Page 19 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Fourteen

Margo Angelhart

After dropping Angie off, I headed to the Cactus Stop where Elijah used to work, just to get a feel of the place. I could have called Manny Ramos and had him smooth the way, but I wanted to observe staff without the weight of corporate HQ hanging over them.

My phone rang; it was my mom. I sent her to voicemail, then texted that I was working. I didn’t want to talk to her until I had more information. Besides, she’d tell me to reach out to the cops about Lena Clark before they found me, and I didn’t plan to do that.

The Hatcher location of the Cactus Stop was smaller than the Stop closer to my house, on the short end of an L-shaped strip mall.

I didn’t know what I would find, but since Elijah had worked Friday afternoon—and no one claimed to have seen him after he left—this was the best place to start.

Since the police hadn’t recovered Elijah’s backpack or cell phone, I reasoned that he might have left the items at work.

I sat in my car for a few minutes to get the feel of the place.

While most of the Cactus Stops were open until midnight, this location closed at 10:00 p.m. It wasn’t a well-traveled section of Hatcher and was located in one of the sketchier neighborhoods.

Advertisements papered the windows, which were both dirty and covered with security bars.

The front walk however was clean with no trash on the ground.

Teens went in and out. Either cutting school or running late.

Maybe, like my senior year, they didn’t have a first-period class.

An old guy went in, then came back out with a pack of smokes that he’d already opened and lit as soon as he cleared the door.

Two lean guys in mechanics overalls entered, then a young teen, then a minute later a weary mother with two young kids walking close to her legs while she pushed a stroller.

After five minutes I entered. The interior itself was clean-ish.

Not as tidy as the store closer to my house, but not as crappy as other locations.

Anything that was easily grabbed, in demand, or cost more than ten bucks was behind the counter in locked glass cabinets.

Only one person appeared to be working. Angled mirrors along the top of the walls allowed him to have a clear view of everyone in the store and what they were doing.

The mechanics were at the counter buying energy drinks, cigarettes and premade sandwiches. They spoke Spanish to the clerk, which I understood, but they weren’t talking about anything important.

I walked over to the drinks along the far wall as if deciding what I wanted. The shelves were all stocked with the traditional overpriced snacks and necessities.

I grabbed a water bottle and then went to the chip aisle.

The mom and kids were now at the counter. They had a gallon of milk, cereal, and several cans. She used her EBT card—Arizona electronic benefits. That really sucked. She could get so much more for the money if she went to a real grocery store, but maybe she didn’t have a car.

The teen who came in before her was loitering in the corner on his phone, but the clerk didn’t seem to pay him much attention. I thought he was acting suspicious. I went to the counter with water and Doritos.

“Hey,” I said. The clerk had a badge. Tony, Assistant Manager.

“Hey,” he repeated and rang up my items. I paid cash, then handed him my business card.

“I’m a PI hired by Elijah Martinez’s family.

” I sounded important and formal, hoping the authority in my voice prompted him to spill anything he might know.

“Did you work here two Fridays ago when Elijah was working?”

He stared at my card, blinked several times. “What?”

“According to the police report, Elijah worked here Friday from four in the afternoon until eight. I’d like to talk to whoever was on shift with him that night.”

“Why?”

Was he intentionally acting dense?

“I’m retracing Elijah’s steps,” I said clearly. “He worked here Friday, correct?”

“Um, yeah?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t work Fridays.”

“Who worked here Friday with him?”

“Desi, she’s the manager.”

“When does she come in next?”

“Friday. She only works weekends.”

“Did Elijah leave his backpack here?”

“Backpack?”

Why did he answer a question with a question?

“Yes,” I said.

“I don’t think so. I haven’t seen it.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, though he hadn’t been all that helpful. “I’ll come back on Friday and talk to Desi.”

“Okay.”

I stepped outside, paused, and angled myself near the door, casually opening my water while discreetly watching the teen through the glass. I’d talk to Desi, sure, but if she was as helpful as Tony, I might need Manny Ramos to make a call. And I wasn’t waiting until Friday.

I pulled out my phone, called Theo, then put it to my ear.

The teen immediately went to the counter and said something to Tony. I was a more than decent lip reader, but he wasn’t facing me.

Tony glanced out the door, saw me. Theo answered and I laughed, then said, “Ignore me, don’t hang up. Just play along.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he said in his best Humphrey Bogart impression.

I laughed again. I had learned the hard way the first year I was a PI that having a blank smartphone to your ear was obvious. So unless you were talking on a flip phone without a lit screen, you needed to actually call someone, even if it was just to leave a message on your own answering machine.

Tony must not have been suspicious of me, because he rang up whatever the kid was purchasing.

He was likely selling cigarettes, nicotine pouches, or alcohol to underage kids because the teen hadn’t put anything on the counter to buy.

A crime, but it happened all the time. And would that be a reason to kill someone? I didn’t see it.

An accident? A dark joke that went very wrong? I could see someone drugging Elijah, just like what happened to Bobby.

The teen put an EBT card into the card reader.

I could tell based on the color; it was the same type of card the mom had used earlier.

That really pissed me off. EBT cards were for food and necessities, not for cigarettes and alcohol.

That was certainly a crime, if the store was selling unauthorized goods and ringing them up as authorized.

Yet, the teen left without any merchandise, and I hadn’t seen him pocket anything but his receipt, though I may have missed it.

He looked too young to buy cigarettes, but I wasn’t ATF, and I didn’t care if the store was selling to minors.

It was the EBT card that had my hackles raised.

I detested people who gamed the system at the expense of others.

But I had no proof.

I waited to see if Tony called anyone about my visit; he didn’t. Either he didn’t care, or he expected me to return Friday and talk to Desi.

I said, “Thanks, Theo,” hung up, and walked to my car.

I drank my water and munched on my Doritos, watching the store.

Several people, mostly under twenty, entered and left without bags, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

It just seemed... unusual. Could be nothing, but I’d run it by Rick during lunch, see if he knew if there might be a scam in play.

The Cactus Stop was ground zero in my investigation. No one had come forward to tell police or his mother where Elijah had gone after work Friday night. Had the police even talked to this Desi?

I glanced at my watch. I had three hours until lunch. I pulled out of my parking spot and drove home so I could track down Danielle Duran and find out if she still held a grudge against Elijah for ratting her out to the teacher.

Angie had been compelling in advocating for her friend. From what little I knew about Elijah, it seemed out of character that he would take something like fentanyl. Maybe his death was an accident, revenge, or prank gone wrong. Maybe he thought he was taking something else.

Someone knew. The more I thought about it, the more I believed that someone had been with Elijah when he died. Was that person guilty of indifference? Or murder?