Page 4 of Don't Say a Word
“If you want burgundy, then we wear burgundy.”
“No! If you don’t want to help, just say so.”
Tess walked into her office and slammed the door before I could respond.
Where was Jack when I needed him? Did my brother know Tess was going to have a meltdown this morning so he stayed away from the office until the last possible minute? Probably. He avoided confrontations whenever possible.
I didn’t come into the office every day. My mother would love if I did, but I’d worked solo for eight years. I didn’tneedto be in the office all the time. Sometimes I missed the autonomy of being completely on my own, so I came in only when necessary—like today when Mom called and said Uncle Rafe was coming by to talk about a possible case.
I’ll admit, I was a bit hurt that Uncle Rafe didn’t call me first. For the last eight years, I’d worked several cases that he’d brought me. Most didn’t pay, but that never bothered me. Some people needed help and didn’t have the money for an investigator. They paid what they could. My big clients covered what I needed, and it all worked out in the end. Then I join the family firm and Rafe goes right to my mom. Sure, she’s his sister, butstill.
One of the agreements Mom and I made when I joined Angelhart Investigations was that I could bring all my regular clients over. To be honest, I didn’t have many clients on retainer because I mostly worked individual cases, but I had both a law firm and a bounty contract I didn’t want to give up. Mom didn’t like me taking bounty assignments, but they were fun. Some people think I have an odd definition of fun, but there’s something wholly satisfying about tracking a fugitive and hauling his ass to court. Jack worked with me on my last case and I think he had just as much fun as I did, though he’d never admit it. So far, our family arrangement was working.
Of course, we’d only been in the same office for three months, so there was still time for me to screw everything up.
I glanced at the clock—past nine. Mom said be here at eight thirty. An early riser by nature, I didn’t mind mornings, but sittingaround an office was not my idea of funorwork. I had background checks to run for Logan Monroe, a new client I’d helped out of a jam back in May. He’d put Angelhart Investigations on retainer. It was a win-win for everyone—we all liked the successful entrepreneur, he paid well, and he valued honesty, even when it stung. He’d also gained a new best friend in Jack, despite them being near polar opposites.
Maybe in part because Jack was dating Logan’s sister.
Jack walked in looking angry, which was very unlike my calm, cool, collected big brother.
“Hey, Jack, I brought you a breakfast burrito from Orozco’s. It’s in the kitchen. Mom’s running late.” I jerked my finger toward her closed office door.
He turned to me, blinked, as if not expecting to see me. “Thanks,” he said, then went into his office and closed the door without getting his food.
Definitely unlike my big brother who never turned down a breakfast burrito from our cousin’s Mexican restaurant. And, in the time I’d been working with my family, not once had I seen him close his door.
First Tess panicking about wedding dresses, now Jack being grumpy. With my even-tempered little sister, Luisa, back at college full-time, I couldn’t even commiserate with anyone.
I turned to my computer—I’ll admit, one of the perks of joining the family business was the new computer. My old machine worked at the speed of molasses. I plotted how I wanted to handle the background checks this week. Tess had already run credit reports, confirmed previous employers and schooling, and my job was to verify references. You’d be shocked at how many people listed fake jobs and references, thinking employers wouldn’t check.
I went into the break room to pour more iced coffee into my Yeti. Our office manager, Iris Butler, made the best iced coffee around and always had some chilling in the fridge. I sipped. Perfect.
The break room had once been a giant kitchen when the building was an orphanage. It had since been converted into acomfortable space—the adjacent dining area now had a small table, a couple couches, oversized chairs, and television that was rarely turned on. I could easily have lived here.
When I stepped back out, my mom was escorting a fiftysomething man into the conference room. From their body language, they knew each other. Mom saw me, motioned me over.
“Margo, this is Manny Ramos. We served on a charity board together many moons ago.”
I knew the name, but we’d never met. Ramos owned a string of convenience stores in Central Phoenix called the Cactus Stop. I frequented the one closest to my house, when sometimes convenience trumped cheap. My first major investigation, more than eight years ago, involved the murder of a clerk at one of the Cactus Stops.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Likewise,” Ramos said. “I wish it could be under better circumstances.”
I glanced at my mom. I wish I knew what the circumstances were.
“We’re just waiting for Raphael and Mrs. Martinez,” my mom said to Ramos. “Coffee? Water?”
“Don’t go to the trouble.”
“No trouble. Margo, can you? I’ll call in Jack and Tess.”
“Sure,” I said and went back into the kitchen to grab some water bottles. Iris took them from me. “Your uncle just drove up. I’ll bring these in, along with a coffee tray.”
“Thanks,” I said and went to greet Uncle Rafe.
He wore his cleric’s uniform—black short-sleeved shirt, black slacks, and white collar. A simple wood crucifix hung on a leather string around his neck. A woman with a tired, drawn face walked in with him.
