Page 52 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Margo Angelhart

By the time I arrived at the office, I had a headache. Tess was already there, and she practically tackled me as I stepped through the main doors.

“I got something!” She motioned for me to follow her to her office.

“Good morning,” I grumbled. I smelled breakfast burritos.

I made a detour to the kitchen and noted six wrapped burritos from El Norteno.

Iris , I thought. I always brought burritos from Orozco’s (family first!) but El Norteno was a close second choice.

They were known for their machaca and the praise was well-deserved.

I grabbed two of the burritos and went to Tess’s office, putting one in front of her.

Before I could ask what she’d found, she started talking faster than Lorelai Gilmore.

“You’ve had me looking for a lot of people—like, dozens and dozens—so I started all the searches, ran backgrounds, everything we can get with our databases, thank God Lu helped streamline the system, otherwise it would have taken me days .”

We subscribed to a bunch of databases that gave us public information about people. People had no idea how much data someone could legally find on them.

“So this morning I downloaded all the reports and was reading them after Gabriel left for the hospital. I should have done it yesterday, sorry, but I was so worried about Mom’s party, and making sure everything was okay, and then—”

“No apologies. I get it. You have a life.” Did I sound jealous? I wasn’t, mostly, and fortunately Tess didn’t take it that way.

“But this is important. I know that. Anyway, when you told me Bradford’s daughter played softball and that she might have been the one who called in the tip about her father, I looked at the softball team thinking one of them might have been hospitalized with a drug overdose or died or something.

Nope. But then I did a broader news search.

I found a girl on a competitive softball team who died. ”

“Drugs,” I muttered.

“No. Well, yes, but not what you think. Ginny Nichols played with Kayla Bradford. They were best friends and played on the same team for years . Lots of social media pics of the two of them, went to the same middle school but different high schools. The summer before their sophomore year, Ginny’s older brother was driving her home after a tournament in Chino Valley.

It was at night, just south of Black Canyon City on Highway 17.

The brother had gotten gas—and got on the freeway going the wrong way. ”

“Oh, shit.” There were some dangerous on and off ramps where you really had to pay attention to the directional signs, especially at night. Wrong-way drivers were unfortunately too common.

“They were both killed when they collided with a semitruck. The brother was high on oxy. So was Ginny. She had a serious injury the summer before, but her prescription for hydrocodone was for one week. The autopsy found she had been using oxycodone for a year. She didn’t get it from a doctor.”

“Still doesn’t prove why Kayla thought her dad was dealing.”

“I also read the Bradford files. The kids who worked for him were almost all teenage boys from broken homes, usually without a dad in the picture. The Nicholses’ dad left when the kids were young, and as I dug into social media, it’s clear that Ginny’s brother was very close to Bradford.

He could have been one of his dealers outside of Sun Valley. ”

I didn’t see it. Circumstantially, I could draw lines, but there was nothing solid.

“You wanted me to find someone in Kayla’s life who was impacted by drugs,” Tess said.

“Ginny and Kayla were close. What if Kayla saw something? Maybe she didn’t make the connection until the truth came out about the crash.

Or she heard her parents talking. I’m speculating, but Ginny was killed only weeks before Kayla made that call.

At a minimum, it gives us motive for Kayla calling the police.

Maybe she didn’t know her mother was involved and thought only her dad would go to prison. ”

I nodded. Definitely something to mull over. “Did the police investigate the origin of the drugs in the crash?”

“I asked Jack to find out.”

“Thanks, Tess, this is all good info.” I didn’t know quite how I could use it, but every piece helped. “By the way,” I said as I stood, “the party was great last night.”

“Yeah, it was.” Tess beamed.

“You’re a natural event planner.”

She laughed. “No. I stress too much. But I’m glad everyone had fun.”

I went to my office and finished my burrito while going through Megan Osterman’s phone.

What I saw was a tragedy.

The texts revealed drug deals and “dates” where she exchanged sex for drugs or money.

The photos told a story too—older ones showed family and friends, many with Scott.

As I watched the slideshow, I saw her fade over time, the light leaving her eyes.

After high school, when her drug use peaked, there were fewer photos or videos. None in the month before her death.

But she and Elijah had texted often, starting a few weeks after he started working at the Cactus Stop.

Early messages had Elijah offering help and counseling, but she either ignored them or said she’d think about it.

It was clear they’d also met outside the Stop.

I didn’t sense romance, though it was possible.

One message Megan apologized for propositioning Elijah.

He told her she was too valuable to sell her body.

What I saw was a young man repeatedly trying to help a young woman make better choices.

I nearly jumped out of my chair when I read an exchange the week before Megan died.

Megan: Desi cut me off. I don’t know how I’m going to make it.

Elijah: Go to Hope Center. They’ll help.

Megan: Please. She won’t let me sell for her anymore, she said I took too much. I need it.

Elijah: I’ll stay with you. Visit every day. I know it’s hard, but you can make it. You’re stronger than you think.

Megan: Screw you.

Silence for a day, then:

Megan: I’m sorry.

Elijah: I don’t hold grudges. Ready to try?

Megan: I don’t know.

Elijah: I’m here.

Megan: I’m scared.

Elijah: Change is scary. But getting clean will save your life. You know that.

Megan: I know.

Two days later, the Friday morning before Megan died:

Elijah: Where are you? I’m here.

Elijah: I’ll come to you.

Elijah: Hello?

Elijah: Megan, talk to me.

Elijah: Hello?

Then, the night before Megan died:

Megan: sorry

Elijah: Where are you?

Megan: sorry

Elijah: Are you okay? Where are you?

Megan: tired so so so so tired

Elijah: Megan, you’re not answering your phone. Call me.

Elijah: Where are you?

Elijah: I’m worried. Please call.

Then, Sunday, when Megan was already dead.

Elijah: Megan, please let me know you’re okay.

There were so many voicemail messages that the storage box was full. I used the AI function on the phone to read the messages. Most were from Elijah or Megan’s mom.

An old message she had saved was from Scott Jimenez. He called her the day he got out of prison.

Meggie, I’m out. Happy fucking Birthday to me! I need to see you. We’re going to be fine, I have everything set. God, I miss you. I’m going to crash with my sister for a couple of days, then we’ll blow this Popsicle stand with a big fuck you to that asshole. Call me.

I dug into her call history. She had tried calling Scott more than two dozen times after he left the message. She also texted him several times. That all stopped after a month.

He never called her again. Didn’t text her.

I crossed over to Tess’s office. “Tess, have you found Scott Jimenez yet?”

“No.” She clicked on her computer. “Nothing. No employment, his driver’s license still has his mother’s address on it, but she moved to Colorado after his arrest. Father not in the picture.

I didn’t reach out to his mom, but he didn’t get a license in Colorado, so I don’t think he followed her there. ”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I’m pretty certain he’s dead.”

And killed within forty-eight hours of getting out of jail.

I needed a face-to-face with Desi Jimenez.

But I was getting a good idea of what was happening at the Cactus Stop and why Elijah was killed.