Death Before Facebook

Homicide sergeant who hated women in general and Skip in particular.
    She was such a near-perfect creature, Skip could have envied her too deeply for friendship if Cindy Lou hadn’t had an all-too-human failing—when it came to men, she was hopeless. Even Skip, who had probably had a quarter as many boyfriends and a tenth as many suitors, could see her friend picking Mr. Bad News time after time. Cindy Lou didn’t even seem to care: “I know I’m a psychologist,” she’d say, “but I can’t help it, I just have terrible taste.”
    They met at the Dante Street Deli, where you could wear anything at lunch, but Skip was made aware of her clunky blazer and skirt when Cindy Lou appeared in a gold-colored suit nipped in at the waist. As always, she could easily have stepped out of Vogue. She was black, and liked to dress in colors that complemented her skin tones. It didn’t hurt that she was about a size six, with smooth, shoulder-length hair and a finely sculpted face.
    She made Skip feel like a moose, though, oddly, she looked incredibly tall from a distance. When Skip had first seen her, addressing a roomful of cops, she had thought her about five-ten.
    Today, despite her sophisticated appearance, Cindy Lou had the canary-feathers look of a teenager up to no good. “Guess who I’ve got a date with.”
    “Oh, Jesus. Probably the governor.”
    “Uh-uh.” She named a name Skip didn’t recognize.
    “You mean you’re not a Saints fan?”
    “Please, not an athlete. He’ll kiss you good-night and crush you to death.”
    “I like big guys. Don’t you?”
    “Big for me is a whole different story and you know it.”
    “You’ve seen pictures of him, haven’t you?”
    “I don’t know. I’m a sports ignoramus—I wouldn’t know Joe Montana’s picture.”
    “Promise you’ll find one. I want you to see how cute he is.”
    Skip sighed. “Cindy Lou, you’re acting like a teenager. You’re gorgeous and brilliant and you could get anybody.”
    “It’s not an ego thing—I mean, not that kind. It’s that you always harass me about my bad taste; I want you to see that at least I have the aesthetics down.”
    “This one’s married, I suppose?”
    “Oh, yes. And I’m sure there’s nothing she doesn’t know about his roving eye.”
    Skip rolled her eyes. “I just hope you plan to have safe sex.”
    “Hello,” said Cindy Lou to a just-arrived waitress. She and Skip glanced quickly at the menu and settled on salads.
    “Well, now, sex,” Cindy Lou said when they’d ordered. “I don’t plan to have it at all. One date—just for the thrill—and I’m out of there.”
    “Because he’s married? You were never so scrupulous before.”
    “And I’m not now. Look out the window. See a car that looks like a plain brown wrapper? Little white guy hunkered down in it? Mrs. Saint’s having me watched.”
    Skip held her head, causing her to miss the return of the waitress. “Uh—excuse me?” said the woman.
    “I don’t know if I’m hungry.”
    The waitress looked confused.
    “Sorry—I’m just carrying on. Cindy Lou, are you crazy?” The waitress left.
    “I’m a shrink, girlfriend. How could I be crazy?”
    In a way, Skip rather enjoyed her friend’s parade of losers—it was like reading Dick Francis books to see how he’d work the horses in. Each new swain was an all-new and ever more fascinating form of unsuitable. Skip worried about her, but she had to admit that of all the women she’d ever met, Cindy Lou got her vote for best able to take care of herself.
    Skip poured dressing over her salad. “Could I ask one thing? Why go out with him at all? Bad things could happen and there’s no future, so what’s the point?”
    “You forget I’m from Detroit. Danger’s a way of life with me. Besides, he’ll be fun to look at across the table, and maybe one day he’ll get divorced.”
    “And he’ll remember the lovely lady who refused his suit on moral grounds—you’ll put it that way, I’m sure.”
    “Of course. But enough about me—since you’re treating, I assume you need advice on something or other.”
    Skip ran down the case for her. By the time she was done, so were the salads. Settling in, they ordered coffee.
    Cindy Lou had a faraway look. “Man. I wish I could have talked to that kid. Geoff.”
    “He was no kid—he was in his thirties.”
    “Yes, but he was a kid, really. That’s your impression, isn’t it?”
    “I guess so. He was a lot like other social