“Are you in an arcade or something?”

“Carnival. Date. We’re in line for the roller coaster but I’ll go around again for you.” His voice faded as he spoke away from the phone. “It’s my boss…. Right. You better finish that Slurpee before we get on…. No, I’m telling you. Really. Does the word ‘inverted’ mean anything?”

TJ was the most alternative of the agents in the Monterey office of the CBI, who were in general a conservative lot. He was the go-to man when it came to long, demanding assignments, undercover work and any trivia regarding the sixties, Bob Dylan, tie-dye and lava lamps.

Quirky, yes. But who was Dance to judge? Here she was taking a week off in Fresno and sitting in a stiflingly hot garage to record obscure songs by a group of cheerful and likely undocumented farmworkers.

“Need you to check out something, TJ.”

She gave him what she knew on Edwin Sharp. She then recited the number of the caller who’d played the song for Kayleigh not long ago.

TJ asked, “Anything in particular? On Sharp?”

“The usual. But civil too. Stalking, lawsuits, restraining orders. Here and Washington state. Throw in Oregon for good measure.”

“Will do. Pine trees, pinot noir, cheese. No, that’s Wisconsin.”

“Have fun.”

“We are. I won Sadie a panda…. No, I’m serious. Lose the Slurpee. Centrifugal force will not do it…. So long, Boss.”

Dance disconnected. She tried Jon Boling but his phone went to voicemail. Another sip of wine and then she decided it was time for bed. She rose and walked to the window, drawing the drapes shut. Then brushed her teeth, ditched the robe and pulled on boxers and a faded pink T-shirt, way too big; Kathryn Dance was a nightgown girl only on special occasions.

She rolled toward the light, groping for the switch.

And froze.

The window!

Before leaving for Villalobos’s Dance had closed the gauze curtain and the heavy drapes; the first-floor room overlooked the parking lot, a four-lane street and, across it, a small park.

The same drapes she’d just closed once again.

Only she’d never opened them earlier. Someone else had been inside her room and pulled them apart.

Who had breached the DO NOT DISTURB barrier?

It hadn’t been Housekeeping—the room wasn’t straightened up, the bed still mussed from where she’d plopped down to call the children that afternoon.

Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. Her dark green suitcases were where she’d left them. The clothes still in the closet as before, carelessly dangling on theft-proof hangers, and the five pairs of shoes were exactly where she’d set them in a row near the dresser. Her computer bag didn’t seem tampered with and the computer itself was password protected anyway, so no one could have read her files or emails.

Shutting the light off, she walked to the window and looked out. It was eleven-thirty and the park across the road was empty … wait, no. Someone was in the shadows. She couldn’t make out a specific person but she saw the tiny orange glow of a cigarette moving slowly as the smoker would lift it for a drag.