Solitude Creek (Kathryn Dance 4)

Dusk was around the three of them as they stood on the expansive porch--known to friends and family as the "Deck"--behind Dance's Victorian-style house, which was dark green with gray railings, shutters and trim, located in northwestern Pacific Grove; you could, if you chose to risk a tumble, catch a glimpse of ocean, about a half mile away.

Wes filled in: "He doesn't know whether he should call you Mrs. Dance or Agent Dance."

"Well, that's very polite of you to ask, Donnie. But since you're a friend of Wes's, you can call me Kathryn."

"Oh, I'm not supposed to call people that. I mean, adults. By their first name. My dad likes me to be respectful."

"I can talk to him."

"No, he just wouldn't like it."

"Then call me Mrs. Dance."

"Cool." His face brightened. "Mrs. Dance."

With his curly hair and cherubic face, Donnie would be a girl magnet soon. Well, probably already was, she thought. (And Wes? Handsome...and nice. A dangerous combination; already girls were starting to flutter. She was inclined to put the brakes on her own children's growing up but knew it'd be easier to stop the surf crashing on the sand at Spanish Bay.) Donnie lived not far away, biking distance, which Dance was grateful for--being a single mother, even with a good support net like Dance's, anything that reduced the task of chauffeuring was a blessing. She thought Donnie'd look better not wearing hoodies and baggy jeans...but valedictorians of middle school classes and Christian pop singers all dressed like gangstas nowadays, so who was she to judge?

Arriving from work just now, Dance had not come through the front door but through the side yard and gate--to make sure it was locked--and then ascended the steps to the Deck. Which meant she hadn't said hello to the four-legged residents of the household. They now came bounding forward for head rubs and, with any luck, a treat (alas, none today). Dylan, a German shepherd, named for the legendary singer-songwriter, and Patsy, a flat-coated retriever, in honor of Ms. Cline, Dance's favorite C&W singer.

"Can Donnie stay for dinner?" Wes asked.

"If it's okay, Mrs. Dance."

"I'll call your mother." Protocol.

"Sure. Thanks."

The boys returned to a game board and dropped to the redwood decking, crunching down chips and drinking Honest Tea. Soda was not to be found in the Dance household.

Dance found the boy's home number and called. His mother spoke briefly to her husband and then said it was fine for him to stay for dinner but he should be home by nine.

She disconnected, then returned to the living room where her father, Stuart, and ten-year-old Maggie sat in front of the TV.

"Mom! You came in the back door!"

She didn't, of course, tell her that she'd been checking the perimeter and double-locking the gate. Two active cases, with a number of bad actors who could, if they really wanted to, find her.

"Give me a hug, honey."

The girl complied happily.

"Wes and Donnie won't let me play their game."

"It's a boys' game, I'm sure."

A frown crossed the girl's heart-shaped face. "I don't know what that is. I don't think there should be boy games and girl games."

Good point. If and when Dance ever remarried, Maggie had announced she was going to be "Best Woman"--whatever her age. The girl had also learned of feminism in school and, returning home after social studies, had declared, to Dance's delight, that she wasn't a feminist. She was an "equalist."

"Hi, Dad," Dance said.

Stuart rose and hugged his daughter. He was seventy, and though his time outdoors as a marine biologist had taken a toll on the flesh, he looked y

ounger than his years. He was tall, six two, wide-shouldered, with unruly white hair, thick. Dermatologists' scalpels and lasers had left their mark too and he now rarely went outside without a floppy hat. He was retired, yes, but when not babysitting the grandkids or puttering around the house in Carmel, he worked at the famed Monterey Bay Aquarium several days a week.

"Where's Mom?"

Staunch Edie Dance was a cardiac nurse at the Monterey Bay Hospital.