“And when that happens, he’ll become simple obsessional. Like spurned husbands or lovers. They’re the dangerous stalkers. It could happen in an instant. He’ll snap. He’ll want revenge.” Dance debated but decided there was no point in sugarcoating her assessment. “Or he’ll just want to kill you so nobody else can have you.”

Chapter 21

THE CONVENTION CENTER had been sanitized.

Kathryn Dance wasn’t cynical about the world of business—she’d been a consultant and journalist. And music at Kayleigh Towne’s level was a very serious business indeed, so she wasn’t surprised that the crime scene had been cleaned as quickly as possible, all traces of the death removed, to make sure the concert could proceed as planned.

Dance had prepared herself for the smell; nothing lingers like the odor of burned hair and flesh, but whatever commercial forensic cleaning operation Madigan or Charlie Shean used had done a bang-up job. The perfume was of Lysol and, of all things, cinnamon.

Kayleigh was blocking out stage directions for the show—what she’d been doing when the light fell. Tye Slocum, the guitar technician, was temporarily chief roadie, until Alicia could fill the job with a pro; they needed someone who not only knew equipment but could mix sound at the console, as complicated as an airplane’s cockpit. The quiet, heavyset young man was distracted and not particularly confident but trying to rise to the occasion. There were, of course, hundreds of decisions to be made. Sweating, he kept glancing at Kayleigh for direction, which she provided, along with smiles and nods of encouragement, though she was clearly distracted to be near the place where her friend had died.

With Kayleigh’s okay, Dance called Tye over and explained what she needed—to speak to all of the crew. He rounded them up—ranging from their early twenties to forties and physically fit, thanks probably to the demanding nature of their jobs. Dance spoke to them in the scuffed, black-painted wings of the hall.

She noted great camaraderie among them and Kayleigh—the whole operation was like a big family—but no one stood out as approaching Bobby’s level of closeness to Kayleigh, and therefore an obvious threat to Edwin. Of any of them, Tye was the one who seemed to know Kayleigh best but she felt merely a brotherly kind of affection, she’d deduced from the singer’s body language when speaking to him.

Nor did Dance sense that any of them might have a motive to kill Bobby Prescott—another reason for her mission here, though she hadn’t stressed that to Kayleigh.

The only one Dance didn’t interview was Alicia. She’d been here at the convention center earlier when Dance arrived, standing outside beside a Ford F150 pickup with a trailer hitch on the back and a bumper sticker that announced: I ♥ MY QUARTER HORSE

A cigarette had dangled from her lips and she’d looked more like a local Teamster than a personal assistant—considering her muscular arms, inkings and attitudinal visage. Of anyone on the staff, Alicia was probably the most at risk; she’d defied Edwin the most at the Cowboy Saloon on Sunday and would present an obstacle to the stalker’s getting close to Kayleigh.