Page 129 of Never Flinch

“Before you ask, the entire staff has either gotten pictures of this Christopher Stewart dingbat or will get them as soon as they come in.”

“Excellent, but there’s something you should be aware of. He may be dressed as a woman and wearing a wig.”

Maisie looks troubled. “Then how are we supposed to—”

“I know, it’s a problem. You’ll just have to do the best you can.”

They take the elevator up to stage level, where Maisie shows her the video set-up. It’s very good. Many cameras, many angles, few blind spots. The stage itself is littered with amps, monitors, mics, and music stands. Holly takes pictures so Kate will see what she has to work around. They go down a few steps at stage left and enter the auditorium. Holly is happy—no, delighted—to see that eventgoers will have to pass through metal detectors to enter the auditorium. Maisie shows Holly the various exits.

“We need to get out with as little fuss as possible,” Holly says. She has no hope of dodging all the eBayers, but if Stewart is here (“the dingbat,” she likes that), they may be able to dodge him. “Do you have any ideas?”

“I might,” Maisie says. “It worked for Neil Diamond when he was here.”

They take the elevator down to the break room, where a dozen or so employees are grazing at a buffet consisting of coffee, fruit, yogurt, and hardboiled eggs. On one wall is a sign reading REMEMBER YOU ARE DEALING WITH THE PUBLIC, SO SMILE! Belowthis are framed pictures of staff members, including not one, not two, butthreestage managers.

“Why so many managers?” Holly asks.

“They rotate in and out. Mostly because our big shows are keyed around holidays. Those guys all work when we put onThe Nutcracker. What a horror show that is, runny-nosed kids everywhere, don’t get me started. Come on back.”

She leads Holly past the buffet and back into the small kitchen. There’s a door between the stove and the fridge that gives on the far end of the employees’ parking lot.

“This is your escape route,” Maisie says.

Holly takes pictures. “I’ll tell Kate’s assistant. And do me a favor?”

“I will if I can.”

“Don’t tell anyone we’re going out this way.” She says this with no real belief they can fool the eBayers, but as always, she has Holly hope.

4

11:15 AM.

Corrie spends five minutes on hold, all the time worrying she’ll be late for her scheduled meeting with Donald Gibson at the Mingo. She’s about to kill the call when the program coordinator at the North Hills Event Center breaks into the hold music and confirms (finally!) Kate at the venue for Tuesday, June 3rd, eight PM. It’s just twelve minutes from downtown Pittsburgh, the seating capacity is ten thousand, and the Event Center’s fee is reasonable.

She hangs up, lifts fisted hands over her head, and murmurs, “Anderson shoots, Anderson scores.”

She hurries down to the second-floor fitness center to tell Kate, who is swimming early today. Holly is sitting by the pool, holding Kate’s towel and reading about the Real Christ Holy Church on her iPad. Kate herself is churning tirelessly in her red bathing suit. Corrie tells Kate about the favorable change of venue in Pittsburgh. Kate gives her a thumbs-up, barely losing a stroke.

“I sat on hold forever, waiting to nail down that venue, and all I get is a quick attagirl,” Corrie grumbles.

Holly gives her a smile. “Some poet or other said, ‘They also serve who only stand and wait.’ Or in our case, make phone calls and hold towels.”

“That wasn’t just ‘some poet or other,’ that was John Milton, the original cool-daddy versifier.”

“If you say so.”

“Have you heard anything more about Chris Stewart?”

“If you mean has he been arrested, I wish I could say yes, but he hasn’t.”

“What about the other man? The one who’s killing jurors?”

“Not jurors, innocent people whostandfor jurors, at least in this dingbat’s mind. That’s actually Isabelle Jaynes’s case.”

“But you’re interested, right? Sent out one of your minions to investigate?”

Holly thinks of the little yellow creatures inDespicable Meand laughs. “John’s not a minion, he’s a bartender.”

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