Page 103 of Don't Say a Word
Five minutes later, as I was passing the 101 interchange, Manny Ramos called.
“Margo, I just got word from my assistant that Desi spoke with you. Was she of help?”
Belligerent and bitchy, but I didn’t say that. “She didn’t know much about Elijah’s personal life,” I said. “How long has she worked for you?”
“I can’t say for certain, but at least two years, maybe longer. I can find out if it’s important.”
“Who hires into the store? Desi?”
“No, I have a personnel manager who fills openings at all thirteen Cactus Stops, as well as our corporate office. I’m having a small dinner party Friday night. Why don’t you join us? And your mother—in fact, I’ll reach out to Ava myself. Maybe we can brainstorm together? I would like to know what happened to Elijah and see how else I can help. I’ve had hundreds of teenagers work for my stores over the years, and nothing like this has happened before.”
“You don’t need to have us over, I’ll call if I have more questions.”
I didn’t want to spend hours socializing with strangers. My mom would enjoy it.
“I had our accounting office email Elijah’s hours worked for the past three months. Did you receive it?”
“Thank you, I’ll check when I get to the office.”
“Think about dinner, please,” he said. “I have a call, but I’m at your disposal.”
“Thanks.”
Tess had texted me while I was talking to Ramos.
Eric McMahon’s contact info. Home: lives with his mom. Work: restaurant in Scottsdale. Don’t be late to mom’s party.
She sent pins to both locations, and I sent her two thumbs-up emojis.
I hit his home address and navigated there. The McMahons lived in a well-maintained, tree-lined neighborhood of modest one-story ranch-style homes about half a mile north of where I’d grown up.
I didn’t know if Ms. McMahon would be home at noon on Thursday, but I knocked on the door anyway.
A young woman in her mid-twenties answered. She was very pregnant, her hand on the small of her back as she stood there.
“Can I help you?” she asked, sounding exhausted.
“I’m looking for Eric McMahon.”
“You are?”
My phone vibrated in my pocket; I ignored it.
I handed her my business card. “Margo Angelhart.”
She scowled at my card. “You going to screw with my brother? He’s been through hell and back and finally has his life going in the right direction.”
“I don’t want to screw with Eric.”
She snorted as if she didn’t believe me, then clutched her stomach. “Settle down in there. Two more weeks.” Then she said to me, her face a little softer. “Though I wouldn’t complain if this little guy wanted to come out sooner.”
“You need to sit down?”
“No. My mom’s at work. Why do you want to talk to Eric?”
She eyed me suspiciously, and I felt honesty would be the best approach.
“A student at Sun Valley High School died of a drug overdose, and I was hired by the family after the police closed the case. In the course of my investigation, I have some evidence that the police didn’t nab everyone working in Coach Bradford’s organization.” Okay, notcompletehonesty, but close.
