Jazz Funeral

right, I don’t guess it would. Why did you decide to tell me now?”
    She copped a quick glance at her boyfriend. “Flip made me.”
    Flip said, “Was there something else you wanted to ask me?”
    “Yeah. I wanted to know if she came to your house, and if you’re harboring her.”
    “No. Neither.”
    “Do you know where she is or even have any guesses?”
    “No. I’ll tell you what’s odd—she hates her mom, do you know that?” Once again he shot a guilty look at Nicolai, but the counselor was down on all fours, searching for something in the grass.
    “No. Why?”
    “They just don’t get along, I guess. And she never sees her dad, so she kind of always idolized Ham and Ti-Belle. That’s where she’d go.”
    She had, seeking succor in a fit of adolescent angst. “What’s the odd part?”
    “Well, even though she was really unhappy at home, she never mentioned running away. Sometimes she talked about going to live with Ham, wondering if he’d take her in. She never talked about just … leaving.”
    “Blair?”
    “To me either.”
    “Well, thanks, kids.” Hope you’ll be happy together.
    When they were gone, she told Nicolai she liked his style.
    “The invisible man act? Don’t be fooled. If you’d tried to get tough with those kids, you’d have known I was there.”
    You could hear the band from the street, but it wasn’t too loud to be a nuisance. The music was muffled. The home attached to the garage belonged to people who worked and therefore never heard a thing, Nicolai told her. Another group at the school had used the garage and put in the soundproofing. Melody’s gang had more or less inherited it.
    Skip knocked, yelled, finally made herself heard. A black kid let her in, a kid with a smile that could have sold breakfast cereal. “We be the Spin-Offs. Who you be?”
    “Also known as the Fuck-Offs,” said the little twerp on drums.
    “I be the long arm of the law.” She showed her badge.
    The black kid quit clowning. “You must be here about Melody.”
    “Uh-huh. Are you Joel or Doug?”
    “Joel Boucree. Uh, hello, Mr. Nicolai.” Skip had no idea how the counselor had managed to stay unseen till that point. Both boys suddenly dropped their terminally cool acts and remembered their manners. As introductions were performed, she took a shine to Joel. He was a friendly kid who looked at least as bright as a button. Maybe a solid gold button. He was light-skinned, on the thin side, conventionally handsome. But not too handsome (if there was such a thing). He was the kind of kid matchmakers would call “nice-looking.” She remembered what Matthew Nicolai had said about him: most likely to be most likely to succeed.
    The other kid, Doug Leddy, was a little white nerd. He had narrow shoulders, wore glasses, and a sneer. The kind of sullen little twit that gives teenagers a bad name. The kind Sharon Sougeron had described.
    Right after shaking hands, he sat back down, started pounding the drums again.
    “Don’t mind Doug,” said Joel. “He thinks attitude’s cool.”
    “Fuck off, Boucree.” He didn’t even give Nicolai a look.
    Skip said, “You’re pretty brave to say that in front of a police officer.”
    “You going to arrest me?”
    “No. I’m going to kill you if you don’t stop that noise.”
    He played an ear-bending coda first. Nicolai cocked an eye brow: Should he stop it? Skip shook her head.
    “Very nice. Now, fellows. Is Melody here?”
    “Here? Where? In Joel’s guitar case?”
    She spoke to Joel. “When did you see her last?”
    “Monday. We practice Mondays and Thursdays. I might have seen her at school Tuesday, but that was it. I went to Ham’s Tuesday night, but she wasn’t there.”
    Doug said, “You went to Ham’s? Melody didn’t even invite me. Goddamn—bitch!” He picked up a drumstick, walloped his snare drum, and threw the stick at the wall.
    Nicolai said, “Chill out, Dougie.”
    “Shit!”
    Joel said, “His parents are getting divorced.”
    “I don’t need you to fuckin’ speak for me, party boy.”
    “Listen, Melody didn’t invite me to that thing. Ham did.”
    “Oh, right, for a minute I forgot what a star you are.” To Skip, he said, “Did you know our man Joel played onstage at JazzFest for the first time when he was seven? Seven! He doesn’t ever let us forget either.”
    Joel looked hurt.
    “Do you get along this well with Melody? The three of you fight onstage?”
    Doug lowered his eyes. “We get