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We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
    “I really can’t.”
    Bobby took Edwin’s arm once more before Dance could intervene. But again the man simply stood back. He didn’t seem to have any interest in a confrontation, much less a physical fight.
    There was a blinding flash and the table was immersed in light as the door opened, then the illumination was blocked. Removing his aviator shades, Darthur Morgan moved in fast. He looked at Edwin’s face and Dance could see the muscles around his mouth tighten, a sign of displeasure at himself for missing the slimmed-down stalker.
    “You’re Edwin Sharp?”
    “That’s right, Mr. Morgan.”
    It wasn’t hard to get information about people nowadays, especially those connected with a very public person like Kayleigh Towne. But learning the name of her security guard?
    “I’m going to ask you to leave Ms. Towne alone now. She wants you to leave. You’re becoming a security threat.”
    “Well, under Giles versus Lohan, I’m really not, Mr. Morgan. There’snot even an implied threat. Anyway, the last thing that I want is to hurt or threaten anybody. I’m just here offering my friend some sympathy over something that happened to her, something traumatic. And seeing if she’d like some tea. Happy to buy you some too.”
    “I think that’s about it now,” Morgan said in a low, insistent baritone.
    Edwin continued calmly, “You’re private, of course. You can make a citizen’s arrest but only if you see me committing a crime. And I haven’t done that. You were a police officer, that’d be different, but you’re—”
    Well, it’s come to that, Dance thought. Guess I knew it would. And she rose, displaying her CBI identification card.
    “Ah.” Edwin stared for what seemed to be an inordinately long time as if memorizing it. “Had a feeling you were law.”
    “Could I see some ID?”
    “You bet.” He handed over his driver’s license, issued by Washington state. Edwin Stanton Sharp. Address in Seattle. The picture was of somebody who was indeed much heavier and with long, stringy hair.
    “Where are you staying in Fresno?” Dance asked.
    “A house by Woodward Park. One of those new developments. It’s not bad.” A smile. “Sure gets hot in Fresno.”
    “You moved here?” Alicia asked in a surprised whisper.
    Kayleigh’s eyes widened at this and her shoulders rose.
    “Nope, just renting. For the time being. I’m in town for the concert. It’s going to be the best of the year. I can’t wait.”
    Why would he rent a house to attend a single concert?
    “No, you wanted to stalk Kayleigh,” Bobby blurted. “The lawyers warned you about that.”
    Lawyers? Dance wondered.
    Edwin looked around the table. The smile dimmed. “I think all of you … how you’re acting is upsetting Kayleigh.” He said to her, “I’m sorry about that. I know what you’re up against. But don’t worry, it’ll all work out.” He walked to the door, paused and turned back. “And goodbye to you too, Agent Dance. God bless you for the sacrifices you make for the people of this state.”

 
     

Chapter 4
    WHEN DANCE SAID, “Tell me,” they did. All of them.
    At once.
    And only after she reined in the intersecting narratives did she begin to grasp the whole picture. Last winter a fan had become convinced that Kayleigh’s automated form letters and emails, signed “XO, Kayleigh,” hugs and kisses, were to be taken personally. Because the songs had meant so much to him, perfectly expressing how he felt about life, he’d told himself that they were soul mates. He began a barrage of correspondence—email, Facebook and Twitter posts, handwritten letters—and he’d sent her presents.
    Advised to ignore him, Kayleigh and her assistants stopped responding, except to send back any gifts, unopened, but Edwin Sharp nonetheless persisted, apparently believing that her father and handlers felt threatened by the connection between him and Kayleigh and wanted to keep them