Dance looked at the lyric sheet they had pinned up on a badly mounted corkboard.

“Where’s he going to strike? A river … a river.”

“And,” Crystal Stanning added, “who’s he got in mind for the next victim?”

Chapter 23

“MARY-GORDON, STAY OFF that. See the sign?”

“It’s not moving, Mommy,” the six-year-old pointed out. Suellyn Sanchez reflected what perfect logic that was. The warning sign on the baggage carousel: STAY OFF THE MOVING BELT.

“It could start at any minute.”

“But when the light comes on I can get off.”

How they tested the limits.

The mother and daughter were at the arrivals area in Fresno–Yosemite airport, their flight from Portland having arrived twenty minutes early. Suellyn looked around for their ride. Saw no one yet and turned back to the girl. “And it’s filthy. You’ll get your dress stained.”

That risk apparently didn’t carry much weight either. But all it took was one “Mary-Gordon,” uttered in a certain tone, that very special tone, and the cute blonde stepped back immediately. Funny, Suellyn thought, she and her husband never laid a hand on the girl, never even threatened spanking, and their daughter was far better behaved than the children of neighbors who did wallop their kids—all in the name of raising them right.

Sadists, she thought.

And then reminded herself to chill. Bobby Prescott’s death had cast a pall over everything. And how was Kayleigh holding up? She and Bobby had quite a history, of course, and Suellyn knew that her kid sister would be reeling from the loss.

The poor thing …

And the possibility that he’d been murdered?

Maybe by that gross stalker who’d been bothering Kayleigh for the past few months. Terrible.

She remembered Bishop’s call that morning, after she’d learned the sad news from Kayleigh. The conversation with her father had been conducted in the clumsy way he bobbled nearly everything personal. Suellyn was thinking it was odd that he’d called in the first place, much less to ask if she’d come to Fresno to support her sister during this tough time … until Suellyn realized: Bishop would want to share the bereavement duty with someone else. Anyone else. Well, no, he’d want to hand off the job completely if he could.

But who knew his real motive? Their father was both transparent and unreadable.

And where was the luggage? She was impatient.

Suellyn resembled her younger sister in a vague way. She had a wholly unsupported theory that the greater the distance in age, the less siblings looked like each other. Eight years separated the two, and Suellyn was taller, of broader build and fuller face, which couldn’t be traced to the fifteen pounds she had on her sister. Her nose was longer and her chin stronger, she felt, though her light brown hair was of the same fine, flowing texture, light as air. Today she was prepared for the assault of a late Fresno summer, in a burgundy sundress, cut low in front and back, and Brighton sandals, whose silver hearts covering the first two toes fascinated Mary-Gordon.