Seconds to Live(7)

Mrs. Green gasped. One hand covered her mouth then dropped into her lap.

Stella reached out to take her hands. “It’s Missy.”

“No.” Mrs. Green shook her head as if she was trying to shake out the thought. “That can’t be. I just saw her Thursday. I took her to lunch. She was fine.”

Stella squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Mrs. Green wrenched them away. She jumped to her feet, knocking the chair over and backing up until she was trapped against the kitchen counter. “No.” She slid down the front of the cabinet to the floor. She pressed a fist to her mouth and rocked. In her eyes, shock and denial warred with the truth. “It has to be a mistake.”

Stella went to her. She dropped onto her knees beside Missy’s mother and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The older woman’s grief seemed to flow into her.

A long minute later, Mrs. Green pushed away. “How?”

“We don’t know yet,” Stella said in a gentle tone. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

Nodding, Mrs. Green wiped tears from her face with her fingertips.

“Did Missy use drugs?”

Mrs. Green nodded. “Alcohol, too. When she was living in Los Angeles. She had some success writing screenplays, but threw away all her money on drugs. I warned her about that lifestyle. Too much money. Too many wild parties. It took me three years to convince her to come home and get straightened out.” She looked up, her gaze sharpening. “How did you know?”

“We found a needle at the scene,” Stella said gently.

Mrs. Green shuddered. A trembling breath left her body. “I can’t believe it. She promised me she’d never use again, and you know how stubborn she is.”

Stella thought of the bruises on Missy’s face. “Was there a man or other friends in her life?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did she have any contact with her friends in California?” Stella asked.

“Not that I know of. She was determined to stay far away from everything that reminded her of that life. She wouldn’t even consider writing again.” Mrs. Green hugged her own waist. “What happened to her?”

“We’ll do everything we can to find out,” Stella reassured her. “How did she get clean?”

Mrs. Green sniffed and blotted her eyes with a tissue. “I borrowed money from my sister to put her in rehab.” Fresh tears overflowed Mrs. Green’s eyes. “She was doing so well, working two jobs to earn the money to pay back my sister. I was so proud of her.”

Sorrow filled Stella’s heart until she couldn’t draw a deep breath.

“Tell me you’ll find out what happened to my baby,” Mrs. Green pleaded. “I know she didn’t do this to herself. Missy wouldn’t lie to me.”

Stella put a hand on her forearm. “I’ll do my best.”

Images of a youthful Missy spun through her mind: sitting on the floor of Stella’s bedroom painting her toenails, floating in an inner tube on the river behind Stella’s house, tossing her cap at high school graduation.

And now she was dead.





Chapter Three

He pushed the Record button on his cable box as a Breaking News Report banner scrolled across the screen. A reporter stood in front of the baseball field, as close as she could get to the dugout without crossing the crime scene tape barrier.

Finally! They’d found her. He never thought it would take so long.

The reporters intercepted a beautiful brunette in a serious suit. He turned up the volume just in time to catch her name. She was a police detective?

“It’s too early to make assumptions,” Detective Dane said before she ducked the reporters.

Too early? Assumptions? How did they not understand? They just didn’t get it. No one appreciated the irony. His sigh was long, deep, and full of disappointment.

He’d left Missy at a baseball field with a hypodermic needle at her side, a junkie in the middle of America’s symbol of wholesomeness. He’d thought the contrast was interesting, even artistic. He’d positioned her carefully. Hell, he’d even wrapped a fucking bow around her neck. But apparently he’d been too subtle. Maybe if he’d left an apple pie in her lap, the police would have gotten the message.

He opened his folder. Eight-by-ten color glossies of Missy lying on the bench, arms folded across her midsection Sleeping Beauty-style, hypodermic needle tucked beneath her overlapping fingers. He’d positioned her late Saturday night. Since then, an entire day of severe storms had raged through the area. Maybe the weather or time had affected the precise positioning of Missy’s body.