All the talking gave me a chance to steal a look at Deedee. She was about my height of five feet four and had large, almond-shaped eyes-and if I thought I’ d been generous with the eyeliner the day I gave a kiss to the busboy, I was naive about the eye’ s ability to bear the weight of makeup. It suited her, though, in a cat-girl sort of way. She was a fourteen-year-old girl trying to look older. In other words, typical. Her hair was pulled back from a round face, and there was a mole above her right eyebrow that I thought was adorable but that I’ d bet for sure she hated. She wore boys’  big hip-hop-style shorts and an oversize Raiders jersey-her attire at one point being the topic of conversation, I suspected, because I saw Maria gesturing at her in that disapproving way moms do, and it was the only time Deedee appeared to get an attitude. Plus Rose opted not to translate that part.

Reflecting back on the dinner that followed, I can’ t pinpoint the exact moment I decided I’ d agree to be a Big Sister to Deedee.

It might have been when she announced at the Sizzler that she loved salad and then loaded up on potato salad, macaroni salad, Jell-O salad, and ambrosia without a clue of the irony.

Or even before that, when we went to cross the street to get to the restaurant and-out of habit, I’ ll assume-she started to take my arm before dropping it and stepping away in embarrassment.

Who knows? I may have been drawn to a lively and willing disposition that gave promise of a certain& shall we say& malleability?

Plus I felt sorry for the poor kid. Rose whispered to me over the all-you-can-eat taco bar that Deedee had never been to a movie at the theater. Guess when your mom can’ t see, you might as well wait until it comes out on DVD.

Still, if I had all the girls in the world to choose from, I wondered if I’ d pick Deedee. Hard to say. She was definitely a far cry from the dimpled, wide-eyed girl I’ d envisioned. But I consoled myself with the thought that it doesn’ t work that way in life with kids anyway. You get what you get.

LIZBETH CORNERED ME by the reception area first thing Monday morning. ‘ Did you follow up on that call?’

‘ What call?’  I asked, knowing exactly what she was referring to. If she’ s going to keep giving me only the minimum merit increase every year, I want to earn it.

‘ Troy.’

‘ Troy& ?’

‘ Troy Jones.’

My brows furrowed as if I were trying to place the name.

‘ Troy Jones the traffic reporter for K-JAM radio,’  she snipped. ‘ You said you called him and that you were going to follow up because he hadn’ t called you back.’

This was another one of those times that I felt sorry for her. I couldn’ t imagine trying to supervise an employee who was so pathologically passive-aggressive. But that’ s what she gets for getting to me before I had my first Diet Coke of the day. And for being Lizbeth.

‘ As a matter of fact, I did. He said he needed to look into it, and he’ d get back to me.’

Her face lit up. ‘ Did it sound hopeful? Maybe I’ ll call, too. Give him a bit of a-’

‘ He has to check with his boss,’  I said hurriedly. ‘ He likes the idea, but it’ s a sticky situation& office politics and whatnot. I got the definite impression that he would have a problem with it if we applied pressure.’

Lizbeth nodded, told me to keep her posted, and left to do whatever nefarious bidding was next on her agenda.

As soon as she was gone, I collapsed with relief. That’ d teach me to try to be clever. Because fact was, everything I’ d told her was true: I had called him, and he’ d said he needed to check into it and get back to me. Only the ‘ it’  had nothing to do with being a spokesman for L.A. Rideshare. I hadn’ t even brought up the subject.

‘ It’  was trying to find out who Buddy Fitch was& and what he might have done to Marissa.

That alone required supreme finesse. I had called Troy to thank him for sending the yearbooks. Then, while I had him on the line, I asked nonchalantly if he knew of a Buddy Fitch. Of course he asked why. Although I tried to stall him off by alluding vaguely to the list, I could tell the curiosity was eating him alive.

‘ One of the items on the list says, Make Buddy Fitch pay,’  I finally admitted. ‘ But I don’ t know who he was or what he did.’

‘ It says to make him pay?’

‘ Yeah.’

‘ Boy, it’ s weird to think my sister would write something so vengeful. It doesn’ t sound like her at all.’

‘ It doesn’ t?’

‘ Not Marissa. If she was that pissed off, then this guy must really have it coming. He must have-’

‘ Troy, I’ m sure it was nothing bad,’  I interrupted, hoping to shift his train of thought, at least for now. If the idea that Marissa was the victim of any sort of cruelty was going to get planted in his head, it wasn’ t going to be me with a shovel in my hand and dirt under my fingernails. ‘ Maybe he played a friendly practical joke on her and she wanted to do something funny back.’

‘ Yeah& maybe,’  Troy said, his voice skeptical. ‘ So he wasn’ t in any of the yearbooks?’

‘ Nope. That’ s why I was hoping you might be able to ask around for me. I thought he could be a family friend or someone she worked with.’

‘ Okay. I’ ll ask my parents, and I’ ll try calling her old boss. I’ ll let you know as soon as I find anything out.’  Then he added apologetically, ‘ It could take a while, though. I’ m swamped at work right now-the station’ s got some big fair coming up, and I’ ve been roped into helping out. How fast do you need this?’

‘ No hurry. I just need to have everything done before her birthday, so we’ ve got time.’

‘ Not that much time. Just over four months left.’

I understood the warning underlying Troy’ s words. As far as he knew, I’ d been working diligently on completing the list since the accident last July and not merely since I’ d seen him at the cemetery six weeks ago. By his calculations, then, my time was half-over rather than only just beginning.

‘ Well, I didn’ t want to pressure you,’  I said by way of explanation.

‘ I just don’ t know how long it’ s going to take to find this guy. But I really meant what I told you before. Anything I can do to help I’ m glad to.’

If ever there was an opening for me to make Lizbeth happy and ask Troy to sign on as a spokesman for my company, this was it. Yet I couldn’ t make myself do it-not after he’ d just told me he was so busy. Not while I was already asking him for another favor.

Instead, I merely thanked him, and even when he asked me directly if there was anything else he could do& anything at all, I demurely declined.

It didn’ t matter anyway, I assured myself. The traffic reporter project was yesterday’ s news. I sat at my desk, having escaped Lizbeth’ s scrutiny earlier that morning, and was secretly making plans for the gas giveaway. Granted, I still hadn’ t gotten a go-ahead from Bigwood-which meant S.C. Electric hadn’ t yet said yes-but I felt certain it was going to happen. I was in the midst of pondering whether I’ d have the nerve to call them myself when Bigwood’ s secretary, Phyllis, strode into my office.

‘ You’ re late,’  she said in her road-gravel voice.

‘ Late? For what?’

She crossed her arms, which were twisted with muscle. Phyllis terrified me. Between her leathery skin, broad frame, and salt-and-pepper hair that she kept pulled back in a bun, she gave every indication that the rumors that she used to ride with the Hell’ s Angels were true. ‘ The directors meeting started at ten. Everybody’ s already there.’

I was invited to a directors meeting? Me? This sort of thing never happened to anyone here, much less me. If any of my predecessors went to a directors meeting, they never made it out alive because I’ d sure never heard about it.

‘ Nobody told me,’  I attempted to explain as I followed Phyllis’ s confident stride. Then I added nervously, ‘ Any idea why they want me there?’

‘ Beats me,’  she replied before depositing me in Bigwood’ s office without further comment.

I squinted to let my eyes adjust to the dimness. Even though he had a corner office with spectacular views, Bigwood had every curtain drawn, giving the place, for all its size, a cavelike feel. He was there along with Lizbeth, Susan, the head of finance, and Ivan Cohen, aka Dr. Death (no one knew what he did, but pack your bags if he ever called you to his office, because you were headed for either unemployment or some sort of career Siberia).

‘ Nice of you to join us,’  Lizbeth sneered.

Susan cleared off a space next to her, and I mouthed a ‘ Thanks’  in her direction.

Bigwood regarded me curiously. ‘ You look different. What’ s different about you?’

I’ m wearing a bra, perhaps? When I shrugged, Susan widened her eyes at me, as if to say, Give an answer. I quickly understood why: He wasn’ t going to drop it until I did.

‘ Glasses-did you use to wear glasses?’  My mind raced-what could I say? Nail polish color? A brow wax? ‘ Wait-’  He snapped his fingers. ‘ You’ ve gained a few pounds!’

Lizbeth tittered. ‘ You guessed it,’  I replied as gaily as I could manage, given the fact that I had gained a couple of pounds.

‘ Good for you,’  he said. ‘ You look healthy. I admire a woman who isn’ t afraid to eat.’  To delight him further, I took a cookie from a tray in the center of the table.

My interest in being summoned to the inner sanctum soon turned into mind-numbing boredom. How did Susan stand this week after week? Bubba sat at my feet, probably because I was the one who kept feeding him pieces of cookie. They discussed strategies and funding and I don’ t even remember what else, because eventually there weren’ t even any more cookies to keep Bubba interested and me entertained, and as I wondered if winter had yet turned to spring and contemplated crawling across the conference table and begging Dr. Death to put me out of my misery, Bigwood turned to me.