Page 49 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Uncle Rafe had spent two years living in New Orleans before he entered the priesthood.

He went as part of a mission group in order to discern his calling, and he loved the food.

When he returned to Phoenix, he experimented and came up with some unique dishes—Cajun food with a Mexican flare.

His Mexican gumbo was my favorite, but his poblano chilis stuffed with Cajun-spiced shrimp were a very close second.

I’d once told him if the priest gig didn’t work out, he could open a restaurant.

We sat in silence, looking at the multitude of lights decorating Gabriel’s beautiful backyard.

“Ask,” I said.

“Just tell me,” Uncle Rafe said.

I sighed. I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know.

I have a theory, but little to support it, and I haven’t figured out how to prove it.

” I hesitated, then said, “I think Elijah was poisoned. Someone put a lethal dose of fentanyl—and it doesn’t take a lot—into something he consumed, and I don’t see how it’s an accident.

The reason? That’s a little murkier. One of his friends died of a drug overdose this summer, and after that Elijah’s behavior changed. ”

“I don’t understand.”

I told Uncle Rafe everything I had learned.

“What if I can’t prove it?” I said, half to myself.

Rafe didn’t say anything for a long minute. He probably thought the same thing. The only way to find out where Elijah had been those five hours was if someone came forward. Yet, the person who knew the truth was most likely the person who had killed him.

Rafe said, “You need to take the night off.”

“I can’t just shut it off.”

“This is your mother’s birthday.”

“And yours.”

“Tomorrow.”

Uncle Rafe never wanted to have a party. My mom was the oldest of seven kids. He was the youngest. As long as I’ve known him, he never wanted to be in the spotlight, yet found one on the altar.

“You can’t think clearly because your mind is too full. Clear your head, relax, come at the problem fresh tomorrow.”

“Easier said than done,” I muttered.

“Alina will understand whatever truth you find,” he said.

“I’m afraid I’ll never be able to prove he was killed.”

“But if you know, that will be enough. Alina will rest easier.”

“No, it’s not enough. Yes, I believe the killer will receive eternal judgment, so don’t tell me God has a plan. I get that. But he needs to be in prison. It’s not just Elijah. It’s everyone else who may cross him. Once someone gets away with murder, it’s easier the second time. And the third.”

“Like I said, clear your mind and you’ll find the truth.”

Sometimes, Rafe’s platitudes annoyed me. It wasn’t always easy to stop thinking.

Mom approached us, smiled at her younger brother. “We’re keeping you out late.”

“Father Brian is celebrating the morning Mass. I’m having too much fun. Did Mom and Dad leave?”

“Not yet, but I think they’re heading in that direction.”

Rafe rose, kissed me, kissed his sister, and said, “I’ll go say goodbye.”

And with that, he left me with Mom. In the past, it would have been wholly uncomfortable. For the three years we were estranged, Rafe did more than anyone to bring us together. It pained him that we didn’t talk, and when we did, we argued. Now, we were better. Not perfect, but better.

She sat in the seat he’d vacated. “Jack told me you were followed today.”

“Yep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told Jack.”

“I’m concerned, Margo.”

“I have it under control. I know what he looks like, his vehicle, I’m keeping my eyes open.”

“Jack said he may have followed you from the office. Which means he knows who you are, where you work, and could know where you live.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I am ,” I assured her. “ Very seriously. I promise,” I added when she didn’t look convinced.

“You have always been tenacious.”

“I get that from you.”

Mom’s lips twitched. “Perhaps. But I preferred the safety of the courthouse, the system of justice, checks and balances. You prefer the field. Where things get sticky, and often dangerous.”

“So does Jack,” I said. “Did you give him the same lecture?”

“Oh, yes. When he joined the police academy I had many sleepless nights. I’ve prosecuted two cop killers over my years. Just by putting on the uniform, he put himself in harm’s way.”

“Because you and Dad taught us to care about our community and do what we could to help people. Jack’s a natural protector.”

“So are you.”

“Not really.”

“You’ve taken this case personally. Why?”

I wouldn’t talk to Mom about Bobby. She knew what happened and what I suspected, but I wasn’t sure if she remembered the details after fifteen years, and I didn’t want to revisit it.

My obsession with Elijah’s case was driven by my anger at how someone might get away with murder.

It was about Elijah’s lost future, the pain in Alina’s heart, and Angie’s anger at the system that had shelved Elijah’s death.

Then there was Megan Osterman, the drug addict who died alone in an alley, and her grieving mother.

Murder didn’t just affect the victim; it rippled out to everyone around them.

Mostly, I couldn’t stand it when criminals got away with violent crime.

“Margo,” Mom said, “you need to be cautious. We don’t know what’s going on here, we don’t even know where the threat is coming from. Your questions are making someone nervous, and nervous people are unpredictable.”

Aunt Rita waved at Mom from across the yard. Mom acknowledged her and rose. “I need to break up the party. It’s after ten and no one looks like they want to leave.” She hesitated, then said, “I know you saw your dad yesterday, as well as Ben Bradford.”

“Jack,” I said. It wasn’t like I was keeping it a secret, but I hadn’t wanted to discuss it.

“Your dad called,” Mom said. “Even when you were little, you always jumped first, asked questions later. It’s a great trait—if you have someone who can help you up if you fall.”

“I know when to ask for help.”

Mom nodded. “Usually. We’re a team now, Margo. Please don’t keep me in the dark.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling guilty. Mom was right. I should have talked through my idea to interview Bradford. If I’d thought it through better, I might have yielded more information.

“Don’t look chastised,” Mom said. She gave me a tight hug. “I’m on your side, Margo. Always.”

I wanted to believe that. But I couldn’t forget three years ago when I wanted to investigate the murder that put dad in prison and she said to let it go.

Still... three years was a long time. And Mom had given me a lot of freedom this week to investigate the way I wanted. I think she meant it.

And that meant everything to me.