Death Before Facebook

herself with a green plastic dinosaur. “But she really didn’t provide for anything happening to me. I know Jesus must have meant for her to do it that way, but I need you to show a little Christian charity to your old man.”
    Lenore’s hard-won calm shattered as if dashed on a hard pavement.
    “Christian charity! You have the nerve to speak to me about Christian charity after the things you said to me…? You disowned me, Cutting Marquer. Have you forgotten that?’
    “Well, now…”
    “Well, now, nothing. Let me just remind you of a few things you said. For openers you said I was a whore and a slut. You said I was a blight on the family’s precious goddamn reputation—as if anyone ever heard of the Marquers—and a disgrace to God-fearing people everywhere. Is any of this ringing a bell?’
    “The good Lord says to forgive, and I’ve made my peace with all that, Lenore.”
    “You forgive
me
? Is that what you’re saying?’
    “Well, I do, and you know it. We talked about that six months ago.”
    Indeed they had. He’d asked for money that time, too, and she’d given him some. Tearfully.
    “Let me mention a few other things I should have brought up on that other occasion six months ago. You said you were sorry, but you were going to have to shut off familial relations—that’s what you said, ‘familial relations’—because my sluttish reputation was not only against God’s law but would probably queer your precious business deal. Remember that at all?”
    “Perhaps I spoke in haste.”
    “You spoke before you knew the contents of Mama’s will.”
    He looked at her with tears in his eyes. “For the love of God, Lenore. I haven’t got anywhere else to turn.”
    She sat down, sorry for him in spite of herself. “How much do you need?”
    “I need quite a bit, to tell you the truth, but fifty thousand might keep me out of jail.”
    “
Fifty thousand dollars?
Did I hear you right?”
    “Seventy-five, if you can spare it.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
     
    MORNING CAME ABOUT a week too early.
    Skip lay in bed, waiting for her coffee to brew and trying to decide what she had to do next no matter what. Unfortunately, the answer involved getting somewhere earlier than she’d have to be at the office.
    She had to see Kit. And she had no idea where Kit worked, which meant she had to pop by her house.
    Nothing to do but leap.
    In twenty minutes, she’d dressed, left a note for Sheila, and another for Geneese, the maid, which she delivered to the Big House on her way out.
    Dee-Dee had eye bags you could pack and take to Europe. “What’s going on?”
    “She’s okay, no kidding. I mean, really she is. And she’s going to get through this fine, I promise. Geneese can take care of her today. I’ll phone you from the office, but I’ve got to get somewhere fast.”
    “Just one more thing—who was that masked hunk?”
    “The Pied Piper, I think.”
    Kenny came in rubbing his eyes. “The Pied Piper was here? I thought that was a fairy tale.”
    Jimmy Dee said, “That’s appropriate,” and Skip blew Kenny a kiss.
    “Uncle Jimmy, can I have some shredded wheat?”
    Skip left shaking her head: Shredded wheat. Any other kid in the world would want Lucky Charms or something. It must be really hard on Sheila having a perfect little brother.
    On the way to Kit’s, she tried to think of ways to make Sheila feel more at home, but the only thing the girl seemed to want was to see Darryl again.
    Who could blame her?
The thought popped up before she could trample on it.
    Kit lived in a fairly new, suburban-looking area of one-family houses. Because it was extremely well integrated, it wasn’t fashionable, but Skip found the racial mix more attractive than otherwise. She sighed, knowing that was a minority view among white people.
    Both kinds of kids were walking to school—she liked that. They might pull knives on each other in the halls, but for the moment, all was peaceful.
    Kit’s house was modest, but comfortable-looking. However, Skip didn’t see the inside—Kit emerged as she was locking her car, wearing a nurse’s uniform and smoking a cigarette—an odd combination, Skip thought.
    “Hey, there. You want me?”
    “Too late, huh? I need to ask you a question or two.”
    “I could take a break about ten-thirty—want to meet me at work?”
    She’s awfully cooperative. I wonder why?
    Nevertheless, Skip agreed to turn up at the South Louisiana Medical Center, a private hospital across