Out Cold by William G. Tapply

guess.”
    â€œSo if I knew her from when I lived there,” Ethan said, “she would’ve been thirteen or fourteen at the most.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I knew any girls that age then.”
    â€œMy other thought,” I said, “was Walter.”
    â€œI suppose she could’ve been looking for my father,” he said, “though I can’t imagine why. But even if she was…”
    Walter was dead. He couldn’t help. That’s what Ethan was thinking.
    â€œShe had your address written down, you said?” said Ethan.
    I nodded.
    â€œIf she knew where you lived—or where my dad and I lived—she wouldn’t need to write it down, right?”
    â€œGood point,” I said. “But maybe she knew one of us from someplace else, had never been to the house, so had to look up the address.”
    â€œYou’re right,” he said. “Listen, I’m sorry, man. That’s a huge bummer. Wish I could help you. You still gonna pay for my supper?”
    â€œI can’t talk you into some good red meat?”
    â€œCouldn’t get it past my lips.”
    â€œI don’t know how you do it,” I said. “No steak? No burgers? No lamb chops?”
    â€œYou develop a taste for tofu,” he said.
    Â 
    Ethan and I had finished eating. He was telling me how he’d switched majors from drama to communications, and we were sipping coffee and talking about Internet advertising when Skeeter came over to our booth. He wasn’t smiling, which was unusual for Skeeter.
    He gripped the edge of our booth with both hands, put his face close to mine, fixed me with his spit-colored eyes, and said, “You heard about Sunshine, right?”
    I nodded.
    â€œI blame you,” he said.
    â€œI do, too.”
    â€œI mean,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken, “you come in here, you tell her you’re going to help her, and then you give her this picture, ask her to show it around, and I can tell you, Mr. Coyne, she was hell-bent on doing it. She felt like she owed you something. For helping her. The rest of the night, she kept taking that picture out of her pocket and looking at it and mumbling about it.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “After she left that night, I never saw her again. She ends up in an alley behind a Dumpster with her throat ripped open. So you tell me.”
    â€œI agree with you,” I said. “I think what happened to Sunshine had something to do with that girl in the photo. I think if I hadn’t involved her, given her that photo, asked her to show it around…if I hadn’t come in here that night, Sunshine wouldn’t have gotten killed. I feel awful about it. I blame myself.”
    Skeeter was staring at me. “You saying you agree with me?”
    â€œYes. It’s pretty obvious. She died because of me.”
    He touched Ethan’s shoulder. “Shove in, kid.”
    Ethan slid over in the booth, and Skeeter folded himself onto the bench beside him, put his forearms on the table, and leaned toward me. “Listen, Mr. Coyne,” he said. “I’m pretty upset about this, you know? I mean, I really liked Sunshine. She was making a lot of progress, getting her shit back together. She was a good kid. She had plenty of problems, but she had a lot going for her, too. Best thing that ever happened to her, you taking on her case. That could’ve turned her whole life around, you know? So it pisses me off. Her getting murdered, I mean. But I guess it probably ain’t fair, blaming you for what happened. You didn’t kill her. You were trying to help her.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “It’s fair.”
    Skeeter waved his hand in the air. “It ain’t your fault, Mr. Coyne. I was outa line. Anyways, I was the one who brought her out to talk to you. As much my fault as yours.”
    â€œBlaming ourselves doesn’t do any good,” I