He responded as crisply as his starched, highly ironed shirts.
K, Kathryn. On it right now.
She put her phone away.
"When's brunch?" Maggie asked, poking her head out the door.
"Jon'll be home anytime." She looked at her Timex. He was ten minutes late. It wasn't like him not to call.
"K." The girl vanished.
Her phone hummed.
Maybe that's him. But no.
"TJ."
He and several MCSO deputies had been systematically contacting venues with public performances or large social events and asking them to cancel.
"I think we've got most of the big ones. Concerts, church services, plays, sports events--praise the Lord it's not March Madness, or we'd have riots on our hands. By the way, boss, I am not the most popular man on the Peninsula--in the eyes of the Chamber of Commerce and assorted wedding parties, persona non grata. The Robertsons are not inviting me to the rescheduled reception."
Dance thanked him and they disconnected.
Stuart asked, "How's it going?"
She shrugged. "Ruining people's Sunday."
"So, Maggie's not singing in the talent show tonight?"
"No, she didn't want to. I was going to push it but..." A shrug.
Stuart smiled. "Sometimes, you let it go." He knew he'd made a pun on the song his granddaughter was going to have sung. Dance laughed, reflecting that the song title had become a theme of hers over the past few days.
"When's brunch?" Wes called from the doorway, echoing his sister.
Dance glanced at her phone. Still no word from Boling. "We'll get things started."
She and Stuart walked into the kitchen. She Keuriged some coffee for them both and prowled through the fridge.
She glanced toward her son.
"No texting at the
table."
"We're not eating yet."
A look from Mom. The mobile disappeared into his back pocket.
"So, what's on the wish list for brunch?"
Maggie: "Waf--"
"--cakes," her brother chimed in.
"Wafcakes."
Maggie poured an orange juice and sipped. "When are you going to get married?" Maggie asked, like a father to a pregnant daughter.