Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [87]
“I’m so sorry about your loss.” Ellen approached, extending her hand.
“Real nice of you to come.” Gerry’s voice sounded hoarse, and she blinked tears from her eyes. “I know Amy woulda wanted to meet you. Someday maybe you can bring your little boy over to the house.”
Behind her, Cheryl nodded. “I’d like to meet him, too, when he’s feeling better.”
“I’d be happy to do that,” Ellen said, with a twinge. She’d forgotten that she had lied to them about needing Will’s medical history.
Cheryl said, “Too bad you missed my husband and my brother. They were here last night and earlier, but they had to go.” She gestured next to her at another mourner, a young woman. “This is a friend of Amy’s.”
“Melanie Rotucci,” the girl said, extending her hand. She looked to be in her twenties, and on another day, would have been pretty, if a little hard-looking. Her gray eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her fair skin pale and wan. She had a cupid’s-bow mouth, and her best feature was long, dark hair that spilled over the shoulders of her black leather jacket.
Ellen introduced herself, surprised to meet her. Cheryl and Gerry had told her that Amy didn’t have girlfriends.
Cheryl must have been reading her mind. “Melanie met Amy in rehab, and they were really good friends.”
“Amy was in rehab?” Ellen asked, confused. It was all news to her.
“We didn’t know until we met Melanie. It turns out Amy was really trying to turn her life around. She went to rehab twice, for heroin. She was almost better, right, Melanie?”
“I really thought she was going to make it.” Melanie’s mouth made a resigned line, in dark lipstick. “She was clean for thirty-five days the second time. At ninety days, she was going to tell everybody, all of you.”
“My poor, poor baby,” Gerry whispered, collapsing into new sobs, and Cheryl hugged her closer.
Strain etched Melanie’s young face. “I need a cigarette,” she muttered, rising.
“I’ll keep you company,” Ellen said, intrigued.
Chapter Sixty-six
“This must be hard on you,” Ellen said as they stepped outside the funeral home and shared a grimy top step, its small size forcing them close together. Melanie cupped her cigarette against the cold wind, firing it with a thumb flicked on a yellow plastic Bic lighter.
“It’s the worst.”
“Were you good friends?”
“I mean, we didn’t know each other that long, but when you meet people in rehab, you get tighter a lot faster. Amy said that rehab was like dog years, one is like seven.” Melanie dragged on the cigarette, and smoke leaked from her sad smile.
“Where is the rehab center?”
“Eagleville, in Pennsylvania.” Melanie leaned back against an iron rail and crossed long legs, in skinny jeans and black boots.
Ellen had heard of the place. “Can I ask, how old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“A lot younger than Amy.”
“I know. She took care of me like a big sister, or a mom or something.”
It struck a chord. “Did Amy ever mention to you having had a child?”
“No way!” Melanie looked at her like she was crazy. “Amy didn’t have a kid.”
“I think she did and she put it up for adoption.” Ellen almost didn’t believe it herself, after Miami. “She had a baby, but I guess she didn’t mention it to you.”
“It’s possible, I guess.”
“It was a very sick baby, with a heart problem.”
“I didn’t know everything about her.” Melanie’s eyes narrowed behind a curtain of cigarette smoke. “Amy was her own girl, that’s for sure, but we went through group together, the seminars they make us take, the lectures, rec activities all day long. We even spent our smoke breaks together. She never mentioned a sick baby.”
Ellen set her emotions aside. “She ever mention a boyfriend? His name could’ve been Charles Cartmell.”
“No. She used to date a lot, but she was changing that, too. She said in group that she was sick of hooking up with abusive guys. She wasn’t going there, anymore.”
“Did any of them