There really was nothing like that utter exhilaration, the power of voice and music in unison, streaming from the speakers, the audience yours, the connection consuming. Once you’ve been up in front of the lights it’s easy to understand the addiction of having thousands of people in your spell. The power, the drug of attention, affection, need.

It’s why performers like Kayleigh Towne continue to climb up onstage, despite the exhaustion, the toll on families … despite the risk from people like Edwin Stanton Sharp.

The singer was dressed for the concert—in her good-girl outfit, of course. The only difference was that tonight she was the good girl who’d just been playing softball with friends; on her head a Cal State Fresno Bulldogs’ cap covered her shorn hair.

At the moment she was off to the side, “banging in” a new guitar. She wouldn’t perform on her favorite Martin until it had been restrung and completely cleaned—because of the human bone picks Edwin had given her. Dance, as unsuperstitious as they came, couldn’t blame her one bit; she herself might’ve thrown out the instrument and bought a new one.

“Well.” P. K. Madigan wandered up, accompanied by a short, round woman of about forty. She had a pretty face, rooted forever in her high school years, with big cheerful eyes and freckles, framed by page-boy-cut brown hair. Dance found it charming that they held hands.

He introduced Dance to his wife.

“The CBI’s welcome in Fresno anytime,” Madigan told her, “provided you’re the point person.”

“It’s a deal. Let’s just hope you don’t get any more cases like this one.”

“We’re gonna hear the concert,” he added dubiously. “Or some of it. Long as it doesn’t get too loud. Oh, here.”

He thrust a box into her hand. Dance opened it and laughed. It was a Fresno Madera Consolidated Sheriff’s Office badge.

“Tin star.”

She thanked him and resisted the urge to pin it to her green silk blouse.

Madigan looked around grumpily and then said, “All righty then.” He led his wife to their seats. It might have been Dance’s imagination but he seemed to be looking for something in the back of the hall. Was it shadows or stalkers or ice cream vendors?

Dance turned her attention back to Kayleigh, who’d handed off the new guitar to Tye Slocum with some instructions. The singer then spoke to the band about some last-minute changes in the order of who would take instrumental solos and when. She’d changed a verse in one of her original songs, one that was meant for Bobby. Now, it included a few lines for Alicia. She’d told Dance that she was praying that she could get through the number without crying.

Tye Slocum shyly approached and told her the action had been adjusted as she wanted. She thanked him and the big man waited a moment. His generally evasive eyes snuck a glance or two at the singer’s face and then he headed off. One might infer something suspicious from the expressions and kinesics, but to Dance all they revealed was a sheen of adoration. Which would forever remain unrequited.