Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [88]
“No. We’re allowed visitors on weekends but she never got any. Neither did I, which was fine with me. If my mom came, I’d a kicked her ass.”
Ellen let it go. “I’m wondering about one guy in particular, someone Amy was dating about three or four years ago. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, on the short side, white, with longish brown hair. They might’ve gone on a trip together, to someplace warm. Did she ever mention a vacation with a guy, at a beach?”
Melanie paused a minute, frowning. “No, but I know that a while ago, she used to see a guy named Rob. Rob Moore.”
Ellen felt her heartbeat quicken. “What did she say about him?”
“Just that he was a jerk.”
“How long ago was this, that she saw him?”
“I don’t know, but it was old news.”
“Three or four years ago?”
“Yeah. Really in her past.”
Ellen gathered that if you were in your twenties, three years ago was history. “Did she mention where he was from?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Did she tell you anything else about him, like where he lived or what he did for a living?”
“No, nothing like that.” Melanie blew out an acrid cone of smoke.
“How about his age? Or what kind of car he drove or where he was from? Anything like that?”
“No, just that he was a bad dude. Used to smack her around, and she dumped him. She wouldn’t take that, forever. That was the thing about Amy. She was the one we all thought would make it.” Tears glistened in Melanie’s bloodshot eyes. “Two of the counselors came by earlier this morning, they woulda told you the same thing.”
Ellen’s thoughts raced ahead. “I hate to ask you, but I feel like I need to know. What was it that happened to her? How did they find her?”
“I was the one who found her,” Melanie answered flatly.
“That must have been awful for you.”
Melanie didn’t reply.
“So she overdosed on heroin? How do you know something like that? Was there a needle in her arm?”
“No. She didn’t shoot it, neither of us did. She snorted it. There was junk on the table and the credit card she used, a Visa.” Melanie tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, we were supposed to go out that night, but she never met me, so I went over around nine the next morning. She was on the couch, dressed to go out.”
“How did you get in?”
“I have a key. She was all stiff. The family thinks she overdosed, but I wonder if it was bad junk.” Melanie faltered, then took a drag. “The cops said that she died the night before.”
Ellen processed the information. “Why do you think it was bad junk and not just an overdose?”
“You never know with street junk.”
“She lived in Brigantine?”
“Yeah.”
“By herself?”
“Yeah. She got a room in a nice house and a new job, waitressing at this restaurant. She was going to meetings, too, every day. She never missed.” Melanie shook her head sadly. “She’s the one who told me to carry Subutex.”
“What’s that?”
“A pill. If you take it and you do H, you don’t get high. Amy always carried two pills with her.”
Ellen had heard of drugs like that. She’d done a story once involving Antabuse, a drug that made alcoholics sick if they drank.
“But that night, she didn’t take a pill. The bottle was right on her nightstand with the two still in it.”
Ellen thought it sounded strange. “So why did she take heroin instead of Subutex?”
“She musta missed it so much. Heroin’s like that. You love it and you hate it, so much. She shoulda known better than to buy off the street, even in a nice neighborhood.”
“Wouldn’t she have mentioned to you that she was thinking of using again? How often did you speak to her, generally?”
Melanie tossed her cigarette butt to the sidewalk. “We talked on the phone, like, every day, and she was queen of texting. She texted all the time.”
“Did you look at her texts from before she died?”
“Whoa, weird. I didn’t. I totally forgot.” Melanie was already reaching into her purse and extracting a silvery phone with a fake-jeweled face, which she flipped open. She pressed several buttons to retrieve the texts, then started scrolling backwards. Ellen edged close to her, and they read the text together:
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