Page 29 of Don't Say a Word
“You little bitch. Don’t you talk to me like that. When your mother gets home, she’ll wash your mouth out with soap!”
She hung up, pocketed her phone, and headed back to the school where she hoped to catch a bus that went anywhere but home.
She stood at the corner about to press the crosswalk button, but stopped. A half dozen police cars were in the parking lot, lights whirling.
She didn’t cross the street. Instead, she headed west, heart thudding, wondering what had happened. She called Gina.
“Yo, Ange! You ran off so fast after the game.”
“There’s something going on at the school. Police cars everywhere.”
“Really? I left, like, thirty minutes ago—it was quiet.”
“I have a bad feeling.”
“Want to come over for dinner? I can pick you up.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.” Gina drove a beat-up car that her dad, a mechanic, kept running.
“You didn’t. I’ll take you home after dinner. Are you at the school now?”
“No. Um, I’m almost to the Starbucks on Dunlap near Nineteenth.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Gina. I mean it.”
Angie glanced over her shoulder and wished she knew what was going on.
Chapter Nine
Margo Angelhart
I was stuck at a long light at Camelback and Seventh Avenue when my cell phone rang with an unfamiliar number.
“Margo Angelhart,” I answered.
“Hi, it’s Lena Clark at Sun Valley High. I talked to Angie this afternoon and I’m hoping she’ll be here during lunch tomorrow to talk to you.”
“Youhopeshe’ll be there?”
“She didn’t promise. We had a bit of an argument. I think she came into my office and took your business card off my desk.”
Sneaky kid. I kind of liked that.
“If she calls me,” I said, “I’ll let you know.”
“Please tell her to come to school. It’s important for her future. I know Elijah’s death has hit her especially hard, but she can’t keep doing this.”
I agreed with Lena, but didn’t agree to tell Angie anything. Honestly, I didn’t know what I would say or do, because I didn’t know Angie. So far, my sense was she would do whatever the hell she wanted and anything I said, anything anyone told her, would factor in only if Angie wanted it to.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said vaguely.
“Margo, I didn’t tell you everything this afternoon.”
Bingo, I thought. I knew she had been holding back.
“On Friday after the funeral, Angie called Detective King and left a very nasty phone message about the police closing the case. When I called Detective King later that afternoon, I got an earful about it. So I would really appreciate if you can help me get her back on the right track.”
