Page 40 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Thirty

Margo Angelhart

“Margo Angelhart,” I answered.

“I got a call you wanted to talk to me.”

A female voice with a slight Mexican accent and sharp edge of anger.

“And you are?”

“Desi, from the Cactus Stop.”

“Thanks for calling me back,” I said.

“I can’t believe you went to Mr. Ramos about me.”

“You’re not in trouble. I wanted to talk to you about Elijah Martinez.”

“I know I’m not in trouble, but shit, he’s the boss’s boss. So what’d’ya want to know?” she said, her voice clipped.

“Do you have time to meet this afternoon?”

Desi sighed dramatically. “Really? I mean, this could have waited until tomorrow when I’m working.”

“Would you like to meet in Mr. Ramos’s office?” I said, irritated at her attitude. “Because I can make that happen.”

“Shit, no, why?”

I needed information, and running in circles with Desi wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I changed tactics.

“You worked with Elijah on Friday, correct?”

“Tony already told you that.”

I was usually good at dealing with belligerent people, but I hated doing it over the phone.

“Desi,” I said in a voice I hoped was calm and nonthreatening. “Elijah’s mother hired me to find out where he was the day he died. I have a timeline. I know when he arrived at school, when he left, when he got to work. Now I need to know where he went after work.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t friends with him. I only worked with him on Fridays.”

“He didn’t say anything about his plans?”

“Nope. We didn’t talk much. He stocked shelves and cleaned, I worked the register. We didn’t have anything in common.”

“What time did he leave?”

“How the hell am I supposed to remember what happened two weeks ago?” Desi snapped.

“Because he died that night.”

“I don’t know, probably his usual time, eight, eight thirty.” She paused. “You know, now that you talk about it, he left a little early. No big, we weren’t busy, and I got a guy who comes in eight to midnight. So I said fine.”

“How early?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes?”

“Did he have his backpack with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you find his backpack in the store after he left?”

She sighed dramatically and was muttering something in a hybrid American-Mexican slang that was supposed to be an insult, I surmised.

“No,” she finally said. “It wasn’t in the store, so he probably had it with him. I didn’t think about it. Are we done? I’m supposed to call Mr. Ramos’s admin to let him know that I talked to you.”

I ignored her desire to get off the phone. “Did anyone pick him up when he left?”

She sighed dramatically. “I didn’t see. I know he didn’t have a car, he usually walked home, so I assume that’s what he did, okay?

You were in the store talking to Tony, right?

You can’t see shit in the parking lot because the windows are all papered over.

So he walked out, that’s it. I’m sorry the kid is dead.

He was nice, did his job, never bitched. ”

“Did the police come in and talk to you?”

“Police? What the hell for?”

“About Elijah.”

“No. Not me, and not Tony. He would have told me. Are we done?”

She was rushing, but I had one more question. “Did Elijah have problems with any of the customers?”

Another overly dramatic sigh. “He never said anything to me about problems with anyone. Never got into a fight, never yelled at anyone, just did his job. I worked with him a couple hours a week for, like, six months. Maybe you should talk to his friends, you know? They know him, I just worked with him. Okay?”

“Okay for now,” I said.

She hung up without saying goodbye. Piece of work , I thought. I glanced at my phone and saw I had a missed call from Harry. He would never put in text or email information he couldn’t legally give me, so I called him back; it went to voicemail. “Tag, you’re it,” I said and hit End.

Desi was right about one thing: Elijah’s friends should know more.

They saw a change in behavior when they returned to school, but he didn’t confide in any of them.

Over the last few months—possibly since Megan Osterman died and Elijah started his nighttime photographic surveillance—he’d changed.

Change in behavior and personality was a big red flag in drug use.

But I didn’t think Elijah was using, not then, at any rate. Un less he started using uppers to stay alert while watching the store. Then downers to sleep.

That should be noticeable in the autopsy report. I called my brother Nico.

He answered with a sigh. “You want something.”

“Hi, Nico. How’s my favorite brother?” I said brightly.

“You call when you want something, text when you don’t.”

“Testy.”

“I’m busy.”

“I need you to explain an autopsy report to me.”

“You have it?”

“Not with me. You can look it up.”

“Now?”

“Two minutes, pretty please?”

He grumbled, but I heard his fingers on the keyboard and grinned. “Name, if you don’t have the case number.”

“Elijah Martinez. Drug overdose at Mountain View Park in Sunnyslope. Josie was the first responder.”

“I remember it,” he said, his voice softening. “Tragic.”

“Yep.”

“What’s your interest?”

“His mom hired us. It’s complicated. I’ll tell you everything at the party tonight.”

Nico typed, paused. “Cause of death asphyxiation due to fentanyl poisoning. Likely accidental overdose, not suicide.”

“Is there anything in the report that shows whether he had a history of drug use? Wouldn’t that be obvious in an autopsy?”

“Habitual drug use would be obvious; occasional drug use not without additional tests.”

“And?”

“None of those tests were conducted. There was no need. He wasn’t a habitual user—there were no impacted organs, such as the lungs or liver, that indicated he was a regular user.”

“Would you be able to tell if he started using sporadically two to three months ago?”

“Where are you going with this, Margo?”

“I’ll give you the details tonight. I just want to know if he used drugs at any point from July on.”

“I don’t know what evidence is logged, and if I don’t have hair samples, there’s no easy way to determine.”

“Please?” I begged.

“I can’t get blood from a stone.”

“Just see if the stone is there.”

“You are the bane of my existence.”

“You love me anyway,” I said.

“I’ll see what we have. No promises.” He hung up without a goodbye.

Five minutes later, as I was passing the 101 interchange, Manny Ramos called.

“Margo, I just got word from my assistant that Desi spoke with you. Was she of help?”

Belligerent and bitchy , but I didn’t say that. “She didn’t know much about Elijah’s personal life,” I said. “How long has she worked for you?”

“I can’t say for certain, but at least two years, maybe longer. I can find out if it’s important.”

“Who hires into the store? Desi?”

“No, I have a personnel manager who fills openings at all thirteen Cactus Stops, as well as our corporate office. I’m having a small dinner party Friday night.

Why don’t you join us? And your mother—in fact, I’ll reach out to Ava myself.

Maybe we can brainstorm together? I would like to know what happened to Elijah and see how else I can help.

I’ve had hundreds of teenagers work for my stores over the years, and nothing like this has happened before. ”

“You don’t need to have us over, I’ll call if I have more questions.”

I didn’t want to spend hours socializing with strangers. My mom would enjoy it.

“I had our accounting office email Elijah’s hours worked for the past three months. Did you receive it?”

“Thank you, I’ll check when I get to the office.”

“Think about dinner, please,” he said. “I have a call, but I’m at your disposal.”

“Thanks.”

Tess had texted me while I was talking to Ramos.

Eric McMahon’s contact info. Home: lives with his mom. Work: restaurant in Scottsdale. Don’t be late to mom’s party.

She sent pins to both locations, and I sent her two thumbs-up emojis.

I hit his home address and navigated there. The McMahons lived in a well-maintained, tree-lined neighborhood of modest one-story ranch-style homes about half a mile north of where I’d grown up.

I didn’t know if Ms. McMahon would be home at noon on Thursday, but I knocked on the door anyway.

A young woman in her mid-twenties answered. She was very pregnant, her hand on the small of her back as she stood there.

“Can I help you?” she asked, sounding exhausted.

“I’m looking for Eric McMahon.”

“You are?”

My phone vibrated in my pocket; I ignored it.

I handed her my business card. “Margo Angelhart.”

She scowled at my card. “You going to screw with my brother? He’s been through hell and back and finally has his life going in the right direction.”

“I don’t want to screw with Eric.”

She snorted as if she didn’t believe me, then clutched her stomach. “Settle down in there. Two more weeks.” Then she said to me, her face a little softer. “Though I wouldn’t complain if this little guy wanted to come out sooner.”

“You need to sit down?”

“No. My mom’s at work. Why do you want to talk to Eric?”

She eyed me suspiciously, and I felt honesty would be the best approach.

“A student at Sun Valley High School died of a drug overdose, and I was hired by the family after the police closed the case. In the course of my investigation, I have some evidence that the police didn’t nab everyone working in Coach Bradford’s organization.” Okay, not complete honesty, but close.

“You tell my mother that, and she will explode. Eric is not involved with drugs.”

“I don’t think it’s Eric,” I assured her. “I want to pick his brain, go through the list of everyone involved and where they are now. I have no intention of getting him in trouble.”

She bit her lip, so I pushed, “Would you please give him my name and number and ask him to call me? I’ll meet him anywhere, anytime. His rules.”

“I’ll give him your information, but that’s it.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

She closed the door without saying goodbye. Fifty-fifty she’d give Eric the info. But it was a start.

When I got back into my Jeep, my phone vibrated again. I had two missed calls from my mom. I didn’t want to talk to her... but I hit Call Back. She answered on the first ring.

“Margo, I appreciate that you are working to find answers for Mrs. Martinez, but you have Tess and Jack working without any context.”

“Mom, I can explain it all when I get there, but—”

“But you’re not here. Does this three-year-old closed investigation into Coach Bradford connect to Elijah’s death?”

“I think so, but I don’t know.”

“You need to give all the information you have to the police. We weren’t hired to investigate a drug ring, or reinvestigate Bradford.”

“I don’t have anything specific, it’s a gut feeling. Based on some evidence,” I added quickly. Jack appreciated intuition; my mom wanted cold hard facts.

“There is an active homicide investigation and if you have any information that may assist Detective King in solving Lena Clark’s murder, you have a responsibility to share it.”

“I don’t, I’m working on it.”

“Margo—”

“Mom, trust me.”

“I do,” she said. “But we need to talk. You’re part of a team now, and we’re all good sounding boards.”

“I know. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you. By the way, I received an email from Manny Ramos inviting us to dinner on Friday.”

“You go, I don’t need to.” Or want to, I thought.

“It would be good for us. Manny said he admires your tenacity in helping Alina. Councilman Borgas will be there—you remember Bill, right?”

Bill Borgas was a longtime friend of Mom and Dad’s. “Yeah, so?”

“Think about it. Manny would be a good contact for the agency.”

“And you’re the best face for the agency,” I said. “Not me.”

“We’ll talk about it later. And please, as soon as you’re done in the field, come down here and explain your thought process. To me, this is a lot of work with no goal in sight.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I hung up before she could say anything else.