Death Before Facebook

something passed over Hebert’s face that could have been a memory—of her dead husband, perhaps.
    Another car arrived—Paul Gottschalk from the crime lab and Sylvia Cappello, Skip’s sergeant. “Can you tell me what happened?”
    “We were having dinner—my husband and my daughter Reed, along with her husband Dennis and Sally, their little girl. Somebody spilled something on Sally, and I went to get her clean overalls. When I came back, it was like it is now. Blood everywhere, and Arthur—”
    “The other three were gone?”
    “Gone! Disappeared into thin air.”
    Slowly, Skip drew the story out of Sugar Hebert—how the family had dinner every Monday, how they had recently celebrated Arthur’s birthday and he had announced his retirement, but tonight had reneged; how they had fought, the other three, though Sugar didn’t participate. How she had been gone only twenty minutes—thirty at the most—and had come home to find her world in shards.
    “Did you touch anything?”
    “No. Not even Arthur. I couldn’t stand to look at him; it was too…that wasn’t my husband down there. I just sort of crabwalked to the nearest phone and called the police.”
    “And where was that phone?”
    “In the hall.”
    In the house. So she
had
touched something. “Did you call anyone else?”
    “My son, Grady. But he wasn’t home.”
    “Would you like to call him again?”
    “I left a message.” She looked around, as if she expected Grady to be in the car.
    The obvious explanation, it seemed to Skip, was that the argument had escalated, someone had pulled a gun—probably Dennis—and shot Arthur. Then Reed and Dennis had fled with their daughter.
    “Excuse me a minute,” she said, and radioed for a district car to check Reed and Dennis’s house.
    She turned back to Sugar. “Do you know anywhere else they might go?”
    “Not really.” She looked uncomfortable.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Well, Dennis’s parents live here. But they’d never go there. Why would they?”
    “What’s their address?” When she had it, she radioed for a check there as well.
    “Do you know,” she said when she was done, “if Dennis carried a gun?”
    “I know he didn’t. He and Reed are dead against guns.”
    “So Reed didn’t either.”
    “No.”
    “What about your husband? Did he keep a gun around the house? In case of intruders?”
    Skip heard running footsteps and looked up to see a young man approaching, his face white, hair disheveled. “Mother? Mother, what’s going on?”
    “Oh, Grady.” Hebert got out, extended her arms, and fell against her son, letting out what she’d been holding in. She sobbed against him for a while and then she said, “Oh, Grady, I was only gone twenty minutes.”
    “What happened?”
    Briefly, Hebert told him. Getting out so she could hear the woman, Skip listened carefully, but it was the same story she’d been told before.
    Sugar Hebert was as ordinary a woman as Skip had ever seen, perhaps a trifle overweight, but she was trying, with careful make-up and hair, neat pink slacks, sleeveless sweater. She looked like nothing so much as a career mom and grandma.
    Skip found Grady quite a contrast. He was a weedy young man, tall and too thin, as if he smoked a great deal and ate little. He had on a white shirt so old it was gray, and a pair of jeans that had been worn a few times since their last washing. He wore glasses and his hair was greasy.
    Skip introduced herself, staring at his face, assessing him. Like his mother, he seemed bewildered, still putting pieces together.
    “What happened here?” he asked. “Where are Reed and Dennis?”
    “Maybe you have some ideas.”
    “Me? Why would I?”
    “What did your mother’s message say?” Skip wasn’t sure why she asked the question; it was something about the breathless, pale way he’d arrived.
    “It said, ‘Your father’s been murdered. Come as soon as you can.’ ”
    “Did it really?” She found it hard to believe Mrs. Pretty-in-Pink had been so cold.
    “Well, it got my attention.” Grady smiled a little nervously, aware he was apologizing for his mother.
    “Perhaps you can help us.”
    But he glanced at Sugar, who was now weeping quietly. “I think I need to call someone to help with Mother.”
    “I’m afraid you can’t use the phone till the investigation’s finished. We don’t seal homicide scenes, but we won’t be out for a long time.”
    “Oh, God, she’s going to need a place to stay.” He