Crescent City Connection

mom-and-pop groceries. You’re not going to have five minutes to check out weird religious groups. If you want to break this thing, you better get some kind of religion yourself.”
    Abasolo sucked in air.
    “You hear what I’m saying? It’s now or never, kid.”
    Just what she needed. More pressure.
    If she could have worked twenty-four hours a day, she would have. And so she hit galleries with a vengeance, all the while fretting, trying to think of other avenues to follow.
    Lovelace might have credit cards with her—Skip got on the computer and checked for recent purchases. There were none.
    There was no record anywhere for an Isaac Jacomine, not even a Social Security number—but that she already knew. She checked the coroner’s office for a twenty-year-old white female or a twenty-seven-year-old white male, and again came up with nothing.
    Finally, she went home and endured the nightly hurdle of getting through the courtyard without getting bitten by Napoleon.
    “He’s never bitten anyone,” Steve said. “What makes you think he’d bite you? He loves you.”
    “He hates me.”
    Nevertheless, she went for a walk with the two of them. Truth to tell, Napoleon was the tiniest bit friendlier, meaning his growling had taken on a kind of half-hearted quality.
At least,
she thought,
he makes it harder for anyone to get to us.
    But Errol Jacomine was a man who’d killed several times already and who didn’t work alone. A German shepherd, however ornery, wasn’t really going to stop him.
    Steve said, “You know what you need? Comfort food.” He made her his special baked potato with sautéed vegetables, and they went over to watch a video with Jimmy Dee and Layne.
    “No kids?” said Steve, and she reflected how far he’d come. He hadn’t bonded with the kids immediately.
    “Kenny’s doing his homework and Sheila’s at play practice. She’ll be back by nine or nine-thirty. I think she’s Lady Macbeth.”
    Layne said, “Beats Ophelia.”
    “Damn right,” said Jimmy Dee. “Good training for her. It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Right, Angel?” The black and white pooch wagged her tail, and all was right with the world.
    They watched House of Games, one of Steve’s favorites, and though it met with raves from Dee-Dee and Layne, it was too dark for Skip’s mood. She had the willies by the time it was over.
    And Sheila wasn’t home. “Drink?” said Dee-Dee.
    Steve said, “Sure.” Skip nodded, distracted, thinking that ten was too late to be out on a school night.
    By ten-thirty, there was still no Sheila, and inwardly, Skip was wild.
    Dee-Dee said, “What is it, kid? You’re checking your watch every two minutes.”
    “I was just wondering where Sheila is.”
    “Sheila? She’s a big girl. And fortunately, doesn’t drive yet. Wherever she is, she’s with someone’s parents.”
    Skip sipped her wine sparingly, thinking to be alert in case she needed to be. When she saw Dee-Dee begin to check his own watch, and then excuse himself, her heart started to pound.
    Layne and Steve were talking about the movie, but she couldn’t really follow it. Dee-Dee came back with his forehead creased. “I just made a couple of phone calls. Carol Gauthier’s been home for an hour. She said Sheila told her she had another ride.”
    Skip’s breath started getting ragged. “Has she—uh—done this before?” But she knew it was a stupid question even before everyone laughed.
    “All the time,” said Dee-Dee. “Still…” He stared at his watch. “This is a little much.”
    Skip was sweating. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like a hammer. Her breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps.
    “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Let’s get you a paper bag to breathe into. Come on, now. You’re okay.” She heard the words only dimly. She was afraid of passing out and in a way hoped she would—a piece of her wanted escape.
    And then a tiny chime sounded through the house, the noise the alarm made when the door opened.
    Jimmy Dee yelled, “Sheila! Sheila, is that you?”
    Someone brought a paper bag and Skip breathed into it. Around her, she heard parent-child sounds.
    “Yeah, I’m going to bed.”
    “Come in a minute.”
    “I said I was going to bed.”
    Dee-Dee left, striding angrily. Though he was making a half-hearted attempt to save her embarrassment, the whole exchange carried easily through the house.
    “You’re an hour and a half late. Omigod, look at you. Do you always wear your lipstick on