you could, if you chose to risk a tumble, catch a glimpse of ocean, about a half mile away.

Wes filled in: “He doesn’t know whether he should call you Mrs. Dance or Agent Dance.”

“Well, that’s very polite of you to ask, Donnie. But since you’re a friend of Wes’s, you can call me Kathryn.”

“Oh, I’m not supposed to call people that. I mean, adults. By their first name. My dad likes me to be respectful.”

“I can talk to him.”

“No, he just wouldn’t like it.”

“Then call me Mrs. Dance.”

“Cool.” His face brightened. “Mrs. Dance.”

With his curly hair and cherubic face, Donnie would be a girl magnet soon. Well, probably already was, she thought. (And Wes? Handsome…and nice. A dangerous combination; already girls were starting to flutter. She was inclined to put the brakes on her own children’s growing up but knew it’d be easier to stop the surf crashing on the sand at Spanish Bay.) Donnie lived not far away, biking distance, which Dance was grateful for—being a single mother, even with a good support net like Dance’s, anything that reduced the task of chauffeuring was a blessing. She thought Donnie’d look better not wearing hoodies and baggy jeans…but valedictorians of middle school classes and Christian pop singers all dressed like gangstas nowadays, so who was she to judge?

Arriving from work just now, Dance had not come through the front door but through the side yard and gate—to make sure it was locked—and then ascended the steps to the Deck. Which meant she hadn’t said hello to the four-legged residents of the household. They now came bounding forward for head rubs and, with any luck, a treat (alas, none today). Dylan, a German shepherd, named for the legendary singer-songwriter, and Patsy, a flat-coated retriever, in honor of Ms. Cline, Dance’s favorite C&W singer.

“Can Donnie stay for dinner?” Wes asked.

“If it’s okay, Mrs. Dance.”

“I’ll call your mother.” Protocol.

“Sure. Thanks.”

The boys returned to a game board and dropped to the redwood decking, crunching down chips and drinking Honest Tea. Soda was not to be found in the Dance household.