‘She has a lot of hobbies,’ I said.
‘Anything worrying you?’ Boney asked, looking
worried. ‘You’re not concerned about drugs or drinking? I’m
not speaking ill of your wife. A lot of housewives, more than
you’d guess, they pass the day that way. The days, they get
long when you’re by yourself. And if the drinking turns to
drugs – and I’m not talking heroin but even prescription
painkillers – well, there are some pretty awful characters
selling around here right now.’
‘The drug trade has gotten bad,’ Gilpin said. ‘We’ve
had a bunch of police layoffs – one fifth of the force, and we
were tight to begin with. I mean, it’s
bad
, we’re overrun.’
‘Had a housewife, nice lady, get a tooth knocked out
last month over some Oxycontin,’ Boney prompted.
‘No, Amy might have a glass of wine or something, but
not drugs.’
Boney eyed me; this was clearly not the answer she
wanted. ‘She have some good friends here? We’d like to
call some of them, just make sure. No offense. Sometimes
a spouse is the last to know when drugs are involved.
People get ashamed, especially women.’
Friends. In New York, Amy made and shed friends
weekly; they were like her projects. She’d get intensely
excited about them: Paula who gave her singing lessons
and had a wicked good voice (Amy went to boarding
school in Massachusetts; I loved the very occasional times
she got all New England on me:
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