Page 22 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Seventeen

Margo Angelhart

Lenny’s has a classic diner vibe with lots of stainless steel, clean black-and-white-checkered floors, and red vinyl seats. They only did one thing: burgers. And they did them really, really well.

I arrived first and ordered for both Rick and me—one thing about Rick was that he was predictable about his food. We’d eaten here together dozens of times over the years and he always got the Cowboy Burger.

I liked to change things up. I’ve eaten every burger on the menu except the meatless burger. Today I was sticking with the basics: cheeseburger and fries.

Rick walked in a few minutes after me. He was attractive—short neat brown hair, tan skin from both the outdoors and his mixed heritage.

Clean lines, well-built muscles, a chiseled jaw, and a flat stomach.

At six feet, he was the perfect height for my five-foot-five frame.

But since we weren’t dating anymore, I tried to ignore his demi-god physique.

“You order?” he asked as he sat down across from me.

“For both of us.”

“How’s working with your family?” Rick asked.

“Not as bad as I thought,” I said. Rick was one of the few people who knew and understood why I walked away from Angelhart Investigations three years ago. He’d supported me and I would never forget that. When I really needed him, he had been a rock.

Until he reminded me that I wasn’t Sam’s mother and had no rights or authority over his daughter.

“Jack’s happy,” Rick said.

“Well, he’s falling in love.”

“No, I mean that you’re back in the firm. But yeah, he’s fallen for Laura big-time.”

“Have you met her?”

“Jack brought her to one of Sam’s softball games a few weeks ago.”

My gut twisted. I used to go to Sam’s softball games whenever I wasn’t working. I hadn’t been since Rick and I split at the beginning of the year.

“Her team’s playing at Rose Moffatt this weekend, if you want to come.”

Rose Moffatt was a large softball complex adjacent to Highway17, only a few miles from my house.

“Maybe.” It would be awkward. The last time I’d seen Sam was at her eighth-grade graduation party at the end of May. She’d wanted me there, Rick asked me to come, so I went. But I didn’t stay, because I didn’t know how to make it not awkward.

The cook called my number from the counter and Rick jumped up to fetch the burgers and fries served in paper-lined plastic bowls.

We dug in and ate, the silence not uncomfortable. Made some more small talk, which was also not uncomfortable.

Maybe I could go to the softball game—at least one of them—and not find it super awkward. Maybe I’d bring Jack. That’d make it easier.

I shouldn’t use my brother as a crutch, but I would.

When we were done eating and had wiped our fingers with a dozen napkins each, I said, “The Bradfords.”

“I reread the reports to refresh myself,” Rick said.

“You executed the warrant, right?”

“I was part of the team,” he said. “The prosecutor’s office was in charge, but I supervised the officers.

They seized computers, bank statements, files, things like that.

Forensics came in and took samples of chemicals, powders, tools.

But ultimately, they didn’t find any sign that the couple was prepping the drugs at their house. No trace whatsoever.”

“What was their house like?”

“Nice, in a little gated community near 101 and 17. Clean, well-maintained neighborhood with a park, lots of trees. The kids were well cared for. Neighbors said the Bradfords were good parents, helped organize neighborhood barbecues, no one said a bad word about them.”

“Even nice people are assholes,” I said.

Rick cracked a smile. “Apparently the forensic auditor had a field day with Mrs. Bradford’s records.

” He pulled out his small notepad. “She laundered nine thousand a month through her licensed day care that didn’t actually exist—meaning, she had a license, declared the money, paid taxes, but never had kids on site. ”

“Wow, great way to launder money,” I said.

He nodded. “Thirty thou in cash in a dresser in their closet. She paid cash for all living expenses, including electricity, gas, groceries, cable, clothing. They had state-of-the-art computers, televisions, gaming systems, and no record any of it had been purchased with credit. The only regular expense that came out automatically from their joint account was for their mortgage.”

“I haven’t read the entire report yet. I focused on the teenagers who were part of Bradford’s operation.”

Rick scowled. “That’s what really pisses me off.

There’s a lot of kids who would do nearly anything for money, kids who have miserable home lives.

And to have a teacher—a coach , someone in a position of authority recruit them into selling drugs?

He didn’t get enough time as far as I’m concerned.

At least he’ll never be allowed to work with kids again. ”

“Was there anything else that you found interesting?”

Rick thought. “I don’t remember most of the details, but one thing really bugged me, I never forgot it.

Their kids were there when the warrant was served.

Bradford was in jail—he’d just been arrested.

Cecilia Bradford sat with the kids on the back patio throughout the entire search.

I told her she could leave, or take the kids to a neighbor’s house, but she said she wanted to watch us destroy her life.

That’s exactly what she said, in front of the kids. I hope the kids are okay.”

“According to the court records, they’re living with their grandparents in South Dakota.”

“What mother doesn’t plead to avoid jail time?

” Rick said. “She had a three-year-old. All she had to do was give up their supplier and she would have gotten probation, never had to lose years with her kids. That’s what I have a hard time wrapping my head around.

I know parents who don’t give a shit about their kids, but that wasn’t the Bradfords.

Everything I saw said they loved and cared for their children. ”

“Fear?” I suggested. “Maybe loyalty.”

“To a drug supplier?”

“Fear,” I repeated.

People always had a reason for their actions.

The reason might be bullshit or stupid or completely selfish, but there was a reason why Cecilia Bradford hadn’t ratted out her supplier.

It could be fear—fear that her husband would be killed in prison, or that she would be on the run the rest of her life.

Or it could be calculation. She’d been given six years. Maybe that didn’t seem too much to give in order to gain more at the end.

Maybe she’d been bribed. Threatened. Both.

Whatever it was, whatever she did, it reeked of selfishness. Too often people didn’t consider that their actions had serious ramifications for others—even their own family.

“Earth to Margo,” Rick said.

“Just thinking about choices.”

“You think there’s something going on at the school like the Bradford operation?” he asked.

I didn’t commit. “Maybe, but I have a few other leads. No one involved with the Bradford drug scam is still on campus. I just wanted to understand the operation so that if I see something similar, I’d recognize it. But, to change the subject, what’s crime like around Cactus Stop locations?”

He chuckled. “Big change of subject.”

“I’m curious. I like the location near my house, it’s clean and the employees are nice. I’ve never seen overt drug dealing, homeless encampments. I’ve never felt unsafe.”

“You pack a gun and a knife,” he said with a smirk.

“So do you,” I countered. “So my local Cactus Stop seems fine, but the location off Nineteenth and Camelback has had repeat problems. I’m curious about the other locations.”

“Hit or miss. Most have decent security. There’s only one store in the 900, and we’ll get calls for service for loitering, trespassing, I think a robbery once this year, though they didn’t get much.

The managers do a good job keeping the facilities clean and the owner is willing to trespass the homeless so they don’t camp out on the property or panhandle customers. ”

“What do you know about EBT fraud?”

“Why?”

“Curious.”

He raised his eyebrows and waited for a better answer. Clearly he knew me well.

I told him about Elijah’s overdose and the subsequent murder at Sun Valley High School.

“Now I’m confused. What does any of that have to do with the Bradfords or EBT fraud?”

“Probably nothing. Though the EBT fraud might—Elijah worked at the Cactus Stop on Hatcher. I checked it out and saw people going in, using an EBT card, leaving without a bag. Could have pocketed something, but at least two people didn’t. So it had me a bit suspicious.”

“You’re thinking maybe his death wasn’t an overdose?”

“I’m not thinking anything until I find out what happened the day leading up to his death.”

“Financial crime isn’t my area,” Rick said.

“We have an entire team that works those cases. Most EBT fraud that we investigate is where stores let those on welfare use the cards for ineligible items.” Rick paused.

“I’m not going to jam up people for buying smokes.

I don’t like it, they’re supposed to use their money for food, but we have far worse crimes to worry about. ”

“It’s just a thread I’m tugging.”

“If it was common, like they did it regularly and not just for a few friends and family, then they would have to cook the books—meaning, ring up an eligible item, but sell them an ineligible item. The manager would definitely know about it though, because they would be responsible for inventory. If it’s a big enough scam, then the financial manager for the business would eventually figure it out.

You want me to reach out to one of my buddies in financial crimes? ”

“If you have time. Just so I can get a handle on how these scams work.”

“I’ll send her your name and number.”

“I appreciate it.”