Death Before Facebook (Skip Langdon #4) (Skip Langdon Mystery) (The Skip Langdon Series)

by Julie Smith

  Sheila’s eyes got round. “We could go to McDonald’s?”

  “Sure. Or maybe we could get pizza. You want some pizza?”

  She shook her head. “McDonald’s.”

  Skip gave Darryl an utterly amazed look. Not daring to say anything, she stuck out a hand for Sheila to grab. “Up you go.”

  “Do Uncle Jimmy and Kenny have to go with us?”

  “Honey. You’re shaking.” Thinking she was probably cold clear through, Skip put an arm around her.

  “I’m okay!” The girl shrugged away.

  Darryl said, “No, Uncle Jimmy and Kenny don’t have to go. Kenny’s sound asleep and Uncle Jimmy’d probably be glad to be.”

  “I have to call and say I found you, though. He’s worried sick.”

  She let that pass and said to Darryl, “Who are you, anyway?”

  “Well, I’m a pretty good guitarist and a damn good English teacher.”

  “No way.”

  “No way what?”

  “You’re not a teacher. Teachers don’t say damn.”

  “Well, this one does at this time of night. Excuse me. Morning.”

  “Are you Skip’s boyfriend?”

  Skip spoke up quickly. “He’s a friend of the family, honey.”

  “You mean Uncle Jimmy? Eewww.”

  “What you got against Uncle Jimmy?”

  But she fell silent.

  When they had reached the house, she took Sheila and Darryl into the garconniere and gave Jimmy Dee a call. “She’s fine; we’ve got her. She can stay with me tonight, okay? And no school tomorrow, I think.”

  She hung up, feeling beat. “Does everybody really want to go out? What about some sandwiches here?”

  Sheila teared up. “You mean we can’t go?”

  Darryl said, “I want to go.”

  “I’m outnumbered.” Trying hard to smile, she picked up her car keys. “Wait. What if they’re not open?”

  She made a couple of phone calls—and got no answers. But the look in Sheila’s eyes said she’d better come up with something.

  “I know,” said Darryl. “The Clover Grill’s open all night.”

  “Have they got fries?”

  He nodded soberly. “And shakes.”

  Sheila meant business. She got a burger, chocolate shake, and fries. Not to be outdone, Darryl did too. Skip made do with a Diet Coke and bites of theirs.

  As soon as Sheila’s mouth was full, which assured Skip the floor, she said, “I’m getting the idea you aren’t happy with Jimmy Dee and me.”

  “I’m afraid of Uncle Jimmy.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “My mom said he’s queer.” She squinted at Darryl. “Are you queer too?”

  “Do you know what that means?”

  Sheila nodded vigorously. “Gay.”

  “Well, why would that make you afraid of him?”

  “Andrew told me gay people do bad things to kids.”

  “Andrew’s full of it,” Darryl said.

  Sheila flared. “Well, sure, you’d say that. You’re gay too.”

  Darryl grabbed Skip and planted one on her. “I am not.”

  “Hey!”

  Sheila giggled.

  Skip said, “Who’s Andrew anyway?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  “You’ve got a boyfriend?” She didn’t even have breasts.

  “I’m afraid to ask him over ’cause he might find out about Uncle Jimmy.”

  “That’s why you ran away?”

  “No! I ran away because Kenny gets everything and I don’t get anything.”

  Darryl said, “Did Kenny get to go to the Clover Grill at two-thirty A.M. on a school night?”

  She gave him a half smile, the slightly flirtatious look of a child who’s exasperated with a grown-up but too polite to say so. “Uncle Jimmy didn’t take me.”

  “Well, he probably would if you asked him.”

  “Uh-uh. He won’t let us eat burgers and fries.”

  “I bet he will now.” Skip had a feeling Jimmy Dee’s ideas about nutrition were about to be eroded.

  Darryl said, “Are you really afraid of Uncle Jimmy?”

  Gravely, Sheila nodded.

  “Do you remember your dad very well?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’ve never really lived with a man, have you?”

  Again, she shook her head, pouting.

  “We’re not so bad.”

  She gave him another closed-mouth smile. “Maybe you’re not.”

  “Well, what’s so bad about Uncle Jimmy?”

  She lowered her eyes, looked at her plate. “Nothing.” She thought better of it. “He doesn’t cook like my mom.”

  “You miss your mom, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  He put an arm around Skip. “Well, you got a nice auntie here. Maybe you should spend more time with her.”

  Sheila looked at him hopefully. “And you too? Could we do things sometimes? Without Kenny?”

  Skip’s heart went out to her. “Sure, honey.”

  Later, lying in bed, Sheila tucked cozily into her fold-out couch, she thought, What’s with this man? He charmed Jimmy Dee, who hates any man I’m with, and Sheila, who’s afraid of men in general. Damn. And me.

  * * *

  Friday was a big day for Cole, maybe the biggest of his life. Marguerite had wanted him to cancel his meeting, but not even for her would he do it. It was the culmination of all his work. Twenty years of struggle: little deals, almost deals, deals that weren’t worth making, deals that never panned out; and finally, he had a chance at the one that counted.

  His software was a group scheduler, basically a calendar—a way to keep schedules for entire companies, to know where everyone was at once, and what he was supposed to be doing. He’d gotten raves from the companies who’d used it; the problem was, they were little companies.

  Trying to sell it individually to everyone in the world was a sucker’s game. What he needed was somebody like Microsoft either to buy it outright or distribute it and pay him a royalty. Bill Gates hadn’t called, but this morning Cole was meeting with a software publisher that was about to be nearly as big.

  They had been negotiating for six months, Cole and his partner, mostly with a man named Burke Hamerton. A figure of $1.5 million had been named.

  At ten A.M. sharp, Cole walked into the meeting room at the Windsor Court that the company had reserved. He had gotten up early and ironed a shirt. He had packed his briefcase and repacked it.

  This morning, because the talk was all about whether the update of the project was going to work, it was just Hamerton and Cole, not Cole’s partner, and no one else from the company. Cole much preferred it this way. He only half understood the financial nuances, and they bored him. If, instead of having a partner, instead of participating at all, he could have hired someone to work it out and let him know the bottom line, he would have.

  But he’d learned the hard way, in the first five years of his career, that business didn’t work that way. There was only one person in the world he could rely on: Cole Terry.

  The room was sunny, well appointed. Cole couldn’t have felt more cheerful and confident “Good news, Mr. Hamerton, I think I’ve got it. I should be able to make the modifications in the program in six months, maximum. And I mean maximum—it could take as little as four.”

  “Sit down, Mr. Terry.” There was something about his tone that Cole didn’t like. “Have you seen this letter?”

  It was from the IRS, attaching the bank account of a company called Psypid. Cole’s company. It was addressed to Cole’s partner, Cutting Marquer. Butsy to his friends.

  “What is this?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I’ve never seen it.” It was dated a week earlier, meaning it must have just arrived. The gist of it was that Cole and his partner—who employed about twelve people—had underpaid their payroll taxes and were being given no second chances. He sat down. “I don’t know what it
means.”

  “It seems pretty straightforward to me.”

  “We haven’t paid our taxes?” He couldn’t seem to take it in. How could it be? And how could Hamerton know before he did? “Where did you get this letter?”

  “It was in a pile of papers Cutting delivered yesterday.”

  Butsy, dammit. My own partner! My shit-eating, motherfucking lamebrain fool of a partner.

  “My company has a fiduciary duty to its shareholders, Mr. Terry. We were about to put a million dollars in advertising into your product. And this letter very plainly indicates our supplier’s days are numbered. You understand, of course, that we can’t possibly do business with a company that’s on its way out.”

  “On its… what?”

  “Look at that letter. Do you have enough money to pay those taxes? If you don’t, say good-bye to Psypid.”

  It was too much. Not only was Butsy a crook, he was an idiot who couldn’t be bothered hiding the evidence, who actually delivered it to a potential buyer—accidentally, Cole was sure; he knew Butsy.

  He brought his fist down on the table. “Fuck!”

  “Mr. Terry. Please.”

  Even Cole had been surprised at his bellow.

  “Goddamn motherfucker!” As Hamerton cringed, Cole picked up the telephone and threw it. “Goddamn! Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  He drove to his partner’s house, walked to the front porch, beat on the door, and called Butsy’s name so loudly that neighbors looked out their windows.

  When there was no answer, he kicked the door in and without even bothering to close it, began methodically destroying the contents of the house.

  * * *

  Lenore wished she’d gone back to work. She had told her father she’d be home, and here he was, having nothing better to do than go visiting.

  “I was just going to take Caitlin out.”

  “It won’t take a second, darlin’. Let your old dad in, will you?”

  Caitlin came toddling into the room. He bent down. “There you are, you precious thing. How’s Grandpa’s little angel, huh?”

  It infuriated Lenore to hear him talking to her daughter.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’ve got a little problem. I had a real good opportunity to make a lot of money fast, so I borrowed a little from the company to make the investment. You know how these things are—there’s no way of predictin’, really. Things didn’t pan out and…”

  “And you didn’t pay it back? Is that what you’re telling me? You embezzled from your own company and now you need me to bail you out? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I prayed about it, baby. You know I did. I asked for guidance from the Lord and… I don’t know; I did what I thought I was s’posed to.”

  “Your precious Lord told you to steal?”

  “Now you know better’n that, Miss Lenore. You know the Lord wouldn’t say a thing like that. He told me I was gonna be able to pay back the money real fast with plenty of interest. It was a good investment for the company, you see what I mean? Just something went wrong is all.”

  “What is this? Now you’re caught? Are you going to jail?”

  “Well, I probably am. The IRS says I didn’t pay ’em.”

  “I see.” She’d remembered to take some deep breaths, and she was calming down a little. “You used the money you were supposed to pay the company’s taxes with.”

  “I’m in a bind, baby girl. It was good your mama left her money to you; I mean straight to you instead of going through me first. You need that money and I’m real glad for you to have it in your situation.” He looked down at Caitlin, who was amusing 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 od
d 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 Magazine, in the Irish Channel.

  She went back to the office and called Jimmy Dee, now at his office. “I think what it is, Dee-Dee, is Sheila’s never been around men that much. She doesn’t know what to make of having an uncle who’s a daddy and so, brace yourself, she says she’s afraid of you.”

  “What? Mild-mannered Uncle Jimmy Dee?”

  “Well, she says it’s because you’re gay, which apparently her mother told her, but frankly I think that was just a way of getting into it. It does develop, though, that she has a homophobic boyfriend.”

  “A what? She’s only a baby.”

  “1 think at her age talking to someone in class qualifies him as your boyfriend. We do need to do a little education around being gay, though. I could do that if you like.”

  “No, I think I should. Otherwise, it’s like it’s still in the closet or something.”

  “The hell of it is, I know this is hard to take, but so far as I can tell, basically she wants her mama.”

  “She’s got you,” he said hopefully.

  “Poor unlucky child, if that’s the best she can do. But unfortunately it is and that’s part of the problem. I think it’s the whole thing she’s contending with—strange city, strange adults, and a whole lot of grief for everything she’s lost. She’s going to get through it, though. I even see running away as a good sign. By doing that, she told us how bad things are for her.”

  “Well, what are we going to do about it?” He sounded hopeless.

  “Take her to McDonald’s, for one thing.”

  “Do what? And get the social services on our backs for child abuse? Why don’t we just beat her while we’re at it?”

  “A tiny trick I learned from Darryl. He’s got quite a little way with kids.”

  “I like that dude. I think he’s okay.”

  “High praise, indeed.”

  “And what does her tininess think about him?”