Death Before Facebook

thanks for the offer, but maybe I should come to your house.”
    “I’ve got a better idea. You live in the Quarter, don’t you?”
    How the hell does he know where I live
. “Let’s meet for coffee. That place on Royal Street with the funny name and the little art gallery. You know, it’s…”
    “Right by the Eighth.”
    “Huh?”
    “The police station.”
    “Yeah. Coffee and Concierge, something weird like that. Is five-fifteen okay?”
    “Wait a minute. I don’t know a damn thing about installing software—do you think you can explain it in a way I can understand?’
    He was quiet a moment. “You know, I’m not really sure.”
    “What if I bring along a nerd friend?’
    “I have to admit I’d feel better.”
    She phoned Jimmy Dee, explained the situation, and asked if he’d mind acting as translator.
    “Charmed, I’m sure. In fact, perfect. My car’s having surgery; you can pick me up.”
    She had one more thing to do before she could leave—report to Cappello and make arrangements for that night.
    The sergeant frowned. “So. You really think these babes are Satanists?’
    “That thing at Lenore’s spooked me. Bad.” She shrugged. “I’ve researched it a little. If they are, killing Geoff could be one crime in a long list of them.”
    “Who do you want for backup? Hodges okay?”
    Skip broke into a grin. “Perfect.”
    Jim Hodges was an older black man, solid as a concrete wall—a tough pro who’d seen it all and carried pictures of his grandchildren.
    “You got him.” Cappello shook her head, obviously not liking the turn the investigation was taking.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
     
    JIMMY DEE KEPT Skip waiting ten minutes in front of his office, her motor running, her temper rising. “Dammit Dee-Dee, this is a business appointment.”
    “Well. Aren’t we Miss Congeniality.”
    He could make her smile even when she was angry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”
    “You probably think you’re suffering from lack of sleep.”
    “Uh-oh. This is leading up to something.”
    “Precious angel, you’ve been bitten by the lovebug.”
    “You mean Darryl Boucree? He’s black, Dee-Dee.”
    “And beautiful—or didn’t you notice?”
    “Remember in
Jungle Fever
how shocked the guy’s friend is when he says he’s seeing a white woman? Darryl Boucree wouldn’t go out with me.”
    He stuck out his hand. “Oh, yeah? Fifty bucks says otherwise.”
    “Anyway, there’s Steve.”
    “
Isn’t
there?”
    She looked at her watch. “Damn! It’ll probably take ten minutes to park.”
    “Let me. You go handcuff the guy or something.”
    “Okay.” She turned the car over to him.
    Layne was just draining a cup of espresso. “I thought you’d forgotten.”
    “My friend was late. Would you like something else?”
    He shook his head. “No, thanks. Aren’t you pleased I’m doing what you said?”
    “What?”
    “You said I should get out more.”
    “Congratulations. I think your color’s coming back.”
    “Here’s the thing.” He handed over a package of software, which she opened immediately.
    “Oh, no. Those big floppies. I have the little ones.”
    “Oh. Nerds always have both kinds because we get stuff from lots of different sources. But it’s not a big deal. You can still upload it, you just need the hardware to make the transfer.”
    “Jimmy Dee probably has it.”
    “Who, me?” He came in jangling her keys.
    “Dee-Dee, you’re in the nick. This is Layne Bilderback. Jimmy Dee Scoggin.”
    She bought Jimmy Dee a latte, and for the next ten minutes, the two men spoke a language she didn’t.
    “No problem. Piece of cake,” Dee-Dee said finally.
    “Great.” She looked at her watch. “Should we get going? You still have to cook.”
    “God, yes. Anyway, I’m worried about Sheila. She could be halfway to Chicago by now.” He stood and spoke to Layne. “You have kids?”
    Layne grinned. “Uh-uh. Times like this I’m glad I’m gay.”
    “Don’t get too cocky, son. It’s not over till it’s over.”
    “Darling,” said Dee-Dee when they were back in Skip’s car, “I simply can’t keep track of all your men.”
    “Well, that one’s a murder suspect.”
    “Pretty friendly for a desperado.”
    “Probably just trying to butter me up.” She thought about Layne. “He is nice, though. It’s hard being a cop sometimes.”
    “I’m crying. Has he gainful employment?”
    “Employment anyway. He’s a puzzlemaker. Or puzzle constructor, as he prefers to