Page 5 of Don't Say a Word
“Uncle Rafe,” I said. “I heard you were coming in.” I extended my hand to the woman. “I’m Margo Angelhart.”
She took it, her hand small and shaky. “Alina Martinez. Thank you.”
I didn’t know what she was thanking me for. I said, “I assume Manny Ramos is here for you?”
Alina gave me a sad smile. “I’m late. I’m so sorry.”
“We’re not late,” Uncle Rafe said, taking her elbow and escorting her into the conference room.
My phone beeped. My cousin Josie had sent a text message.
Hey, do you have time to meet?
I responded immediately
Always for you, Pussycat.
I smiled. Ever since we watchedJosie and the Pussycatsone summer when we were eight, I’d adopted that nickname for her, which she used to hate. Okay, she still hated it, but that didn’t stop me. She’d called me worse, trust me. Josie was not only my cousin, but my best friend.
I’m off today, I’ll meet you wherever.
I considered, then texted back:I’m going into a client meeting. I’ll text you when I’m done, good?
Josie responded with a thumbs-up emoji.
I pocketed my phone and followed Rafe and Alina into the conference room.
My mom, Ava Angelhart—the head of Angelhart Investigations after an illustrious career as a prosecutor, county attorney, and in private practice—looked the part. Impeccably dressed, she wore heels and a light gray suit with a pale pink blouse. As always, her hair and makeup was polished and professional. She sat at the head of the table, with Tess to her left taking notes and Jack beside her. To her right, Alina Martinez sat between Uncle Rafe and Ramos, a box of tissues within reach.
I barely refrained from squirming as I sat next to Jack. Emotional scenes always made me uncomfortable.
Tess didn’t look at me. We’d have to talk later. Seventeen years of sharing a room while growing up either created friends for life, or enemies. We had been friends. Sure, we butted heads and argued, but I would do anything for my sister, and she’d do anything for me.
Until three years ago when our lives were shaken and stirred and rubbed raw after our dad pled guilty to a murder I was positive he hadn’t committed. We barely talked until a few months ago. We were still working through the minefield of emotions and issues, but mostly, I thought, we were okay. I needed to keep it that way.
When we were all seated, Mom said, “Alina, I’m so glad that you came in. We are here to listen, then share our best advice on how to proceed. I am so deeply sorry for your loss.”
I was curious and wished Mom had clued us in. By the expressions on Jack’s and Tess’s faces, they had no idea what was going on either.
“Thank you,” Alina said. “I—I don’t know where to start.” She looked from Ramos to Uncle Rafe.
Uncle Rafe asked her, “Would you mind if I explained how we came to be here?”
She sighed in relief. “Thank you.”
Rafe said, “Ten days ago, Alina’s only child, Elijah, died at Mountain View Park in Sunnyslope.”
I knew the park well. When I was little we had soccer games there, and when I was older I often hiked the North Mountain trails which could be accessed from the park.
“Elijah was a high school senior and honors student. He has never been suspected of doing drugs, yet the ME ruled that he died of an accidental drug overdose.”
Silent tears rolled down Alina’s face.
“I recognize that teenagers often do things we wish they wouldn’t do, and drug use is very common,” Uncle Rafe continued. “I don’t want you to think I have blinders on. I believe in forgiveness and redemption because there are many things we need to be forgiven for. Catholics, even good Catholics, fall off the path. However, I knew Elijah and I know Alina and their family. On Friday, we had the funeral Mass where I met Mr. Ramos, who owns the Cactus Stop where Elijah worked for the past six months.”
“Mr. Ramos was generous in helping with all the arrangements,” Alina said. “I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
Ramos squeezed Alina’s hand. “Anyone in my position would have done the same.”
