“Yes. She was wearing a miniskirt last Thursday when I took her to lunch. There weren’t any marks on her legs. She never wore short sleeves because of the track marks on her arms.” Mrs. Green blew her nose. “There’s no way Missy would have given herself more scars. She was self-conscious about the marks she already had.” Mrs. Green tossed the tissue in the garbage can. “If you want, you could talk to Missy’s psychiatrist at the rehab center.” She went to a drawer and rummaged through its contents. “Here it is.” She handed Stella a business card that read New Life Center for Hope.

Stella took the card. “Did Missy have a recent boyfriend?”

“No.” Mrs. Green’s tone was emphatic. “She told me she had no time or energy for another person until she had her life in order.”

“How about a past boyfriend?”

“I don’t know much about her life in California.” Mrs. Green twisted her hands. “Do you know how she died?”

“Not yet.” Stella debated how much to reveal to Mrs. Green and as much as she hated to distress her, the woman deserved to hear the truth from Stella—not a news report. “The toxicology reports will take a few weeks.” She covered Mrs. Green’s hands with her own. “But she didn’t do this to herself.”

A tear slid down Mrs. Green’s cheek and dropped off her chin. “Then someone killed her?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it from the beginning.” Mrs. Green sniffed and drew in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry.” Stella squeezed her hands. “There’s more.”

Mrs. Green’s eyes cringed.

As much as Stella wanted to spare Mrs. Green, the press would eventually publish all the gory details. Stella could think of no way to soften the truth, so she just said it. “Missy was tortured.”

Mrs. Green gasped. Her hands curled into fists. Then her watery eyes turned angry. “Find him.”

“I will.” Stella let herself out. She heard sobbing as she pulled the front door closed. She would not stop until she found the bastard who hurt Missy.

In her car, she called the rehab center. The earliest the psychiatrist could see her was the next morning.

Her phone rang. The display showed an unknown caller.

“Hello?”

“It’s Mac.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the auto body shop waiting to talk to the mechanic.” He sounded depressed. “I found my phone. Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll come there.” She wanted to take a quick look at his Jeep, though the chances were slim the vehicle held any clues.

“OK.”