Page 23 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Rick finished his last couple fries. “That particular Cactus Stop is in a sketchy neighborhood. Think something else might have been going on? Something that could have put the kid in danger? That area gets a lot of calls.”

In cop-speak, that meant PPD had an active presence.

“Possible,” I said. “He walked home every night, between eight and nine. He could have witnessed a crime, or was in the wrong place, wrong time. But that still doesn’t explain how he ended up at a park more than a mile away dead of a drug overdose.

There’s a five-hour window that’s unaccounted for. ”

“But the police didn’t find anything.”

“The police did shit.” I winced. I was blunt by nature. Sometimes it was a good thing. Not so much when I was talking to a friend who was a cop.

I tempered my tone and said, “I think Detective King was premature in writing off Elijah’s death as an accidental overdose.”

“That would be the ME’s determination.”

“Elijah died of an overdose, that’s not in dispute. There were no signs that he was suicidal, hence accidental overdose. But what if it wasn’t?”

“You mean if someone killed him.”

I hedged, just a bit. “I haven’t gone that far yet.

But considering that Lena Clark, the counselor at the school, was stabbed to death less than two weeks after Elijah died, and she was asking questions about his death, I need to consider the possibility.

The police didn’t retrace his steps. They don’t know where he was the hours before he died. ”

“Margo, while I have a lot of issues with some detectives down at headquarters, I don’t think they would have closed the case if there were signs that something was amiss.”

“I do,” I said. “I’m not ready to say he was murdered, but someone has to know what he was doing for those five hours.

Josie thinks there’s something there, but she’s not in a position to investigate—and she got slapped by King for adding information to the report after the case was closed.

Plus, King blames Josie for Lena Clark’s complaint about the investigation.

Both Josie and I talked to one of Elijah’s friends, a girl named Angie.

She’s adamant there was something going on with him that wasn’t drugs. ”

“Your cousin has a soft spot.”

“Then I guess so do I.”

Rick snorted. “You don’t believe that, Margo. You can smell bullshit a mile away, but when you believe in someone, you fight for them. You believe in this teenager.”

I considered. “To a point. I met her this morning. She’s street smart, but she’s also book-smart.

I definitely think she believes that Elijah was as clean as Mother Teresa, but I also got it out of her that he had been preoccupied and aloof the last few weeks.

Uncle Rafe brought Elijah’s mother to me.

He was her only son. Her husband died ten years ago.

I want to find the answers, good or bad. ”

“I get it.” He thought a moment. “If something is going on at the Cactus Stop, if it’s a white-collar or fraud crime, I may not have paid attention. We get dozens of bulletins a day.”

“The joys of paperwork.”

Rick grinned, rose. He took out his wallet and I pushed his hand back. “Nope, you helped me, my treat.”

“I don’t know what I did, but I won’t say no to a free lunch.”

We walked out together and as I unlocked my Jeep, Rick said, “I mean it about Sam’s games. She’d like to see you.”

What about you? I thought but didn’t say.

I couldn’t even say that I wanted to get back together with Rick, even if he wanted to.

What he said back in January hurt, and if he didn’t trust me to always do right by Sam, I didn’t know if I could live under those conditions.

I don’t know if I would go back even if he apologized. Which he hadn’t.

“Send me the game times,” I said. “I’ll see if I can make one. But don’t tell Sam, in case I don’t.”

“Roger that.” Rick waved and drove off in his truck.

I sat there a few minutes, sipping my iced coffee and wondering if I should just forgive Rick and see if we still had something.

I didn’t see it happening unless he apologized.

If he didn’t see how he had overreacted, then he’d do it again, and the next time would be worse.

Right now, we could be friends. And maybe that was all we could be.

Checking my phone, I saw I had a message from Josie with the home address of Danielle Duran, and the comment: You’re welcome.

I sent her a thumbs-up and mapped the address.

Danielle lived only a few blocks from my parents’ house—I used to have a friend who lived on the same street.

I was heading there when my phone started vibrating.

I recognized the number only because this was the third time she had called—Detective King.

I was about to answer it, when I saw another call come in.

It was an unfamiliar local number, so I declined King’s call and picked up the second.

“Margo Angelhart,” I answered.

“Margo? It’s Angie. I need help.”

Her voice was quiet and strained, but I heard noise in the background, possibly traffic.

“Where are you?”

“On the bus. I’m going to the Central Library. I’ll be there in, like, maybe forty minutes.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“They think I killed Mrs. Clark. Please come, I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll text you when I get there.”

I would call King after I found out what had got Angie so spooked.