Death Before Facebook

arrived in the mail one day a few years ago.”
    “How many years ago?”
    “He just said when he was a kid.”
    “But how could he possibly know it was that ring?”
    “All I know is that he was there when she opened it and that she turned pale and started crying. I guess he figured out later what it must have been.”
    Skip raised an eyebrow. “I guess I’d better not take up any more of your time.” She stood up. “You’ve been very helpful.”
    “That was fast. I guess I know where you’re going next.”
    “I appreciate your help,” she said, more or less trying to make peace. She was so grateful for the tidbit she was suddenly feeling downright benevolent toward him.
    He nodded. “You really should come to the funeral tomorrow. You can get a gander at our little community.”
    “Maybe I will.”
    “Wait a minute! I’ve got a better idea—a much better idea. I mean, you can come to the funeral too, but we’re all having dinner tomorrow night—a ‘Geoff would have wanted it that way’ kind of thing. Why don’t you join us?”
    “Who is ‘we’?”
    “The local TOWNspeople. It’s a perfect opportunity to meet everybody at once. We’d love to have you.”
    I’ll just bet. I’d be the main course.
    “Look, the murder’s bound to be Topic A. Basically, what you’ve got is all the suspects gathered together. Someone might confess.”
    “Right. If this were an Agatha Christie novel.”
    “Seven-thirty at R&O’s. We’ll save you a place.”
    A blast of cold wind hit her as she went outside. She turned her collar up, swearing. She’d learned she got the best results when she steeped herself in her cases. It was grotesque, but she knew she had to go to the damn dinner. It was an easy way to talk to them without making them suspicious.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    “HOW ABOUT SOMETHING like this?” Marguerite held up a simple black dress, nipped in at the waist, plain straight skirt.
    “I don’t think so, Mom.”
    “What on earth is wrong with it? It’s about as simple as you can get.”
    Her daughter, Neetsie, barely kept the sneer out of her voice. “It’s the wrong length.”
    “It’s knee-length. What’s the problem?”
    “Short’s good; long’s good. Just not knee-length. Why don’t
you
get it?”
    “Me? It’s not my style.”
    Why was she even worried about a thing like that? Marguerite wondered. It was for her son’s funeral; Neetsie’s brother’s funeral. Why did she care?
    I don’t care
.
    But they had already been to three stores and rejected everything. How hard could it be to pick out a couple of dresses for a funeral? She sensed Neetsie getting impatient. Her daughter didn’t want a dress anyway. She kept insisting she’d wear her black wool skirt, which was ankle-length, with a black sweater. And she’d look lovely in it, Marguerite thought (Except of course, for the holes). Dramatic, yet comfortable with herself.
    That was okay, that was fine, to wear the old outfit; but Marguerite wanted to give her something. Neetsie was the only child she had left, and she wanted her to have something special, something Marguerite had given her.
    “Let’s look at the Anne Kleins.”
    “Oh, Mom, they’re too expensive.”
    “You need something nice. Come on. I’d like to buy you something nice.”
    “Mom, we need to get something for you.”
    Her voice was getting shrill.
    “Oh, I don’t need anything. I should be home working on my opera.”
    “Right, Mom. That’s what you always say. Why should today be any different just because your only son’s dead?”
    Marguerite felt quick tears spring to her eyes. “Well, you look like
you’re
dead—wearing black all the time, red lipstick, ten holes in each ear and as if that weren’t enough—”
    “Mom!”
    “—another in your nose.”
    “Mom, we’ve been over and over that.”
    “You’re such a pretty girl. You have lovely features and beautiful hair—gorgeous blue eyes. But nobody notices because all they see are the holes.”
    “You’re exactly like your mother, you know that?” People in Saks were starting to stare.
    “You don’t even know my mother. You weren’t old enough to know her before she lost it.”
    “Pearce Randolph told me about her.”
    “Pearce? How do you know Pearce?”
    “From the TOWN. Geoff took me to a couple of their dinners. I said you were always complaining about my piercings, and he told me a story you told him. About a guy you dated— before you married Leighton, I