Seconds to Live(38)
Gianna lifted a bony shoulder in a shrug, then, shivering, she zipped her sweat jacket all the way to her chin. “It is what it is.”
Stella glanced in the rearview mirror. “Any word on the transplant?”
Gianna’s mouth tightened. “Nope. Long list, ya know?”
Mac suspected a former prostitute and heroin addict didn’t exactly soar to the top. People tended to make judgments, and there was no escaping the stigma.
A few minutes later, Stella pulled into the parking lot of a low-income apartment complex. Three utilitarian brick buildings squatted around a weedy patch of grass. Mac opened the car door for Gianna. The girl stepped out, but her legs buckled as she stood. Mac took her elbow. Humiliation and frustration hardened her features as her legs steadied.
“Thanks.” She forced a tough smile on her face. Pulling her arm from his grasp, she walked toward the closest building in a pained gait, as if her entire body hurt.
Mac nodded, shutting the door and then sticking close enough to catch her if her balance gave out again. Stella followed with the groceries.
Gianna’s apartment was partially below ground. The entire unit was the size of a two-car garage and just as damp. They stepped directly into the kitchenette. A window over the sink looked out on the street. A card table and two folding chairs crowded the tiny space. A lopsided sofa, a milk-crate coffee table, and a TV took up most of the living room. A door behind the kitchen likely led to the bedroom and bathroom.
Stella put the milk and eggs in the pint-size fridge, which was jammed under three feet of counter.
Gianna sank onto the couch. Exhaustion lined her face, aging her ten years in the span of two seconds. “Thanks, Stella. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Hungry?” Stella held up the plastic container of pasta. “I brought your favorite.”
“Yeah.” Gianna smiled, her eyes looking watery. With a sniff, she rubbed a knuckle under her eye and lifted her chin. “That’d be great.”
Tough kid.
Stella warmed the pasta in the countertop microwave and delivered it to the girl. She took the food and ate a few bites without speaking.
Mac moved the two folding chairs into the living area and opened them in front of the sofa. A dog-eared book on the floor caught his eye: GED Practice and Review. A single framed snapshot decorated the table: a selfie of Stella and Gianna against a clear, blue sky.
Stella dropped into a chair and leaned forward to face Gianna. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
Gianna’s face snapped up. “You know I’ve been clean all year. I ain’t had nothin’ to do with my old life.”
“I know.” Stella held up a hand. “It’s not about you. It’s about someone else.”
The girl settled again, twirling a forkful of noodles. “OK. Anything for you, Stella.”
“Do you know Missy Green?” Stella asked.
Gianna’s fork stilled. “I know a Missy.”
Stella leaned forward, resting her clasped hands on her knees. “But you don’t know her last name?”
“No.” Gianna chewed. It looked like effort, as if she was too tired to eat. She swallowed. “Why?”
“Because your cell number was in her phone contacts,” Stella said.
Mac asked, “Is it because you know her from NA?”
“Yes.” Gianna grinned at Stella and jerked a thumb at Mac. “Guess he’s not just your arm candy?”
Stella didn’t bother to cover her grin. Instead, she played along, waggling her eyebrows until the girl laughed out loud. “When did you last see her?”
“Wait.” Gianna’s body jerked straight, as if she just realized a cop was questioning her about her friend. “Did something happen to Missy?”
Stella hesitated, no doubt deciding how much information to reveal about the case in order to gather more. “She was murdered.”
“No.” Gianna dropped her fork and set the dish on the crate.
“How well did you know her?” Stella asked.
Gianna lifted a bony shoulder. “She was nice. She gave me a ride sometimes. I know she worked a lot, but I don’t know much about her personal life.”
Stella pressed. “Did she seem upset lately or show any signs of relapsing?”
“No.” Gianna’s hair swayed as she shook her head. “Missy seemed pretty solid.”
“How often do you go to NA meetings?” Mac asked.
“I try to go a couple of times a week, depending on how tired I am or if I feel like walking. Otherwise I have to get a ride, and a lot of members don’t like to give out their cell phone numbers. Missy did, though. She was sweet.”