The woman got it, deciding not to tell the lie she’d been about to. “No, nothing at all. Just the opposite. He sounded so protective. I actually felt good that somebody was looking out for her.”

Your shadow …

Strike one.

Next Mary-Gordon joined them. Dance showed her pictures of her own children and the dogs. The agent sipped her coffee and ate the cookies and chatted with the little girl, who meticulously set her place for her own cookie and milk and ate precisely.

With children, deception isn’t uncommon, of course; kids lie about as frequently as adults but their motives are clearer: missing candy, broken lamps. But the main problem with children as witnesses is that they don’t know how to characterize what they observe. Behaviors that seem suspicious to them might not be; and they’ll often miss the most egregious crimes because they don’t know they’re crimes.

Dance slowly shifted the conversation to the drive from the airport. But this talk too was futile. All the little girl remembered was a nice man who told her lots of neat things about the area and really liked her aunt. Her bright blue eyes sparkled as she talked about “Stan,” Edwin Sharp’s pseudonym.

She liked it that he was so helpful in picking out a present for Kayleigh. “He wanted me to get something she’d like. It was really neat! A stuffed tree.”

“Thank you, Mary-Gordon,” Dance said.

“You’re welcome. Will we see that man again, Mr. Stan? I liked him.”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“You can take a cookie with you, if you want. Or two.”

“I think I’ll do that.” Dance wrapped them up in a pink napkin. They were really good.

As they left the den, Suellyn said, “Not much to use, right?”

“Don’t think so but appreciate the help.”

After knocking and being waved in by Sheri, Darthur Morgan walked inside, his own bag in one hand and two books in the other. Mary-Gordon took his suitcase.

“No—”

“I’ll show you your room, Mr. Morgan.”

“You don’t have to get—”

“I’ll take it,” the little girl said and charged off, drawing a look of amused confusion from the huge man.

Dance said goodnight to Bishop and Sheri and then stepped outside. She found Kayleigh on the front porch swing. The two women were alone. Dance sat on a creaking rattan chair next to the swing. The singer lifted her hands, indicating her father’s house. “Look at this,” she said with an edge to her voice. “Look what’s happened. People’re dead, lives’re ruined. I’m hiding out with my father, for God’s sake. My life’s a mess. And we don’t even know for sure he’s behind it. He is, don’t you think?”

Dance sensed that something had happened recently, something Kayleigh did not want to share. She knew Kayleigh’s baseline behavior pretty well and there were now deviations in her eye contact and shoulder position. It would have to do with something internal—thoughts she was having, memories that she didn’t want to share with Dance, something she’d done wrong. And recently.