Page 122 of Don't Say a Word
She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a folded note, handed it to me.
“I had a few minutes, so I ran John Brighton for you. He’s twenty-five, graduated from ASU with a degree in business economics. And, more importantly, he’s the corporate manager for the Cactus Stop. Basically, he oversees the management of all thirteen Stops.”
That explained why he was at the store, but it didn’t clarify why Elijah had taken his picture or looked up his address. Maybe I was chasing a dead end, but I felt the need to talk to this John Brighton guy. Perhaps he was stealing from the company, and Elijah had caught on. Then again, maybe Elijah had reached out to Brighton about something suspicious he noticed at the Stop, which could explain why he visited the Cactus Stop corporate page the week he died.
“Thanks, Tess.”
“I’ll be in late tomorrow, but text if you need anything else.”
She was summoned by someone I couldn’t see, and a headache started scratching behind my eyes. I went to the bar to grab a second beer. Josie introduced me to her boyfriend, Ryan. He didn’t seem like a deer caught in the headlights—he looked like he was having a blast. I definitely liked him at first glance. They left early because Ryan’s shift started at six in the morning.
I loved family, and I loved catching up, but my heart wasn’t completely into the festivities tonight. I didn’t want to be a Debbie Downer on Mom’s birthday, so I slipped outside into the beautiful evening to unwind.
I had a dark sense of foreboding that I was missing something. I’d asked Christina and Eric all the questions I wanted. Both were forthcoming—even Eric, who hadn’t initially wanted to talk. I thought I’d finally convinced Angie that she needed to stay clear of the Cactus Stop, so I worried about her a little less. I was curious about the message from Dwight Parsons, however. It might be nothing—maybe he just wanted to talk about his dead girlfriend. Or maybe he had information that could help me figure out whatthe hell was going on with Elijah before he died. At least he was an insider at Sun Valley and might be a good person to brainstorm with.
Megan’s phone. Dammit, I left it charging in my office. I would swing by on my way home and pick it up. There could be nothing there... or the answers to all my questions. I was specifically looking for any relationship with Elijah—romantic or platonic. If there was something going on between them, that would explain why his nighttime activities started after her death.
My apprehension boiled down to being followed today. That told me I was on the right track. Who the hell was that guy? Why me? What had I done to get on his radar—and how could I trap him next time I saw him?
Because there would be a next time.
Uncle Rafe sat down next to me. He was sipping a beer. “Thank you again for the tequila. I’ll have you over one evening and cook for you, then we can enjoy a glass.”
I grinned. “Make your famous Mexican gumbo?”
“Aw, yes, that would be nice. I haven’t made it in nearly a year.”
Uncle Rafe had spent two years living in New Orleans before he entered the priesthood. He went as part of a mission group in order to discern his calling, and he loved the food. When he returned to Phoenix, he experimented and came up with some unique dishes—Cajun food with a Mexican flare. His Mexican gumbo was my favorite, but his poblano chilis stuffed with Cajun-spiced shrimp were a very close second. I’d once told him if the priest gig didn’t work out, he could open a restaurant.
We sat in silence, looking at the multitude of lights decorating Gabriel’s beautiful backyard.
“Ask,” I said.
“Just tell me,” Uncle Rafe said.
I sighed. I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know. I have a theory, but little to support it, and I haven’t figured out how to prove it.” I hesitated, then said, “I think Elijah was poisoned. Someone put a lethal dose of fentanyl—and it doesn’t take a lot—intosomething he consumed, and I don’t see how it’s an accident. The reason? That’s a little murkier. One of his friends died of a drug overdose this summer, and after that Elijah’s behavior changed.”
“I don’t understand.”
I told Uncle Rafe everything I had learned.
“What if I can’t prove it?” I said, half to myself.
Rafe didn’t say anything for a long minute. He probably thought the same thing. The only way to find out where Elijah had been those five hours was if someone came forward. Yet, the person who knew the truth was most likely the person who had killed him.
Rafe said, “You need to take the night off.”
“I can’t just shut it off.”
“This is your mother’s birthday.”
“And yours.”
“Tomorrow.”
Uncle Rafe never wanted to have a party. My mom was the oldest of seven kids. He was the youngest. As long as I’ve known him, he never wanted to be in the spotlight, yet found one on the altar.
“You can’t think clearly because your mind is too full. Clear your head, relax, come at the problem fresh tomorrow.”
