Death Before Facebook

and it was Cole’s privilege to assume her care. He only wished he could do it better. His pending deal had to work out… it just had to.
    The house was falling apart and if he were any kind of husband, he’d take care of it, he’d have the place full of maids and gardeners and contractors. Sometimes Marguerite got so frustrated she flew into rages, and he didn’t blame her. He felt like raging himself, but he couldn’t, he had to keep working, he had to keep the family together. She was especially fragile right now, with this tragedy, Geoff’s terrible death.
    But there was a bright side: At least it wasn’t Neetsie.
She loves that kid like she never did love Geoff. I probably feel worse about him than she does.
    God, if it had been Neetsie, I’d probably have had to check Marguerite into the hospital with her mother.
    He changed the attachment and began to vacuum the furniture, shocked at how dusty it was, how deep was the cat hair. He didn’t know if there’d be visitors after the funeral, but if there was even one, it was worth cleaning. Otherwise they might get reported to the health department.
    In fact, if anyone from the TOWN came, everybody else on the whole damn network would know the condition of the Terry household, down to the last flea on Toots.
    I wish I’d never gotten Geoff on that damn thing! Hell, I wish I’d never joined it myself—waste of time, and not only that, it’s not safe. All that speculating, that monitoring of people by strangers—
    He smiled grimly even as he had the thought, remembering that it had been very unsafe indeed for his stepson. But he was disturbed by what had come after as well. It was sudden and creepy and unexpected—the energy behind it, the taking on of a murder as if it were a hobby.
    The whole phenomenon made him mad, especially that Pearce Randolph, whipping up these young kids, these marginal personalities—getting them all worked up, like he was some goddamn electronic guru. Geoff had loved him, all the kids loved him, but he rubbed Cole the wrong way.
    Shit! I’ll be done with him and all his kind if only the deal works. Goddamn, if it hadn’t been for that idiot partner of mine, we could be in Costa Rica by now, Marguerite and me. Everything he’s ever done he’s screwed up. Why does God make idiots like that? Can you tell me that? Huh Mosey? Huh, Calabash? Huh, Toots? Could you tell me, please?
    He spoke the last few words aloud, prompting Toots to wave her tail unenthusiastically, as if fulfilling an obligation, and then to start barking. The barking started softly and got louder.
    “Hey, what’d I say? I thought you’d agree with me.”
    Toots had trotted to the door, and now stood there barking at it. Cole turned off the vacuum in time to hear the last chime of the doorbell. “Oh, well, at least I got most of the cat hair.”
    A large woman greeted him, six feet tall probably, and built to make an impression. She had buttoned her brown tweed blazer, something you didn’t often see women do. There was aggression in the way she stood. He had an immediate reaction against her—he couldn’t have said why, there was just something about her that was in your face.
    “I’m Skip Langdon,” she said, and held up a badge. “You must be Coleman Terry.”
    I should have known, he thought, as she explained she was there about Geoff. “Your wife showed me his room,” she said, “but I wonder if I could take another look.”
    “Do you have a search warrant?”
    “No, I just thought you might not mind. Of course, if you do—”
    “Oh, no, it isn’t that. That’s just what they always say on television.”
    She smiled. “We like to do things informally when we can. Is Mrs. Terry home?”
    “I’m afraid not. Did you want to see her?”
    “It’s okay. I can come back later. But why don’t we check Geoff’s room now?”
    He stayed with her while she looked, though she conducted her search so slowly he wanted to tear the place apart for her. “Are you looking for anything special?”
    He saw her hesitate, probably wondering if it was safe to ask him. She seemed to realize that at this point it made no difference, she wasn’t going to find it—whatever it was—by herself. “Do you know if he kept a journal?”
    “I don’t think so. I guess I’d be surprised if he did. Geoff wasn’t a particularly introspective boy.”
    “Wasn’t he? I thought he kept to himself.”
    “Well, maybe he was introspective. He just never