“Should we get Darthur?” Kayleigh asked.

Not a bad idea, Dance decided.

But before she rose to summon the guard, twin lights crested a hump in the drive and the car they were attached to stopped.

Kayleigh froze—literally in the headlights.

Dance eyed the vehicle carefully but it was impossible to see anything specific.

What was the driver doing?

Was it Edwin? Was he going to jam the accelerator to the floor and crash into the house, in a bid to kill Kayleigh and then take his own life?

Dance stood up and pulled Kayleigh to her feet.

Just as the car bucked and started forward.

Chapter 43

BUT THE VEHICLE turned out to be a very unthreatening—and slow moving—powder blue Ford Taurus.

And one did not need to be a kinesics expert to note the sea change in Kayleigh’s body language when she saw the driver.

“Oh, it’s Barry!” she cried, offering a smile.

A very tall man, lanky and long-faced handsome, was climbing out. He had a shock of black curly hair and round glasses. Kayleigh ran down the stairs and embraced him hard.

She said, “I didn’t expect you for a couple of days.”

Glancing once toward Dance, Zeigler said, “Really? I called Bishop earlier and told him I was driving in tonight.”

“Oh, that man,” Kayleigh muttered. “Never said a word.”

“I was in Carmel seeing Neil. I got your message about Bobby. Terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s the worst, Barry.” Kayleigh turned to Dance and introduced them. Zeigler, Kayleigh’s producer at her record label, was based in Los Angeles. Dance realized he looked familiar and recalled, at Kayleigh’s house, seeing him in a half dozen framed pictures with the singer going back years. In one they both held a Recording Industry Association of America platinum record award, signifying that she’d sold more than a million of one of her songs or albums.

In jeans, a white T-shirt and dark jacket, Zeigler seemed a bit nineties to Dance but it was a reasonable look for a record producer from any decade. Except for a touch of gray and only at the temples, he didn’t look any different from the man in those photographs.

“And Sheri was attacked too?”

“She was hurt but she’ll be all right.”

“Do you have any leads?” he asked Dance. “Is it that guy Sharp?”

Kayleigh nodded and explained, “Barry knows all about our friend. Edwin’s sent plenty of letters to the label, complaining about production standards, orchestration, technical quality.”

“Pain in the ass,” Zeigler grumbled.

The law enforcement disclaimer: “We’re just gathering information at this point. But tell me, did he ever threaten you or anyone?”

“Like physically?”

“Yes,” Dance replied.

Zeigler shook his head. “He’s been more insulting. I mean, BHRC’s the third oldest record company in L.A. We’ve been producing Kayleigh for six years. She’s had eight gold and four platinums. We must be doing something right. But not according to Sharp. Just last week he sent us a two-page email about the acoustic dynamics on the download of ‘Your Shadow.’ He said it was off in the high ranges. Why was Delmore playing Dobro and not pedal steel? … He said, ‘Kayleigh deserves better than this.’ And then he said we should issue her on vinyl. He’s an analog hound.”