Three-Day Town

She nodded. “And see how Cam picked up the fabric colors from the pictures? It almost makes me want to throw another party. How long are you and Dwight going to be here?”

“Just till the weekend,” I said regretfully.

“I was hoping I could get Lieutenant Harald to come if you were going to be here. She never does the party scene, but they say she came to mine because of you. Nicco was so pissed that he didn’t recognize her at first when she came back to question us yesterday. I mean, he’d heard she was a police officer, but you don’t expect the owner of Oscar Nauman’s pictures to show up at a murder, do you?”

“I guess not, but speaking of murder, Luna—”

“Oh, poor, poor Phil! Does she know why he was killed?”

“I’m afraid that’s not something she would tell me.”

“But Dwight’s a police officer, too, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but this isn’t his jurisdiction. What I actually came for was to ask if you could recommend a nearby florist? I want to take his widow some flowers.”

“I should do that, too!” she exclaimed. “Or do you think I should wait for the memorial service?”

She gave me the name and number of a shop three blocks away on Amsterdam Avenue. Back in the apartment and after talking to a pleasant clerk, I settled on a potted gardenia that he swore was covered in buds that were just coming into bloom. It was going to cost three times what a five-gallon bush from a Colleton County nursery would cost, but we were five hundred miles away from Colleton County and Mrs. Lundigren didn’t have a garden anyhow. When I told him it was for a recent death, he said he would add a white satin bow instead of the usual red one and that it would be there within the hour.

While I waited, I called Emma and learned that nothing had changed on their end since we’d talked. “I can sort of understand why everyone’s upset, but really, Emma, it’s only a bare armpit, not a girl’s full frontal.”

“I know that. You know that. Even Ashley knows that. But it’s the caption that was so awful. And that it was on Lee’s Facebook page. Mother doesn’t know about it yet, but when she does, it’s really going to hit the fan.”

“So run me through it,” I said. “The school says you can’t carry a phone to class, right? Not even if it’s turned off?”

“Not even if it’s turned off,” she said. “If you bring it into the building, you have to leave it in your locker or it will be confiscated for the rest of the day and you have to go to the office to get it back. The only time you can use it is during your lunch break.”

“But you can legally use it during lunch?”

“Right. That’s how I could call you. I have the last lunch period. Lee has the first and he says he did use his phone, but then he put it back in his locker.”

“And he’s sure he locked it?”

“Ask him yourself.”

I heard murmurings, then Lee came on the line. “Hey, Aunt Deborah. I’m sorry Emma’s bothering you on your honeymoon.”

“Don’t be silly, honey. I just wish I could help.”

“I swear to you I didn’t post that picture.”

“I believe you, but who did? Who doesn’t like you and has the computer skills to hack into your Facebook account?”

I could almost hear his frustrated shrug. “I don’t think it’s somebody who hates me. I think it’s probably someone who thought it’d be a big funny joke.”

“Did Ashley have a boyfriend before you?”

“Well, duh, Aunt Deborah.”

“Sorry. So did she break up with someone who might be mad that she’s seeing you?”

“They broke up before Christmas and he’s seeing somebody else, too.”

“Back to your locker then. You’re positive you locked it?”

“And twirled the dial so no one could just pull up on it. Some kids think it’s cool to leave their lockers unlocked so they can get in and out quicker, but then other kids will switch the open locks around, and next thing you know five kids are in the office trying to sort out the serial numbers so they can get their own locks back and get into their lockers.”

Ah, yes. Another example of adolescent humor.

“Where do you keep the combination?”

“I don’t. One of the perks of being the assistant principal’s kid is that I get to hold on to the same lock I got when I was a freshman.”

“Okay, forget about the lock for a minute, who knows your Facebook password?”

“Nobody. Well… Mother knows it. That’s the only way Emma and I are allowed to have a page. I suppose she’d give it to Dad if he wanted it, but nobody else.”

I’m as clueless about electronic technology as anybody can be these days and still log on to the Internet, figure out how to tape a program for later viewing, or make a wireless phone call. I do not tweet, twitter, or Facebook though, and I can barely send a text message. “Walk me through the process, Lee. Once someone has your phone, how can they send a picture to your Facebook?”

“You do know that phones can connect to the Internet, right?”