Maybe destroying evidence of a furtive meeting.

“Thanks.” Trish inhaled and then, her voice breaking, said, “Not okay.”

Dance lifted an eyebrow.

“You asked me how I was. And I said ‘Okay.’ But I’m not okay.” She shivered and cried harder. Dance pulled a wad of napkins from the holder and handed them over.

Trish said, “Not very fucking okay at all. Mom was, like, she wasn’t the best mom in the world—she was more of a friend to me than a mom. Which drove me fucking crazy sometimes. Like she wanted to be my older sister or something. But despite all that crap, I miss her so much.”

“Your nose,” Dance said. The girl wiped.

“And Dad’s so different.”

“They had joint custody?”

“Mom had me most of the time. That’s what she wanted and Dad didn’t fight it. It was like he just wanted out.”

To be with a coworker or waitress or secretary. Dance recalled her earlier speculation about the breakup.

“It’s just going to be so weird, living in the house again, with him. They got divorced six years ago. Everybody tells me it goes away, all this stuff, what I’m feeling. Just time, it’ll be all right.”

“Everybody’s wrong,” Dance said.

“What?”

“I lost my husband a few years ago.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

A nod of acknowledgment. “It doesn’t go away. Ever. And it shouldn’t. We should always miss certain people who’ve been in our lives. But there’ll be islands, more and more of them.”

“Islands?”

“That’s the way I thought of it. Islands—of times when you’re content, you don’t think about the loss. Now it’s like your world’s underwater. All of it. But the water goes down and the islands come up. The water’ll be there always but you’ll find dry land again. That helped me get through it. A friend told me that.” Martine Christiansen.

“I should go. He’ll be back soon.”

She rose and turned away. Dance did too. Then in an instant the girl turned and threw her arms around the agent, crying again. “Islands,” she whispered. “Thank you…Islands.”

Chapter 29

Hello?”

Arthur K. Meddle turned from surveying the placement of chairs at the Bay View Center to see a man in the doorway.

“Help you? Hold on.” He turned away and shouted, “Charlie, add another row. Come on. Four hundred. Got to be four hundred. Sorry. Help you?”

The man stepped closer. He seemed bored. “Yessir. I’m a Monterey County fire inspector.”

Meddle gave a fast glance at the ID. “Officer Dunn. Or Inspector?”

“Officer.”

“Sure. What can I do for you?”

“You the manager?”

“That’s right.”

The well-dressed polite fellow looked around the interior of the center, with furrowed brows, then his eyes came back to Meddle. “You may’ve heard, sir, about the incident at Solitude Creek? The club?”

“Oh, yeah. Terrible.”

“We’re thinking it was done intentionally.”

“I heard that on the news.” Meddle didn’t know this guy so he didn’t add what he wanted to: What kind of crazy shit would do that?