Page 109 of Don't Say a Word
“It wouldn’t be charged.”
I also wanted to check her text messages, but didn’t say that. Mrs. Osterman hadn’t hired me. But I felt strongly that somethingabout Megan’s death had prompted Elijah to investigate on his own, which led to his death.
“If you charge it and want to send me her contacts, I would appreciate it. Or, I can do it myself.”
She seemed torn, then she nodded. “Give me a minute.”
She left the room and I felt like crap. Megan had been dead for less than three months and Mrs. Osterman was still grieving. I’d brought it all back to the surface.
A few minutes later she returned with a small cloth bag. “Her phone and charger. The passcode is 1117.”
“Thank you. I’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.”
Mrs. Osterman opened the front door. “It’s been eleven weeks since Megan died. Sometimes, it feels like yesterday. But I really lost her three years ago.”
When I left the Osterman house, I was depressed. Megan had had a good life, a mother who loved her, and seemed to have been a happy kid. Until someone introduced her to drugs and she became addicted. Addiction was complicated—some people were more susceptible than others. Some people needed more help to quit. And some people fueled addictions.
Those people made me angry.
I headed downtown toward the office when Harry finally called me back. I was irritated that it had taken him so long. Yes, he was doing me a favor, but it would take him, like, two seconds to look up the plate.
Still, I answered in my sweetest voice. “And how is my favorite veteran today?”
“The idiot I spent two days training? Quit. Didn’t come in today and sent a fucking email that the job was too much pressure. I’ll show him pressure!”
“Sounds like you’re having a worse day than me.”
“John Brighton.”
“The Tesla?”
Harry rattled off an address and I barely had time to swing tothe side of the road and scribble it down on the only piece of paper I could find, the back of a receipt.
“Thanks, Harry.”
“I hate people,” he said and hung up.
Since I was already pulled over, I looked up Brighton’s address. The address was Phoenix, but the zip code was the area bordering Paradise Valley.
I stopped, thumb hovering above my screen. What was familiar about this address?
Then it clicked. Elijah had searchedthis addresson Google Maps the day before he died.
I typed it into Maps to see exactly where it was. The road John Brighton lived on led to Piestewa Peak. Older homes, but very pricey because of the view. I itched to drive over there and check it out, but it was midafternoon, and no guarantee he’d be home.
I texted Tess the name and address.
Can you find info about him? Work, play, whatever. I’m on my way to the office—fifteen minutes tops.
She sent me an angry face emoji, so I followed it up with a kissy face emoji before I pulled into traffic.
Elijah had looked up this address the day before he died. He’d taken photos of the vehicle registered to this address.
What did you find, Elijah?
What did you find that got you killed?
Chapter Thirty-Three
