Things We Do in the Dark(54)

And now, sitting across from Deborah, the kindest person she knew, she felt the same as she did with Nicole Bowie. Jealous. Resentful. Desperate for a better life, a different life, though she knew it wasn’t possible, because she didn’t deserve anything that was good. Deborah was only here because it was her job. Her aunt and uncle only took her in because they were being paid.

There was nobody in Joey’s life who was here simply because they wanted to be.

Deborah’s daughter was the luckiest person in the world. And if Joey could have killed that girl to trade places with her, she would have strongly weighed her options on the best way to do it.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Drew finished reading the last of Joey’s diaries the night before, and he’s spent half of the five-hour drive to Sainte-élisabeth wondering what her life was like after she moved to Maple Sound. If she kept any diaries during her five years there, they’re long gone now. And the only people who would know anything about Joey’s life in the small town aren’t talking. Her Tita Flora declined his request for an interview. Of her three cousins, only the youngest replied to Drew’s email, and all Carson said was that he was too young back then to remember much.

And her Tito Micky? Dead. Five years ago. Emphysema.

Check-in happens fast once Drew reaches the prison. He’s interviewed inmates at a few different correctional facilities over the years, and he knows the drill. The corrections officer passes him a bin for his phone, belt, wallet, and keys, and then he stands with his arms out as the CO pats him down quickly.

“You’re the sixth visitor she’s had this week,” the officer says as she buzzes him through. “She loves making people wait, so be sure to grab a magazine to pass the time.”

“I appreciate the heads-up,” Drew says. “Merci.”

“De rien.”

It’s Drew’s first visit to the Sainte-élisabeth Institution for Women, and it’s unfair how nice it is. Like all correctional facilities, it offers GED classes, psychological counseling, and parenting workshops, but inmates here can also sign up for yoga, tai chi, and meditation. There are organized sports, game nights, movie nights, even a book club. It houses 115 women, only five of whom are in maximum security. Ruby Reyes is not one of them. Joey’s mother is apparently a model inmate, and is therefore allowed to roam as freely as medium security allows.

This isn’t a prison. This is a fucking wellness retreat.

The visiting area is annoyingly cheerful, and barely a third full. Drew chooses a table close to the vending machines, where he purchases an assortment of overpriced snacks. The magazine rack turns out to be a disappointment, mostly filled with tabloids and celebrity fluff, but he picks up the newest issue of People with the late Jimmy Peralta on the cover. He also snags an older issue of Maclean’s.

He’s nearly finished skimming the Canadian news journal when the door to the visitors’ room buzzes open. A tall woman with shoulder-length black hair enters, strolling in as if she has no cares in the world. She’s slim, almost drowning in her lavender-colored prison scrubs, but she walks as if she’s wearing the same gold dress she wore to the holiday party twenty-five years ago.

He stands as the Ice Queen approaches.

“Drew Malcolm,” he says, and they shake hands briefly. “Thanks for meeting with me, Ms. Reyes.”

“It’s Ruby, please.” She scans him from face to feet before taking a seat, then appraises the assortment of snacks. “These for me?”

“Help yourself.”

“I hardly get any visitors.” Ruby twists open the bottle of Dasani. “Then suddenly, after my parole is approved, I’ve now had six. None were as good-looking as you, though. Where were you twenty-five years ago?”

“In high school,” Drew says. Reading about you in the paper. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Are you trying to insult me? I said call me Ruby.” She smiles. “I’m amazed anyone is still interested in all my ancient history, but I suppose I have Lexi Baxter to thank for that.”

She only has a trace of a Filipino accent, and you’d have to be listening for it to hear it. Seated, she looks so unassuming, which doesn’t fit with what Drew’s always imagined. In his mind, Ruby Reyes is a formidable presence, someone dangerous, someone to be feared. The woman across from him now seems like none of these things. She’s disappointingly … regular.

It bothers him that she looks like Joey.

She leans forward, picking through the small pile of snacks, and finally settles on the bag of Lay’s potato chips. “I do love my salt. So. You’re a journalist. For which newspaper? The guy I met with yesterday wrote for some online thing. I didn’t like him.”

“I’m an investigative journalist,” Drew says. “And they’re all online things now. I have a podcast.”

She munches on a chip. “I’m not even sure I know what that is.”

He briefly explains it. “I focus on one story at a time and usually break it down over six to eight episodes.”

“And people actually listen to this?”

“Three million of them do, yes.”

Ruby seems impressed by the number. “So you’re here to make me the focus of your next one?”

“Not exactly, though I admit the #MeToo twist is interesting.”