Death Before Facebook

that.” He gestured with his chin. “Tyrone is, really. Music’s the whole world to him. Man, it’s made him unhappy.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Why you askin’?”
    “’Cause maybe she’s not real. Maybe you made her up.”
    He looked as amazed as if she’d just told him he was under arrest. “Now, why on Earth would I do that? You are one strange chick, you know that?”
    “Sorry. I guess I am.”
Can it be he really doesn’t know how appealing that little story makes him?
She smiled, hoping it made her look normal. “What’s her name?”
    “Tricia.” When he smiled back, she let out her breath. She hadn’t known she was holding it.
    “Tricia who?”
    “You’re weird, you know that? Tricia Lattimore.”
    The name was as familiar as her own, but by now she was expecting it. “She was my best friend at McGehee’s.” Her high school.
    “You’re makin’ that up.”
    Once he said the first name, she had known it was going to be Tricia Lattimore, though Tricia had been in New York when last heard of. Something about Darryl Boucree was starting to look the tiniest bit inevitable.
    Watch out!
she thought.
Early warning signal
. If he’s like a magnet, he’s got to be bad news, right? AFOG, as they say on the TOWN.
    But on the other hand, how do people ever get together at all if they aren’t attracted first?
    She tried to remember if she’d been attracted to Steve at first. She couldn’t, but one thing she recalled perfectly well: He was attracted to her.
Does that mean I’m AFOG for him?
    She didn’t want to think about Steve. She wanted to flirt.
    Which she proceeded to do until Cindy Lou strolled up: “Come on, girlfriend. It’s a school night.”
    “I,” said Darryl, “am taking this lady home.”
    “I think I better go with Cindy Lou.”
    “Uh-uh. You live in the Quarter and it’ll be the perfect walk.”
    Skip slipped off her bar stool. “I don’t think so.”
    But Cindy Lou was already edging out the door. “Oh, you young people.” She had an evil grin on. This was a lot more her style than Skip’s.
    Darryl said, “Just a beautiful walk, I promise. Hands to myself. I’ll even put ’em in my pockets.” Instead, he hunched his shoulders, folded his hands under his arms, and thrust his head forward. He looked so endearingly goofy Skip burst out laughing.
    Well, why not? I’m a cop. I can take care of myself.
    She felt free as all outdoors.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
    IT WAS A brisk walk in more than one way. The wind had a bite to it, but in a way it felt festive, as if harvest balls were in the offing. On the other hand, a little body contact might have cut the chill—the hands-off policy had its down side.
    “Well, this certainly has been an interesting evening,” Darryl said as they neared her house. “You are just… interesting, you know that?”
    “I thought you thought I was weird.”
    “Uh-huh. That too.”
    She held out her hand. “I had a great time.”
    And that would have been it, if Jimmy Dee hadn’t called her name about then, so loudly they probably heard him back at The Blue Guitar. He was on his balcony.
    “Dee-Dee, what is it?”
    “Sheila’s gone.”
    “Omigod, I’ll be right up. Darryl, I’m sorry. Gotta go.”
    “What is it?”
    “His niece. She’s thirteen.” She was trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
    “I’ll help you look for her.”
    “No, that’s okay.” She turned away and started fiddling with her key.
    “No, really. I’m good with kids.”
    “Dee-Dee and I can handle it.”
    They could have argued another five minutes if Dee-Dee hadn’t said, “Bring him up, for God’s sake. Just get here.”
    Can’t hurt
, she figured, and followed orders. “What happened, Dee-Dee?”
    “I don’t know. She had dinner with us—actually, she stalked off in the middle, so I just left her alone. I didn’t check on her till I went to bed, which was about eleven, and she wasn’t there.”
    “What did you do then?”
    “Threw up.” He shot her an accusing stare. “And then called you.”
    “And I wasn’t there. I’m really sorry, Dee-Dee.” She rubbed his arm absently.
    “That’s all right. You were obviously doing yourself some good.” Seeming to remember his manners, he turned to Darryl. “Sorry to speak of you in the third person.”
    “But it means he likes you.” Skip knew the whole thing had been calculated; he had quite deliberately been rude to Darryl, knowing he could get away with it if he