Page 18 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

She frowned. “You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t disbelieve you. But you still haven’t given me any reason as to why Elijah was preoccupied. What about people he had problems with, at work or school or at his apartment complex?”

She shrugged. “I don’t—” She halted and bit her lip.

“What did you just think of?” I pushed.

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let me be the judge.”

“It was last year. I mean, in May, at the end of the school year.”

“Tell me.”

She bit her lip and looked torn, but finally it came out. “Elijah reported someone for cheating.”

That was interesting.

“What’s the penalty?”

“Zero on the test, automatic two-day suspension. But it was the final.”

“Who?”

“Danielle Duran. Honors English. The final was a series of questions about the three books we read that semester, then an essay. We were told the prompt and allowed one index card for quotes and citations. She had her entire essay written and accessed it on her smartwatch. Elijah sat behind her and told her to take off her watch. She told him to mind his own business. After the exam he told Mrs. Porter.”

“And what happened?”

“Danielle said it was only her citations that she was allowed, but refused to show Mrs. Porter her watch, said she deleted the docu ment after the final. She was given a zero and ended up with a C in the class. I heard her parents threw a fit, but I don’t think Mrs. Porter backed down.

And because she got a C, she wasn’t accepted into Honors English this year. It really screws with your GPA.”

I considered what a kid might do. Drugging Elijah seemed to be a stretch, but what if, in retribution, Danielle had drugged him without the intention of killing him?

How would she get away with that? Fentanyl was fairly fast acting—he’d start feeling the effects within a few minutes with the dose that was in his system.

“Did Elijah go to parties?”

“I doubt it, he never talked about parties, but don’t know for sure. Pete and Andy would.”

A party would give someone the opportunity to drug him, or could be where he might buy drugs himself.

“Is there anything else? Anything that he said or did that was out of character?”

She shrugged and shook her head. “All I know is that he didn’t do drugs. Not on purpose. He just wouldn’t.”

Maybe Angie was projecting. Because I absolutely believed, based on what she told me, that Angie herself was clean as a whistle. She was belligerent and had a suspicious nature, but at her core she was a good and moral person. No drugs, no cheating, intensely loyal.

“What about his work?”

“He worked at the Cactus Stop on Hatcher.”

“And?”

“I sometimes walked with him after school—at least I did in the spring. But once school got out, I rarely had a reason to go there.”

“Did he have problems with anyone at work?”

“If he did, he didn’t tell me. How does any of this help?”

“It gives me a place to start, and gives me a sense of who Elijah was.”

“Do you really think you’ll be able to find out what happened to him?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said. “Someone saw him between the time he left work on Friday and when he died. It’s like looking for a missing person—you start with the last known sighting and work from there. Do you mind giving me your number? I might have more questions.”

Angie held out her hand for my phone, which I handed to her. She typed in her number, gave it back to me.

“Do you know what happened to Mrs. Clark?” she asked. “I’ve heard so many stories I don’t know what’s true. Someone said the police think Mr. Parsons killed her because he found her body. That’s totally fucked. They were all into each other, and he’s a really great teacher.”

It was nice to have my suspicion of their romantic entanglement confirmed.

“Do you know for a fact that they were involved?” I asked Angie.

She rolled her eyes. “ Everyone knew. I mean they didn’t announce it or make out in the bleachers or anything, but it was obvious. So,” Angie continued, “what happened to her? I feel bad—I said some mean things to her at the volleyball game. I wish I could take it back.”

“I’m sure she didn’t take it personally,” I said. I didn’t want Angie to feel guilty, and I believed Lena wasn’t the type of teacher who held grudges with students.

I decided to tell her what little I knew to help build trust.

“She was stabbed. My cousin Josie—who spoke to your school last week—said the murder weapon was likely a letter opener. Could have been premeditated or spontaneous.”

I’d thought letter openers had gone the way of the dodo bird, but my dad had one on his desk at home. It was engraved, a gift from one of his nurses.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that Mrs. Clark was killed right after Elijah?”

“I think it’s suspicious that she was killed the same day she was asking questions about Elijah’s death,” I said cautiously, still trying to work things out in my own head.

“The police will conduct a thorough investigation. Talk to her friends, colleagues, Mr. Parsons, any exes, even students. They’ll collect evidence from the crime scene and look at security cameras. ”

“Meaning, they’ll do their job. Unlike with Elijah.”

Still bitter, and I wasn’t going to be able to fix that.

“I know people who’ll give me a heads-up if something comes up in Lena’s murder investigation that will help me find out what happened to Elijah.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I really didn’t think anyone cared but me.”

“Angie, you need to be very careful,” I said.

“I know,” she said in a dismissive tone.

“I’m serious. Lena is dead and we don’t know who killed her or why. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Angie stared at me. “I said I’ll be careful.”

I didn’t know Angie well enough to know if she was being straight with me or not.

“If you find yourself in trouble or you’re worried that someone is following you or, I don’t know, looking at you funny, trust your instincts.

And if you’re suspicious of anyone, call me.

I don’t live far from here, I’ll come. And don’t start asking questions.

Until we know why Lena Clark was killed, keep a low profile. ”

“Okay,” she said.

“Let me take you to school. Even the way I drive, you’re going to be late.”

I was pleased she didn’t argue.