"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:

scored new 7 jeans on sale, wait till u see them! xoxo

Ellen glanced at the top of the screen, which showed the time the text had come in, 9:15 P.M. "She sounds happy."

"Yeah, mos def." Melanie pressed a few more buttons. "Here's another one, from earlier that day, around five o'clock."

Ellen and Melanie put their heads together, and read the previous text, which said:

$228 in tips, my best day ever! going to the mall 2 celebrate! see u soon! xoxo

"That's so random." Melanie shook her head. "It doesn't sound like she was thinking about using."

"It sure doesn't." Ellen thought about it. "Recovering addicts get sponsors, right? Did Amy have a sponsor?"

"Sure, Dot Hatten. She was here this morning. I don't know if she got a call from her that night. I was too much of a wreck to ask her, and she might not say anyway. They keep everything confidential, like lawyers or something."

"You don't think she'd talk to me?"

"I know she wouldn't."

"Do you have her phone number, anyway?"

"No."

"Where does she live?" Ellen could get the number online.

"Jersey, but if you want to know more about Amy, you should ask Rose. She was here before. She's another friend of ours. She's older." Melanie wrinkled her nose. "She was in rehab with me and Amy."

"Great, can I have her phone?"

"I have her cell number right here." Melanie pressed a few keys on the phone, found a number, and rattled it off.

"Hold on, I have to get a pen." Ellen rooted around in her purse, but Melanie dismissed her with a wave.

"You don't need one. Give me your cell number, and I'll text it to you.

"Of course," Ellen said, a reminder of her age, as she stood on the front step of mortality.

Chapter Sixty-seven

Rose Bock turned out to be a middle-aged African-American woman with over-sized aviator glasses and a sweet smile. She wore her hair cut natural and had on a blue-checked Oxford shirt underneath a navy suit, looking every inch the accountant. Ellen had reached her on her cell phone, and she was in Philly, so they'd met at a burger joint full of noisy students near the Penn campus.

"Thanks so much for meeting me." Ellen took a quick sip of a Diet Coke. "My condolences about Amy. Melanie told me that you two were close."

"We were." Rose's smile faded quickly. "So how did you know her? You didn't say on the phone."

"Long story short, I adopted a baby that I think was hers. At least that's what the court papers say."

"Amy had a baby?" Rose's eyebrows rose, and Ellen grew officially tired of the reaction.

"Hi, ladies." The waitress arrived with a cheeseburger in a blue plastic basket, set it down on the table, then went off. Rose picked up the burger and smiled sheepishly.

"I can't resist the double cheeseburger here. I traded one addiction for another."

"Enjoy yourself." Ellen managed a smile. "If you don't mind my saying so, you don't look like the typical drug addict."

"Yes, I do," Rose said, without rancor. "I was addicted to prescription drugs, Vicodin and Percocet, for almost nine years. I started with a back injury and never stopped."

"I think of Vicodin as in a different category from heroin."

"You shouldn't. They're both opiates and they work the same way. I might have been in a different income bracket from Amy, but we're both junkies. It could just as easily have been me, lying there today in a box." Rose picked up her heavy burger and took a bite in a way that looked almost angry to Ellen, but she wanted to stay on point.

"I'm trying to learn about Amy's death. The family told me she overdosed accidentally, or that it was bad heroin, street heroin."

"She didn't overdose." Rose shook her head, and laughter burst from a nearby table, a group of caffeinated undergraduates. "More likely, the junk was bad. Street junk gets cut with strychnine."

Ellen shuddered. "Poison."

"Yes."

"Melanie told me that Amy still had her Subutex on her, which she didn't take, and we both read her last texts, which were upbeat. Amy didn't mention to Melanie that she was looking to start doing drugs again. Had she mentioned anything like that to you?"

"No, not all." Rose finished chewing, then reached for her coffee and took a sip.

"I wonder why she didn't call you or Melanie, if she felt tempted to do drugs again."

"You wonder?" Rose winced, between bites. "I'm not her sponsor, but I am, I was, her friend. I would think she'd call me if she wanted to use. I'll never get over this, until I go to my own grave."

"I'm sorry. You can't blame yourself."

"That's what my husband says, and thanks for it, but it doesn't help." Rose set the sandwich down. "I would have bet a thousand bucks on Amy. She had relapsed twice, but that's part of the process, for some of us. She was finally able to get clean."

"So she never called you, to say she was tempted?"

"No, never." Rose's face fell into pained lines. "We talked on the phone every couple days, and all the talk was easy. She got a new job and she was getting ready to reconcile with her family. So that she started using again, two days after we spoke, well, it was a real blow." Rose shook her head.

"Melanie told me about a guy named Rob Moore, who Amy dated three or four years ago. He was abusive and she got away from him. You know anything about him?"

"Not really. Amy told me that she had a toxic relationship once, that much I know. I never knew his name. She talked about him in group. The therapists might know more, but they won't tell you, that's confidential."

Ellen tried another tack. "Did Amy say where he was from or where he lived? Anything that he might have done for a living? I ask because there's an outside chance that he's the father of my son."

"I wish I could help you, but I can't."

"Wait, maybe this will help." Ellen picked up her purse and pulled out a flurry of papers, one of which was the photo of Amy and the man on the beach, then handed the picture to Rose. Luckily, she hadn't cleaned out her purse after the Miami trip. She pointed at Beach Man. "I think this man might be Rob Moore. Did you ever see him?"

"No."

"She ever show you a photo?"

"No, just told me that he was a jerk." Rose handed back the picture, then paused, her eyes narrowing. "Hold the phone. Last week, she called me on my cell. I wasn't there to take the call, but she left a message, saying something about a "blast from the past." Rose looked away, her lips parting slightly as she reached for a thought. "What was it she said? She had a visit from a blast from the past."

Ellen met her eye, and her blood ran cold.

"Do you think she meant Rob Moore?"

"Maybe." Ellen's thoughts came fast and furious, but it was risky to tell her much more. "What did she say when you called her back?"

"She said she was fine. I forgot about the message, and we started talking about other things." Rose's mouth tilted down, and the realization dawned on her. "You think that this guy came back in her life, but she didn't want to let on? Or she thought better of it?"

"I don't know what I think. I'm trying to figure out what happened. What day was it that she called you?"

"Friday. I missed the call because I was at my son's piano recital."

Ellen thought back quickly. She had met with Cheryl on Thursday night, after which Cheryl sent Amy the email telling her that Ellen was looking for her. Friday would be the night after Amy got the email, assuming she checked her email with any frequency. Ellen felt an ominous tightening in her chest, trying to put two and two together on the spot.