An Eye for Murder by Libby Fischer Hellmann

and went online as soon as I could. After finding the web site that hosted Skull’s free E-mail account, I clicked to the log-in page and typed in “BENS” as my user name, and “GIJoe” as my password. A dozen messages instantly blinked on the screen. I studied the list. Most were ads and too-good-to-be-true offers, which I moved to the trash. One message remained. The return path said [email protected]. I opened it.
     
    “ I may have the information you’re seeking. But I need identification. Who are you and why do you want to know about Lisle Gottlieb ?”
     
    Lisle Gottlieb?
    The only Lisle I’d ever heard of was the young Austrian girl in the Sound of Music whose heart was broken by her Nazi boyfriend. I swung the chair around and looked through the window. Some neighborhood kids were blading down the middle of the street. I watched as Rachel flew past. Without elbow or knee pads.
    Who was Lisle Gottlieb? I tapped my fingers on the desk. Suddenly it came. The snapshot of Skull and a woman on a bridge in Europe at Mrs. Fleishman’s. Lisle Gottlieb could be the woman in the picture. I squinted at the screen. Dad said Skull claimed to have worked with the Resistance. What if he’d met this Lisle over there, fallen madly in love, had a baby? Then, one day, after a quiet walk on the bridge of whatever city they were living in, Nazi thugs stormed their home and seized Lisle. Or Skull, while he was on some mission for the Resistance. Then, having been taken to different camps, they never found each other after liberation. It was a possibility; you still see an occasional story like that on the news.
    I flicked a pen back and forth between my fingers. I should check Skull’s out box. Perhaps if I read the message that he originally sent, I’d learn something. I clicked on the icon to Skull’s out box. A white screen bordered in blue appeared on the screen. Inside were the words: “There are no items in your out box.”
    I frowned. Most people keep their outgoing messages— at least for a while if only as a record of their correspondence. But Skull’s box was empty. Unusual. Especially if he was E-mailing people regularly.
    Unless. I picked up the pen again. Mrs. Fleishman said Ben Sinclair was a man with secrets. Maybe Skull erased his outgoing mail to protect himself. Hide his cybertracks. Boo Boo said Skull thought someone was after him. If Skull thought his E-mail might be under surveillance, it did make a kind of paranoid sense. He might not have known, given his rudimentary knowledge of cyberspace, that a record of his messages was stored on various servers anyway.
    But if he was searching for his long-lost love, why keep his efforts secret? If I was trying to track down someone, especially someone close, I’d cast as wide a net as possible. The more people who knew, the better. Evidently Skull didn’t agree. Unless a long-lost love was not what he was searching for.
    I backtracked to Skull’s in box, wondering if the messages he’d received prior to today might reveal a clue. But aside from DGL’s message, his in box was empty too. I checked his trash, hoping he might have transferred but not deleted them. Nothing except the ones I’d moved a moment ago. He had been thorough.
    The screen door slammed and footsteps thumped on the steps.
    “Rachel?”
    “Yeah, Ma?”
    “You have homework tonight?”
    No answer. That meant yes. The door to her room closed smartly.
    I could always write DGL myself and ask about his or her connection to Lisle Gottlieb. Then I reconsidered. DGL, whoever he or she might be, might misunderstand the situation. It was confusing, and DGL was under no obligation to tell me a blessed thing.
    I opened my browser, thinking I’d run Lisle’s name through a couple of search engines. At the bottom of the menu was the family roots web site. I’d forgotten I tagged it the other day. Seeing it now gave me an idea. I slid the mouse over and clicked.
    The same web page appeared. I