Death Before Facebook

think so.”
    Oh, hell, what was it going to take?
    “Coffee and beignets?”
    Sheila looked up. “Really? I could really have coffee?”
    “Well, beignets, anyway.”
    “I knew it. I knew you didn’t mean it.”
    “Well, I almost meant it. Going once, going twice… yes or no to the beignets?”
    “Oh, okay.”
    Skip was almost disappointed, had half wished Sheila would continue to sulk and let her go about her business. “Just a second, okay? I’ve got to do a little piece of business.”
    “Can I go with you?”
    “Sure.”
    Sheila followed her inside. “Your place is really nice.”
    “But freezing. Aren’t you cold?” She didn’t take off her coat while she phoned the TOWN and left a message for Wizard. “What were you doing outside?”
    “Oh, nothing.”
    “I mean, why weren’t you inside?”
    “I get tired of it in there.”
    Skip backed off. The girl wanted to see her, that’s why she was outside. “Come on. Let’s go get those beignets.”
    What was going on?
she wondered. Was this a bonding attempt, or did Sheila have something on her mind? Maybe she was getting her period or something; she was about the right age.
    By way of feeling her out, Skip said, “You know, Jimmy Dee was thinking of getting an
au pair
to stay with you and Kenny when he’s not home. But I talked him out of it. I thought you’d be involved with after-school activities, and then if you were home, there’s always Geneese.” The maid, she meant—the extremely motherly maid (Skip had seen to that) who doubled as a babysitter.
    “What the fuck’s an
au pair
?”
    “Well, you certainly are a trash-mouth.”
    “Fuck you, too.”
    Skip sat down. “What is it, honey? Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
    “I hate this place, that’s all! And Uncle Jimmy and—” She was yelling, loud, but apparently she couldn’t get herself to finish.
    “Me.”
    Instead of answering, she turned and ran.
    “Sheila!” Skip followed.
    “Leave me alone!” The girl ran through the gate and back to the street, where she fumbled with her key.
    “Okay. I will for now. But come talk to me when you want. I’m sorry I called you a trash-mouth—I don’t care how you talk. You can say anything you want. Really.”
    Sheila gave her a glance, just once, before she disappeared, and Skip thought she’d never seen anyone look so pathetic.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
    SHE BOOTED UP her computer and started going through Confession again. But Geoff could have been posting in a hundred other conferences in the same time period. She needed to know his favorites. She called Lenore and Layne, got neither of them.
    What did she need to do next?
    Warm up. If I had a beautiful, warm room, it would be more inviting for the children
, she thought.
    She made herself a cup of tea and opened the phone book. Where did you order firewood? She called around, got some wood on the way, and made a vow to get some furniture. But then she had a better idea.
    Art.
    Which she couldn’t afford.
    Well, maybe a little something. A tiny little watercolor? Something by Carol Leake. One of her garage sale things.
    Or maybe a few of them.
    And plants.
I’ll have art and plants and a beautiful rug—no, for now, just a warm one, a nice warm gray one, to match the sofa. The kids can lie on it and play Scrabble or something.
    She felt a big lump in her chest when she thought of Sheila, but she didn’t know what to do about it; the girl had
Do Not Disturb
signs hanging all over her.
    She tried to work, but couldn’t stop thinking about Sheila. Finally, she abandoned the project and called Dee-Dee.
    “Come to dinner?” he asked hopefully.
    “Can’t. I’m going out with Cindy Lou.”
    “Oh.”
    “Maybe you should rethink the
au pair
.”
    “Yeah, maybe I should.” He couldn’t keep the discouragement out of his voice.
    And maybe
, she thought when she had hung up,
I should rethink the case.
    The same theme kept replaying itself:
I want to know more about Kit
. She popped in the shower, to get her mind off it. Cindy Lou was right—you couldn’t eat, sleep, and breathe a case.
    Even if you need to keep your mind off your boyfriend, who seems to be in the process of dumping you.
    Well, not dumping her. Just not…
    Committing?
    What a stupid word! What a dumb, late-twentieth-century female cliché.
    She was surprised to find herself wishing for a joint, a sign that she was depressed and hadn’t yet admitted it.
    She sighed.
    In the old days, Jimmy