Page 10 of Don't Say a Word
Elijah wasn’t Bobby. He might not have been the saint his mother portrayed him as. Yet, he may have been drugged without his knowledge. A friend. An enemy. An ex-girlfriend. None ofthe above. But if he didn’t willingly take the fentanyl, then someone killed him, and that person should be held accountable.
Elijah wasn’t Bobby, but maybe this time, justice would prevail.
Jack and I were in a staring match. He broke first.
“If you need me, all you have to do is call.” He gathered the remains of his breakfast.
“Thanks.” And I meant it. While I didn’t like talking about Bobby, just knowing Jack understood made me feel better. “The more you learn from your contacts, the better. After I talk to Josie, I’ll check out Elijah’s room. There could be something there—drugs, a journal, notes, info on his computer. But I think his friends will be my best sources.”
“You would have made a great cop.”
I rolled my eyes and Jack laughed as he walked out.
When I left the Army, Jack was still a detective and tried to convince me to be a cop. I’d been in the Army for six years, three of which I’d spent as a military police officer, and the last thing I wanted to do was work in another command structure. I liked making my own hours, working cases I wanted, not cases Ihadto work. Most of that I could do as a PI. Sure, I’d taken many cases I didn’t like, but they paid for the cases I cared about.
I finished gathering the information I could find online about Elijah (nothing, outside of his obituary), his school (Sun Valley High School, in Sunnyslope—not far from where I lived), and his employer (the Cactus Stop, on Hatcher). I’d check out the Stop before calling Ramos, using him only if I needed to smooth the way with staff.
I debated how to reach out to his friends—through one of the teachers who’d gone to his funeral or by tracking them down off campus. Pros and cons to each approach, so I’d think on it. Josie’s insight might help.
On my way out, I stopped by Tess’s office. Her door was open and she wore headphones while typing rapidly on her computer. She saw me, took off her headphones. “Need something?”
“I’m meeting Josie up in Desert Ridge. I’m getting Mom thatwine she loves, since you coordinated the big present. Do you need any other beer, wine, or spirits for the party?”
“No, I have it covered. I already ordered alcohol, Uncle Tom and Aunt Rita are handling the food, and Luisa is going over early to decorate.”
Most family events were at either our parents’ or grandparents’ house. Large events—like Pop and Abuela’s anniversary—were at Uncle Tom’s restaurant. But we didn’t want Mom to have to do anything on her birthday, so we usually took her out to dinner or someone else (not me) would host a party. This year, the party was at Gabriel’s house.
“I need to track down Elijah’s friends.”
“I can help,” Tess said. “I’ll stalk their social media and send you everything I find. Good?”
“Great,” I said. “Thanks.”
Maybe she was no longer mad at me for my burgundy dress faux pas. But considering her recent mood swings, she’d soon find something else to argue about.
Chapter Three
Margo Angelhart
Desert Ridge is a community in North Phoenix, west of Scottsdale. The outdoor mall was one of my favorites because it was clean, had stores I liked, a few good restaurants, and lots of parking.
I bought Mom’s favorite wine, a bottle of Herradura Reposado for Uncle Rafe, and a six-pack of a good IPA for me since I was at a discount liquor store. I left ninety dollars poorer, grateful I didn’t drink much—I’d be broke.
I locked the alcohol in the back of my Jeep and made my way to the covered sitting area outside the Barnes & Noble. Kids played on the splash pad in the center of the courtyard. People moved in and out of nearby shops, and a pair of older women in track suits power-walked past me, deep in animated conversation.
At the next table, a woman in shorts and a T-shirt—accessorized with a diamond tennis bracelet and a Scottsdale-sized rock on her left ring finger—chatted on her phone. Her long, manicured red nails drummed the tile as she said, “What a prick. If Ethan ever said that tome, I’d take off for the weekend in his Beamer and see if heevercriticizes my driving again. Harumph!”
She wore earbuds, so I only heard her end of the conversation.
I spotted Josie a split second before she noticed me. My cousin was tall and lanky, more like Tess than me. I was your standard mix of average height and weight, while Josie had inherited the striking features of the Morales side of the family—her dad and my mom were siblings, but she got the better deal: shiny dark auburn-brown hair and big golden-brown eyes. In comparison, I felt mousy with dark blond hair and boring hazel eyes.
It had taken Josie a while to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, but once she became a cop nearly two years ago she’d found her calling. It suited her.
“Margo!” Josie leaned over and hugged me, then plopped down on the chair across from me. “It’s been weeks.”
“Your schedule, my schedule, your boyfriend, my... schedule.”
The diamond-studded woman gave us a look as if we had interrupted her conversation. I ignored her.
