She kissed him energetically. “Yes, yes, yes! We’ll work it out. I’d love to.” Then she frowned. “But a favor?”

“Sure, of course.”

She whispered, “Can you and I get adjoining rooms? Sometimes the kids go to sleep early.”

“That can be arranged.”

She kissed him once more.

Just as her phone chirped. This time, O’Neil had sent a text: Signed the divorce papers. Enjoy the concert. See you soon … I hope.

Oh, brother, she thought.

Oh, brother.

Another ding. She looked down: XO, Michael.

She slipped the phone away and took Boling’s hand.

“A problem?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “No problems at all.”

Then the hulking form of Bishop Towne was approaching. He paused and, ignoring Boling, grunted to Dance, “Guess this is it.” He took a deep breath. “Times like these’re when I really miss a drink. Guess I better go make a slew of people real unhappy.”

He ambled out onstage.

There was, of course, a resounding thunderclap of applause and shouts; this was Mr. Country himself greeting them, about to introduce his even more talented daughter.

He waved.

Pandemonium.

Dance and Boling walked into the wings to see better. As the spotlight found Towne, he looked diminished and old and in pain. He squinted slightly, hesitated and continued to an active microphone.

He scanned the crowd and seemed surprised there were so many people there, though Dance suspected that the savvy businessman would know the exact head count and box office receipts.

He rasped, “Good evening, y’all. I—” His voice caught and he started again. “I surely do ’preciate you coming out tonight.” Bishop, Dance had noted, had no Southern accent when he was engaged in regular conversation. Now, a twang of Appalachia tinted his words.

More whistles and shouts and applause.

“Listen up, listen up. Uhm, I have an announcement I’d like to make.”

There was a beat as the crowd grew silent, expecting something was wrong, perhaps related to Kayleigh’s kidnapping earlier in the day and the other events of the past week.

Collective dismay was starting to brew.

“Again, we ’preciate your being here and appreciate all the support you’ve shown to Kayleigh and the band and her family during this difficult time.”

He cleared his throat once more.

As he said, “I gotta tell you—” The applause began again and kept going and kept going, swelling, swelling, and became a force of its own. Within two or three seconds, the entire crowd was on its feet, howling, clapping, whistling.

Bishop was confused. What was this about?

Dance too didn’t have a clue, until she looked stage left and saw Kayleigh Towne walking forward, carrying a guitar and waving to the crowd.

She paused and blew them a kiss.

More unearthly sounds filled the concert hall, glow sticks waved back and forth, flashes from the prohibited cameras exploded like sunlight on choppy water.

Dance noticed that Suellyn and Mary-Gordon were now standing with Sheri Towne in the wings opposite, watching Kayleigh stride up to her father. They weren’t alone. Art Francesco, from Global Entertainment, was now with them and chatting warmly with Sheri and her stepdaughter.