Page 53 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Forty

Margo Angelhart

When I pulled into the Cactus Stop parking lot, I saw a text from Angie.

I responded that I would try to make it, and reminded her to stick close to her friends.

The killer might think he got away with it. Observing those who attended the memorial might be productive.

I hoped King didn’t just tie up the murders as a slam dunk murder-suicide, but I honestly didn’t expect her to do anything else. Chavez, however, seemed more open-minded to the idea that Parsons was innocent.

Josie told me that preliminary time of death was between eight and midnight.

The janitorial staff had finished cleaning the new building, where Parsons had his class, at 7:15 p.m. Thursday evening and locked up; the head of maintenance told police that Parsons was still in his room.

They exchanged a few words, but nothing stood out as odd to the supervisor.

They finished the administrative building at nine and didn’t see any other staff or students on campus.

Aside from the alleged suicide note, the argument that supported that he’d killed himself was that the campus was locked up tight and no one could get into any of the buildings without a card key.

None were used after the cleaning crew left, until 6:20 in the morning when the school secretary came in.

There were ways to thwart the card key system. Someone could have been hiding in the building—you didn’t need a card to get out, according to Josie. Could a physical key unlock any of the doors? Or perhaps Parsons let his killer in.

I really hoped Rachel King was asking these same questions.

When I entered the Cactus Stop, only one person was in the store—a heavily made-up twentysomething female with dark hair and no name tag. But she was behind the counter so I made an assumption.

“Desi?”

“Yeah?” she said.

I put my card on the counter. “Margo Angelhart. We spoke on the phone the other day.”

The woman blinked. “I remember. I told you everything I know.”

“I’m not here about Elijah,” I said. “Have you talked to your brother lately?”

“Wh-what?” she stammered. “My brother?”

“Scott Jimenez.”

“Why?”

“I talk to my brothers nearly every day, what about you?”

“He doesn’t live here anymore. Why do you want to know about my brother?”

Why was she acting so nervous? Did she have something to do with his disappearance? That would really suck. I know, people didn’t always love their families, but it would really disturb me if Desi had killed him.

“In the course of my investigation, I learned that Scott dated a girl named Megan Osterman.”

Desi rolled her eyes. “She OD’d right over there, across the street,” she said with a flip of her wrist vaguely in that direction. “I told Scott she was a no-good addict, but he never listened to me.”

“Do you know how I can reach him?”

“Why?”

“Because I’d like to talk to him.”

“Look, Scott and I had a falling out, okay? I don’t talk to him. Hell, I don’t even have his new number. He was in prison for nearly two years, got out, I let him live with me until he could get on his feet. Next day he just took off.”

“When was that?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Last year. Before Christmas. Why do you want to talk to my loser brother?”

“His name came up in the course of my investigation,” I said.

“What investigation?”

“Elijah Martinez.”

She stared at me blankly, so I asked, “Did you know that Elijah was trying to help Megan get into rehab?” I’d looked up Hope Center. It was a thirty-day rehab facility with six Phoenix locations.

She stared at me. “Look,” she said in a very calm voice, “I am sorry about Elijah. I answered all your questions because my boss told me to. I don’t know where my brother is. I don’t even think my brother knew Elijah.”

“But they both knew Megan.”

“So?”

Did she even know her brother was dead? Maybe she suspected, but her attitude didn’t even hint at grief. For a split second I considered that she’d helped him skip town with a fake identity. Possible, but not likely.

“So you don’t have a number for Scott? Maybe a friend he might have gone to live with?”

“No,” she said. The door dinged as a customer entered and Desi looked relieved.

I turned to leave, then said, “Oh, one more thing. Did you know that after his shifts, Elijah sat outside and took pictures of people exiting the store?”

Her face paled. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, why would he?”

Her hand was shaking when she picked up the six-pack that the customer put on the counter, but she didn’t say anything.

“It’s weird,” I said. “I’ll be back if I have more questions.” I walked out. Desi Jimenez was up to something. I called Mom as I walked back to my Jeep.

“Okay, I’ll go to dinner with you tonight.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I think the staff at the Cactus Stop is involved in something very illegal. Megan Osterman was selling drugs for Desi, and she was fired from that job because she used too much of the product. So, maybe we should bring Manny Ramos into it. He would be in a better position to evaluate the store records.” I remembered what Jessie Oliver said about Ramos being tight with law enforcement.

“And if they are up to something criminal, he can bring in the police to investigate. That might be the only way we learn what happened to Elijah.”

“Manny may not have knowledge of day-to-day operations,” Mom said. “Sometimes, less is more—maybe share your observations and leave the rest to him.”

I considered. “Okay, I can do that. We’ll touch bases beforehand.”

“Certainly,” Mom said. “Can you pick up Rafe from the rectory?”

“And take him where?”

“Manny invited him to join us tonight, and he has a rare evening free.”

“Sure, if he wants to spend the night at a fancy dinner party for his birthday instead of drinking the tequila I got him.”

“Even priests want to be treated as human and have a normal conversation.”

“I’ll bring him. Text me the time and address.”

I ended the call and turned the ignition.

Then I saw him. The guy who had followed me yesterday. Only he wasn’t driving the old 4Runner. He was sitting behind the wheel of a dark green sedan in front of the vet clinic.

I buckled up and expertly navigated through the narrow lot, thanking both my military training and my brother Jack who taught me how to drive.

I was going to trap him.

I pulled out of the parking lot and sped up. The guy in the sedan saw what I was doing and backed up straight, expertly turned a one-eighty, and merged onto Hatcher, almost hitting a car in the process.

I followed and memorized his license plate.

I said, “Hey, Siri, call Josie Morales.”

Siri informed me that she was calling Josie Morales.

The guy was driving way too fast for the street, but with such smooth confidence I was almost impressed. I kept pace, while also looking at the periphery for pedestrians and other dangers.

“Yep?” Josie answered.

“I’m pursuing the guy who followed me yesterday. I have his plate. Shit!”

He plowed through a red light, causing multiple people to honk. I slammed on my brakes to avoid T-boning a minivan. The mother driving flipped me off.

“Are you okay?” Josie asked.

“He ran through the light on Hatcher at Cave Creek. Fuck!” I slammed my palm on my steering wheel.

“What’s the plate?” she asked.

I told her. “It’s not the same car he was driving yesterday.”

“It’s coming up that it’s owned by an LLC.”

“An LLC? Seriously?”

“Yep, and no address.”

“That can’t be right.”

“It’s unusual. Tyrell says he’s never seen this before. High Force LLC.”

“Who the hell?”

“Sounds like a video game company,” she said.

The light turned green, but I’d already lost him. “I’ll find out exactly who he is,” I muttered.

“Are you okay?”

“He’s following me, I’m pissed. He didn’t try to talk to me, he wants to know where I’m going, what I’m doing. And I think—damn.”

“Damn what?”

“I went to Eyman on Wednesday and talked to Ben Bradford.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much. But I’ll bet he called someone to find out what I knew and who I talked to. Dammit. I need to track down Eric McMahon. If Bradford thinks he knows something, I don’t want that kid to get hurt.”

I ended the call, turned at the next street, and headed to Eric McMahon’s house.

He wasn’t happy to see me on his porch.

“What the fuck about leave me alone don’t you understand?” he said.

“I’m just giving you a heads-up. Someone’s been following me, and they might know I came to talk to you. You need to be careful.”

“I am out of that business.”

“I believe you, but I talked to Bradford at the prison, and now someone is following me. He could have called one of his people, told them to find out what I’m doing and how much I know. People are dying, Eric. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

He looked up and down the street, eyes wide and scared.

“I swear, if anyone in my family gets hurt—”

“Just be careful,” I said and left. I’d warned him. There was nothing more I could do.