Page 28 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Twenty

Margo Angelhart

I texted Jack that I would be a little late to dinner at Laura’s, then drove to Danielle Duran’s house.

The Durans lived on a tree-lined street famous because every house had a wagon wheel in their front yard.

Most had entwined lights, some were surrounded by flowers, some were left unadorned.

Next to the Duran wheel was a whimsical metal cactus wearing a cowboy hat.

I never understood why anyone in Arizona had fake cacti on display when it would be so easy to grow a real one.

One of the girls I’d played softball with lived on this street and sometimes her mom would drive me home after practice.

I wasn’t exactly sure how to approach Danielle, and I would have preferred to do it without any parents around, but getting back on campus after Lena’s murder would be more difficult, so this was my best option.

Sometimes, lying was the most effective approach to getting information.

This wasn’t something I talked about with my Uncle Rafe, the priest. I understood his point of view, but deception often uncovered truth.

Thus, if I needed to fib to get Danielle to talk to me, I would.

But I’d start with honesty and see where it went.

Winging it was an important rule in the unwritten PI handbook.

An older SUV and a newer, practical Honda Civic were in the carport.

Both had public safety license plates, and the SUV had a Proud Parents of a Marine sticker on the back window.

The yard was neatly trimmed with potted flowers on the narrow porch, which was framed by two flags: an American flag on one side, an Arizona Cardinals flag on the other.

When I knocked, a dog barked twice, then stopped. I heard him sniffing around the door. A woman said, “Back, Curly, back.”

She opened the door. Through the decorative security screen I saw the distorted image of a tall, slender women in her fifties and a brown labradoodle who stood nearly to her waist, his tongue hanging out in excitement for a visitor.

“May I help you?” the woman said.

“Mrs. Duran?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Margo Angelhart, a private investigator, hoping to ask your daughter some questions about a fellow student of hers who died of a drug overdose.

She was in some of his classes, and I’m helping his mother fill in some blanks during his last week, to give her peace of mind.

” A mom would have empathy with Mrs. Martinez.

“A student died? That’s awful. I heard the counselor was murdered yesterday, right on campus!”

“The student died two weekends ago. Is Danielle here?”

“Dani is babysitting until eight,” she said.

“Can I ask you a few questions?”

“I don’t know how I can help,” she said. “Who died?”

“Elijah Martinez.”

At first, nothing. Then recognition lit her eyes.

“Oh, I have met him. He didn’t seem like a drug addict to me.”

“It may have been an accident. That’s why it’s so important for me to retrace his last day. May I come in?”

I was banking on the fact that the house seemed to support law enforcement based on their public display. I was hoping she’d talk to me—and give me access to her daughter. If I walked away now, she might be more wary of me approaching her daughter.

I pulled out a business card and pressed it against the security screen. “It won’t take long,” I assured her.

“I don’t know how I can help, but please come in.” She unlocked the screen and opened it. “Curly is friendly,” she said as the labradoodle immediately started sniffing my jeans.

I scratched the dog behind the ears, which he liked, and followed Mrs. Duran to the dining table, where she motioned for me to sit. She sat across from me. The dog plopped down next to her.

The house hadn’t been remodeled like so many others had been in the neighborhood—including my parents’—but it was tidy with pictures of family everywhere, reminding me of my grandparents’ home.

The Durans had three kids, if I followed the progression of photos correctly, and Danielle was in the middle.

“One of my friends lived on this street when I was in high school. The Millers, where the street curves.” I made a vague motion east.

She smiled. “John and Jackie, yes. They moved to Prescott two years ago when John retired. He and my husband manned the barbecue for our annual neighborhood party.”

I grinned. Close-knit neighborhoods in Sunnyslope loved their street parties. I’d been to many.

“Shelley and I played softball together,” I said to make Mrs. Duran comfortable. “I haven’t seen her much since we graduated. I enlisted in the Army, and she went off to U of A, and I think stayed in Tucson.”

“She did. Teaches high school down there. My oldest son is in the Marines, out of Camp Pendleton.”

“That’s where my little sister was stationed,” I said.

“I don’t want to take too much of your time.

Dani and Elijah were in Honors English last year, and according to my sources, Elijah reported your daughter for cheating.

I don’t want to bring up any bad feelings, but I know it was a bone of contention with your family, and I wanted to ask Dani if there were still hard feelings, or if she knew of anyone else Elijah had issues with. ”

Mrs. Duran blinked rapidly, surprised, then said, “Oh— that Elijah. Yes, I remember. At first I was angry at the teacher for believing anyone over my daughter, who has always been a straight-A student. It seemed unbelievable to me that she would cheat, but Dani admitted it. I had hoped the school would give her grace, but their rules are strict. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Dani has always pushed herself, and we didn’t realize she was putting so much pressure on herself to get scholarships and good grades.

She was having migraines and anxiety attacks, but keeping them from us because she thought they were signs of weakness.

She panicked about the final and wrote the paper the night before, saved it to her watch. ”

“Another student indicated that Dani and Elijah had words afterward because she wasn’t allowed into the Honors English class this year.”

“I don’t know about that, maybe... Dani was angry and embarrassed.

But she doesn’t hold a grudge. Since then, she’s found balance in her life.

Still has good grades, but isn’t under the same pressure.

She applied early acceptance to a small college in Colorado and was already admitted.

I don’t see why she would blame Elijah for being honest. And he died of drugs? ”

I nodded. “We’re still trying to learn the circumstances of his overdose.”

“So tragic.” Mrs. Duran shook her head, looked down at my card. “I’ll have Dani call you when she gets home, if you’d like.”

“That would be great, thank you. She might be able to give me additional insight.”

I rose, and Mrs. Duran walked me to the door. She had been forthcoming, yet her daughter may not be as forgiving as her mother believes.

I drove north on the Black Mountain Highway to Desert Hills, a North Phoenix community known for horse properties nestled in a small valley between Anthem and Norterra.

Laura Monroe Barrett lived in a house owned by her brother Logan on five acres off a dead-end street north of West Joy Ranch Road.

She’d lived there since her divorce, and I knew from my work with Logan that he’d bought the house for her, but she insisted on paying him a mortgage.

Logan had told me once that he had enough money to help his sister so she didn’t stress, especially since her ex-husband never had two coins to rub together—but Laura didn’t want to take handouts from her brother. Which I understood.

Laura had horses, as well as three rescue dogs.

The two Labs stood back from the gate as it opened, their tails wagging as they ran alongside my Jeep as I drove slowly down the driveway and parked behind Jack’s truck.

The Barretts also had a very old beagle who was probably sleeping, which is pretty much all I’d seen him do.

Laura’s son Cody opened the door. “Hi, Margo! Jack said you’re coming for dinner.”

“And here I am,” I said.

At the end of June Logan had hired Angelhart Investigations to protect his sister from an unknown threat and find her missing ex-husband.

We’d gotten to know Laura and her kids, thirteen-year-old Sydney and ten-year-old Cody.

I wish Austin were here; I missed my nephew and I loved seeing Jack and Austin with the Barrett family.

They fit. While Jack had liberal visitation rights with his son—he could see Austin whenever he wanted—he could only have him two weekends a month unless Whitney agreed to more. Which was rare, unless she made plans.

“Where’s Jack?” I asked the kid. Cody was on the short side for his age. He had dimples and he kept swiping his dark blond hair out of his eyes.

“He and Mom are on the patio. Sydney’s taking care of the horses. Want to help?”

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time I tried to help with the horses?”

Cody laughed. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Nope, horses and I don’t mix.” Jack however was a natural, which was another reason I was so happy that he and Laura had hit it off. Fate or divine intervention, I didn’t know, but Jack deserved to be happy.

I went into the kitchen and helped myself to a beer—Jack had bought a six-pack of my favorite IPA, I noted. Heading out to the patio, I caught Jack and Laura mid-kiss.

“Want me to take over the grill so you two can have some alone time?” I asked with a grin.

Laura laughed lightly, and Jack frowned and gave me that look only a brother can give a sister. I wrinkled my nose at him and sipped my beer.

Laura said to Cody, “Tell Sydney dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. And help her with the horses like you promised, or I’ll dock your allowance.”

Cody ran off, the two Labs following. Bagel the beagle reclined on his outdoor dog bed.