Death Before Facebook

and caught a burglar in the bedroom. They struggled, and somehow the guy got Leighton’s gun and shot him. Only thing was, the gun wasn’t there. Now why take a gun that could only incriminate you?”
    Skip grinned. “The guy was stupid?”
    Rene grinned back. “Most likely. Other thing was, the place was wrecked, more or less, and only one thing was taken—a ring that Miz Kavanagh said wasn’t even valuable. An heirloom—somethin’ she got from her grandma—and she said wasn’t that always the way, they took somethin’ meant a lot to you and wasn’t worth that much to anybody else. But she had some nice pearls there—why didn’t he take those?”
    “Probably thought they were fake.”
    He grinned again. “Most likely. But he could have taken a handful of stuff.”
    “What kind of ring was it?”
    “Yellow. A great big stone, but just about worthless. Citrine? Could that be right?”
    Skip nodded. “That’s a kind of gold color.”
    “Yeah. That’s the word. Funny, I haven’t heard it in all these years.”
    “Maybe he knew the Kavanaghs. Maybe there was some reason he wanted that ring.”
    “That’s what I was thinkin’. Couldn’t find anything to hang it on, though.”
    “How about another murder? To hang it on.”
    “Yeah. How about that?” He stared out the window. “Mm. Mm. Mm.”
    Skip couldn’t have agreed more.
    On her way back to the office, she picked up the clips, unfurling them as she walked out of the building. The first thing she saw was the most interesting item they had to offer. It was the byline, the name of the reporter who’d covered the murders—Pearce Randolph, also known as Bigeasy.

CHAPTER SIX
     
    DAMN! BACK to Eileen. Skip went back and asked her about Randolph. He was long gone, it turned out. So once more they checked the clips, finding only one story of interest—on his marriage to Honey Diefenthal. The write-up made clear she was very much a society lady. Which meant another call to Alison.
    “Honey Diefenthal! Of course—the Marguerite connection.”
    “Wait a minute—you’re going too fast for me.”
    “You’d like Honey. Really, you would. She’s got a tongue on her you could slice a roast with. She’s a good friend of my mom’s—they were on some board or other together. One day they were drinking sherry, or more likely gin and tonic, and talking about the good ol’ days. Honey swore she was a hippie and Mother said she never even knew one unless you counted Marguerite Julian, who she didn’t really know, and Honey confided she worshiped Marguerite—followed her around like a little sister.” Alison paused. “But this is intriguing, don’t you think? Who knew she married a man Marguerite met when he came to cover her husband’s murder? Do you suppose Marguerite introduced them?”
    “You’re asking me?”
    “Even Alison the Magnificent is not omniscient. Now, here is your assignment: find out and tell me.”
    “I promise. Are they still married?”
    “Oh, God no. That’s ancient history. I’m not sure whether Honey’s married to anyone right now, and I haven’t a clue about Pearce, whom I know nothing about, by the way.”
    “That must mean he’s nobody.”
    “I take deep umbrage at that, Skippy Langdon. You are dealing with a pro here and don’t you forget it. I will gossip into the night about people who are nobody, as you so tackily put it, as enthusiastically as if they were Di and Fergie. So will Honey, by the way. If I were you, I’d give her a call.”
    Next Skip ran record checks on Pearce, Marguerite, and Honey, and then went in to bring Cappello up-to-date. The sergeant frowned, as if she didn’t believe a word Skip was saying. “Now let me get this straight. This Pearce Randolph is Bigeasy, right?”
    “Right. What’s the big deal?”
    “Is he still a journalist?”
    “Long since retired. Why?”
    “Because I just had a call from him—he says he’s doing a story on Geoff Kavanagh’s murder.”
    “Whoops. I think I better talk to him next.”
    Almost next she meant. Taking Alison’s advice, she called Honey next. But Honey was out, and it was getting on toward noon. So she phoned her pal Cindy Lou Wootten, psychologist extraordinaire, and asked her to lunch.
    Cindy Lou was one of Skip’s favorite people. Skip liked to look at her, for one thing; the woman was gorgeous. She learned a lot from her, for another; Cindy Lou was afraid of nothing and no one. That included Frank O’Rourke, the