Don't Say a Word

Book 2: Angelhart Investigations

by Allison Brennan

Genres: Private Investigators; Crime Fiction; Domestic Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

In the second book of the thrilling new Angelhart Investigations series from New York Times bestselling author Allison Brennan, the Angelharts must figure out whether a teen’s death is a tragic accident…or a murder.

The police ruled Elijah Martinez’s death an accidental drug overdose, but the teen’s grieving mother isn’t convinced. With the case officially closed, Angelhart Investigations is the only one who can help her find the truth. Margo Angelhart’s sure this will be an easy solve—she’ll talk to Elijah’s friends and employer, retrace his steps, and figure out what happened in his final hours.

Except none of his friends believe he did drugs, and the teacher who’s been vocal about the police mishandling the case turns up dead. Every thread Margo pulls leads back to a dangerous drug ring that once ran through the school.

When Margo’s brother Jack, a former cop, can’t get straight answers out of the police, they don’t know if it’s because of an active case…or a cover-up. Margo’s only sure of one thing—she has to find out what really happened to Elijah before more teens become pawns in a twisted scheme.

Angelhart Investigations

Book 1: You'll Never Find Me
Book 2: Don't Say a Word

Release date: September 16, 2025

Publisher: MIRA Books

Print pages: 416

Sample

Prologue

Phoenix PD Officer Josie Morales stood over the body of a kid who couldn’t be over eighteen. She said a silent prayer, but still wanted to punch something. What a waste.

“Where’s the damn ME?” her partner, Tyrell Jones, said. “It’s already hot as balls out here.”

“Detectives are on their way,” Josie said. The ME always came after the detectives.

She and Tyrell had just finished their morning briefing when dispatch reported that park rangers had found a dead body in Mountain View Park, only a couple blocks from their precinct. Now they were stuck here until the detectives cleared the scene. Their coffee run would have to wait.

“How long until the dicks get here?” Tyrell said. He wasn’t a fan of the detective squad, mostly because of how some of them treated uni’s.

She asked dispatch for a status.

“Twenty minutes,” she told Tyrell.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he took another long look at the deceased. “Drugs,” he said, though they couldn’t be certain. They couldn’t see any blood or external wounds, but that didn’t mean that a drug overdose was the cause of death.

Josie had already sectioned off the area with crime scene tape, not because she thought this was a homicide, but because she didn’t want people being disrespectful and nosy. A couple joggers slowed as they passed Josie, straining their necks to see what the cops were doing. Tyrell glared at them, then walked back to their patrol car and returned with a tarp. They carefully covered the body.

“Fucking waste,” Tyrell muttered.

He’d been a uniformed officer for fifteen years and planned to retire after putting in his twenty, then open a bar. Or a gun range. Or a gym. It changed depending on his mood, but one thing was certain, he’d told Josie more than once, he wanted to work for himself and take orders from no one except his wife.

He was cynical and rough around the edges, but Tyrell was a solid and seasoned cop. He never dodged calls and called out cops who routinely did, which didn’t make him a lot of friends. Josie had learned a lot from Tyrell since she’d partnered with him after shifting to days three months ago, and while she wished he would be a bit more diplomatic with their colleagues, she respected and trusted him.

Josie kept her eyes on the people in the area, making sure they stayed beyond the crime scene tape. She glanced at Tyrell and, even though he was wearing sunglasses, she could tell by his tight jaw and the way he stood that he was upset.

He had two kids. To see a dead teen was difficult for her, but had to be harder on a father.

By the time a detective sedan pulled up, they’d drawn a larger audience, but Josie had put the tape far enough away that onlookers couldn’t overhear their discussion.

“Well, shit,” Tyrell said when he saw Rachel King was the responding detective. “Deal with her, I don’t have the patience today.” He walked over to the tape to wait for the ME’s van.

Good that Tyrell walked away, because Rachel had made few friends during her years on the force, primarily because she was both prickly and hypercritical of uniformed officers. However, the CSI who rolled up behind her was Josie’s cousin Nico Angelhart.

Nico smiled when he saw her, but before they could exchange a word, Rachel removed the tarp and motioned for him to take photos.

He was quick, methodical, and efficient as he photographed the body, the surrounding area, and then motioned that Rachel could search the victim. They would want to identify him as soon as possible and notify his parents. Josie was glad she didn’t have to do that part of the job.

g with a couple twenties were in one pocket; his other held a thin wallet.

Rachel opened it. “Arizona State Identification Card, no driver’s license. Elijah Martinez, seventeen. Lives in an apartment off Nineteenth Avenue. That’s more than two miles away. What’s he doing here?” She continued flipping through the wallet. “Sun Valley High School,” she said. “That’s . . .”

“Less than a mile down the road,” Josie said. “My alma mater.” She was trying to build a rapport, but the detective neither looked at her nor acknowledged her comment.

Rachel handed the wallet, drugs, and cash to Nico, who sealed them in separate evidence bags. Most likely fentanyl. Dammit, this was the sixth fentanyl death Josie handled since moving to day shift. She’d stopped counting the ODs that she and Tyrell reversed with Narcan.

But Elijah Martinez was the youngest.

“No sign of external injuries. Likely drug overdose. Nico, what do you think?”

“The ME will do an exam, but I see no weapon, no biologic matter, no sign of violence or bruising. No external signs of drug use, no needles. Eight likely fentanyl tablets in the bag.” He couldn’t confirm fentanyl until the pills were tested in the lab. They’d seen fentanyl tainted with xylazine, an animal tranquilizer, as well as stimulants.

“Time of death?”

“You know better than to ask me,” Nico said with a half smile.

“But?” Rachel pushed.

“Four to six hours.”

Rachel glanced at her watch. “Likely after midnight. Call the ME, they can take the body. Officer . . . Morales?”

“Yes,” Josie said.

“Did I see that the park rangers called this in?”

Josie nodded. “They found the body at 5:35 a.m. My partner and I were first on scene at 5:45.”

Josie followed Rachel’s gaze as the detective looked up and down the park. Martinez lay against a tree west of the small gazebo and playground area. The rest of the park was open space, grass, paths, and a community garden. The body couldn’t be seen from the road, but it would have been seen from the main east-west trail before it forked north and south.

If someone was paying attention, Josie thought. She’d encountered runners who put in their earbuds and looked straight ahead. If someone saw the body, they might assume homeless. But the park rangers rousted the homeless from the area early every morning.

Nico said, “The ME will have a van here within forty-five minutes. I’m going to inspect the playground.”

Drug addicts often left paraphernalia in the area they partied. The park would be overrun with kids this morning before the heat drove them indoors.

Josie joined Nico. He handed her an extra rake and together they combed through the sand, looking for pills, foil that might contain drug residue, needles, and anything else that might be a danger to little kids.

“How’re things?” Josie asked.

“Good. Just lost my intern.”

“Theo?” Theo Washington was a nineteen-year-old student going through the forensic science program at Paradise Valley Community College. He worked part-time for Nico’s sister—and Josie’s best friend—Margo.

“His internship ended yesterday, and he starts classes next week. I tried to get him hired part-time, but it’s not in the budget. Fortunately, I’ll have first dibs on him in May when he graduates. While he sometimes jumps to conclusions—probably Margo’s bad influence—” he added with a smile “—he’s detail-orientated and takes direction well. Doesn’t mind tedious work.”

“Shouldn’t you give Margo credit for his positive skills as well?” Josie said lightly, knowing Margo and Nico loved ribbing each other.

“And further enlarge my sister’s already big ego?” He laughed. “Anyway, his computer skills could be better—I thought everyone in his generation were tech gurus. He’s adding an extra computer class at my suggestion.”

“Is he still working for Margo?”

He nodded. “We had dinner last night and she gloated about it.”

“You’ll be gloating in

May.”

“Damn straight,” he said. “She won’t mind. The city can pay Theo far more than she can, and it’s a great career. Plus, Theo is motivated.”

They found two used condoms—both older than twenty-four hours, per Nico, so he tossed them. One foil that seemed old but had what was likely fentanyl residue, so he bagged it. And a knife, which he also bagged, though it didn’t appear to have blood on it. Probably fell out of someone’s pocket.

“You think this is an accidental OD?” Josie asked Nico as she tossed a broken beer bottle into the trash can.

“That’s up to the ME.”

“We’ve enough of them,” she commented.

“Yeah, we do. I wish we could find whoever left him to die, though no one will prosecute.”

“Bingo,” Josie said. Generally, if an individual left someone to die when that person could have been saved with prompt medical treatment, it would be charged as a misdemeanor, if charged at all. It was a debate they’d had at their grandfather’s house on occasion—moral, ethical, and legal ramifications of action versus inaction. Retired Judge Hector Morales loved to play devil’s advocate. He could argue any side of any issue effectively, and was brilliant at seeing different angles. He’d been a respected jurist for more than forty years.

“Doesn’t make it right,” Nico said.

“I’m with you. You know, Sun Valley High School won’t have a school resource officer until October. I can probably get permission to talk to the students, especially since the kid went there.”

School resource officers worked for a special division of Phoenix PD and, depending on funding levels, would be assigned to high schools in the region. Josie had applied for the program, but hadn’t been accepted into one of the limited slots. She’d apply again next year.

How did she explain she felt invested in finding out what had happened to Elijah Martinez? “I’ve seen dozens of ODs since I’ve been a cop—six in the last two months alone,” Josie said. “But this kid is the youngest. How did he end up here?”

She didn’t mean here, physically; she meant dead

e sounded discouraged and sad. Josie didn’t want to think of Elijah Martinez as a statistic, one of many, lost and broken. He was a son. Maybe a brother. A friend. A student. And until last night, he’d had a future.

Josie wasn’t going to easily get past his death. Maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe, if she found out the how and the why, she could do something to help fix this crisis.

“I’ll talk to the school,” Josie said. “I’ll convince the principal to give me a forum.”

“Good,” Nico said. “I’m not really as cynical as I sound, but I have to stay detached or I can’t do the job.”

Cops—and apparently CSIs—compartmentalized so they could handle difficult and tragic cases, then go home to live a relatively normal life with normal relationships.

But sometimes, it was hard. And Josie did care—a lot. If she stopped caring, she’d have to quit being a cop. Make yet another career change after a long line of career changes.

If she could prevent another kid from ending up like Elijah Martinez, she’d talk to every school in Phoenix. Would it help? She didn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt.

She glanced at the tree behind the crime scene tape, knowing a young man lay dead under the tarp. I have to do something, she told herself.

Josie had no idea the can of worms she’d open when she spoke to the student body the following week.

 

Chapter OneMargo Angelhart

I love my family. Every single one of them, from my brothers and sisters and parents and grandparents to every aunt, uncle, cousin, and cousin-by-marriage. I love them when they annoy me, argue, or agree. The Morales family and everyone who came from them—the Orozcos, Garcias, Angelharts, and more—put the unconditional love of family above all.

You know Zazu from The Lion King? The brightly colored bird who commented that there was “one” problem in every family—and two in his? Yep, the Angelhart-Morales clan had more than two, like my cousin Pedro, who fell down every conspiracy theory rabbit hole he tripped over. If I had a dollar for every time he called wanting me to investigate some wild idea—like the time he put six different news stories together to prove the governor had been replaced by a look-alike—my mortgage would be paid. I love him, but thankfully he lived out of state and I only saw him once in a blue moon.

But Pedro wasn’t the wackiest character in our family.

Today, it was my older sister, Tess. As I ate one of the breakfast burritos I’d brought in for the office, I considered hopping in my Jeep and heading to my grandparents’ cabin in Pinetop, cell phone off. Just me and the open road.

Tess was driving me up a wall. Yes, she was planning a wedding. Yes, she had “only” seven months left. Yes, she was nervous because she had two failed engagements before falling for Dr. Gabriel Rubio. But if she changed her mind about the bridesmaid dresses one more time, I would stand next to her in jeans and a T-shirt.

“You’re my maid of honor,” Tess said as I poured myself a cup of coffee and wished I had some whiskey to dump in. Hell, I’d drink the whiskey straight even though it was eight thirty in the morning and I didn’t even like whiskey.

“Yep,” I said. “I promise, you’ll have the best bachelorette party ever. In March. Six months from now.” Meaning, I didn’t want to talk about it because I hadn’t thought about it. Because—six months away.

I’d looked up all the duties of a maid of honor, and there were a lot, but Mom was taking care of most of them because she wanted to. Thank God. I don’t think I would survive until Tess’s wedding day if I were responsible for everything that the books told me I was responsible for.

“We’re getting married in April!”

“That’s what the invitations say.” Which were at the printer, so she couldn’t change them.

“I can’t go with the burgundy I love. It just won’t work!”

“Why? Is it against the law?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, Margo,” Tess said. “It’s spring. Burgundy is a fall or winter color. I want something light, something that says spring and birth.”

“Are you pregnant?”

Tess’s eyes widened and she practically blushed. “Margo!” she snapped.

“What? You’re the one that said birth.”

“Stop.”

“If you want burgundy, then we wear burgundy.”

“No! If you don’t want to help, just say so.”

Tess walked into her office and slammed the door before I could respond.

Where was Jack when I needed him? Did my brother know Tess was going to have a meltdown this morning so he stayed away from the office until the last possible minute? Probably. He avoided confrontations whenever possible.

I didn’t come into the office every day. My mother would love if I did, but I’d worked solo for eight years. I didn’t need to be in the office all the time. Sometimes I missed the autonomy of being completely on my own, so I came in only when necessary—like today when Mom called and said Uncle Rafe was coming

by to talk about a possible case.

I’ll admit, I was a bit hurt that Uncle Rafe didn’t call me first. For the last eight years, I’d worked several cases that he’d brought me. Most didn’t pay, but that never bothered me. Some people needed help and didn’t have the money for an investigator. They paid what they could. My big clients covered what I needed, and it all worked out in the end. Then I join the family firm and Rafe goes right to my mom. Sure, she’s his sister, but still.

One of the agreements Mom and I made when I joined Angelhart Investigations was that I could bring all my regular clients over. To be honest, I didn’t have many clients on retainer because I mostly worked individual cases, but I had both a law firm and a bounty contract I didn’t want to give up. Mom didn’t like me taking bounty assignments, but they were fun. Some people think I have an odd definition of fun, but there’s something wholly satisfying about tracking a fugitive and hauling his ass to court. Jack worked with me on my last case and I think he had just as much fun as I did, though he’d never admit it. So far, our family arrangement was working.

Of course, we’d only been in the same office for three months, so there was still time for me to screw everything up.

I glanced at the clock—past nine. Mom said be here at eight thirty. An early riser by nature, I didn’t mind mornings, but sitting around an office was not my idea of fun or work. I had background checks to run for Logan Monroe, a new client I’d helped out of a jam back in May. He’d put Angelhart Investigations on retainer. It was a win-win for everyone—we all liked the successful entrepreneur, he paid well, and he valued honesty, even when it stung. He’d also gained a new best friend in Jack, despite them being near polar opposites.

Maybe in part because Jack was dating Logan’s sister.

Jack walked in looking angry, which was very unlike my calm, cool, collected big brother.

“Hey, Jack, I brought you a breakfast burrito from Orozco’s. It’s in the kitchen. Mom’s running late.” I jerked my finger toward her closed office door.

He turned to me, blinked, as if not expecting to see me. “Thanks,” he said, then went into his office and closed the door without getting

 his food.

Definitely unlike my big brother who never turned down a breakfast burrito from our cousin’s Mexican restaurant. And, in the time I’d been working with my family, not once had I seen him close his door.

First Tess panicking about wedding dresses, now Jack being grumpy. With my even-tempered little sister, Luisa, back at college full-time, I couldn’t even commiserate with anyone.

I turned to my computer—I’ll admit, one of the perks of joining the family business was the new computer. My old machine worked at the speed of molasses. I plotted how I wanted to handle the background checks this week. Tess had already run credit reports, confirmed previous employers and schooling, and my job was to verify references. You’d be shocked at how many people listed fake jobs and references, thinking employers wouldn’t check.

I went into the break room to pour more iced coffee into my Yeti. Our office manager, Iris Butler, made the best iced coffee around and always had some chilling in the fridge. I sipped. Perfect.

The break room had once been a giant kitchen when the building was an orphanage. It had since been converted into a comfortable space—the adjacent dining area now had a small table, a couple couches, oversized chairs, and television that was rarely turned on. I could easily have lived here.

When I stepped back out, my mom was escorting a fiftysomething man into the conference room. From their body language, they knew each other. Mom saw me, motioned me over.

“Margo, this is Manny Ramos. We served on a charity board together many moons ago.”

I knew the name, but we’d never met. Ramos owned a string of convenience stores in Central Phoenix called the Cactus Stop. I frequented the one closest to my house, when sometimes convenience trumped cheap. My first major investigation, more than eight years ago, involved the murder of a clerk at one of the Cactus Stops.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Likewise,” Ramos said. “I wish it could be under better circumstances.”

I glanced at my mom. I wish I knew what the

 circumstances were.

“We’re just waiting for Raphael and Mrs. Martinez,” my mom said to Ramos. “Coffee? Water?”

“Don’t go to the trouble.”

“No trouble. Margo, can you? I’ll call in Jack and Tess.”

“Sure,” I said and went back into the kitchen to grab some water bottles. Iris took them from me. “Your uncle just drove up. I’ll bring these in, along with a coffee tray.”

“Thanks,” I said and went to greet Uncle Rafe.

He wore his cleric’s uniform—black short-sleeved shirt, black slacks, and white collar. A simple wood crucifix hung on a leather string around his neck. A woman with a tired, drawn face walked in with him.

“Uncle Rafe,” I said. “I heard you were coming in.” I extended my hand to the woman. “I’m Margo Angelhart.”

She took it, her hand small and shaky. “Alina Martinez. Thank you.”

I didn’t know what she was thanking me for. I said, “I assume Manny Ramos is here for you?”

Alina gave me a sad smile. “I’m late. I’m so sorry.”

“We’re not late,” Uncle Rafe said, taking her elbow and escorting her into the conference room.

My phone beeped. My cousin Josie had sent a text message.

Hey, do you have time to meet?

I responded immediately

Always for you, Pussycat.

I smiled. Ever since we watched Josie and the Pussycats one summer when we were eight, I’d adopted that nickname for her, which she used to hate. Okay, she still hated it, but that didn’t stop me. She’d called me worse, trust me. Josie was not only my cousin, but my best friend.

I’m off today, I’ll meet you wherever.

I considered, then texted back: I’m going into a client meeting. I’ll text you when I’m done, good?

Josie responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

I pocketed my phone and followed Rafe and Alina into the conference room.

My mom, Ava Angelhart—the head of Angelhart Investigations after an illustrious career as a prosecutor, county attorney, and in private practice—looked the part. Impeccably dressed, she wore heels and a light gray suit with a pale pink blouse. As always, her hair and makeup was polished and professional. She sat at the head of the table, with Tess to her left taking notes and Jack beside her. To her right, Alina Martinez sat between Uncle Rafe and Ramos, a box of tissues within reach.

I barely refrained from squirming as I sat next to Jack. Emotional scenes always made me uncomfortable.

Tess didn’t look at me. We’d have to talk later. Seventeen years of sharing a room while growing up either created friends for life, or enemies. We had been friends. Sure, we butted heads and argued, but I would do anything for my sister, and she’d do anything for me.

Until three years ago when our lives were shaken and stirred and rubbed raw after our dad pled guilty to a murder I was positive he hadn’t committed. We barely talked until a few months ago. We were still working through the minefield of emotions and issues, but mostly, I thought, we were okay. I needed to keep it that way.

When we were all seated, Mom said, “Alina, I’m so glad that you came in. We are here to listen, then share our best advice on how to proceed. I am so deeply sorry for your loss.”

I was curious and wished Mom had clued us in. By the expressions on Jack’s and Tess’s faces, they had no idea what was going on either.

“Thank you,” Alina said. “I—I don’t know where to start.” She looked from Ramos to Uncle Rafe.

Uncle Rafe asked her, “Would you mind if I explained how we came to be here?”

She sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

Rafe said, “Ten days ago, Alina’s only child, Elijah, died at Mountain View Park in Sunnyslope.” 

lder I often hiked the North Mountain trails which could be accessed from the park.

“Elijah was a high school senior and honors student. He has never been suspected of doing drugs, yet the ME ruled that he died of an accidental drug overdose.”

Silent tears rolled down Alina’s face.

“I recognize that teenagers often do things we wish they wouldn’t do, and drug use is very common,” Uncle Rafe continued. “I don’t want you to think I have blinders on. I believe in forgiveness and redemption because there are many things we need to be forgiven for. Catholics, even good Catholics, fall off the path. However, I knew Elijah and I know Alina and their family. On Friday, we had the funeral Mass where I met Mr. Ramos, who owns the Cactus Stop where Elijah worked for the past six months.”

“Mr. Ramos was generous in helping with all the arrangements,” Alina said. “I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

Ramos squeezed Alina’s hand. “Anyone in my position would have done the same.”

Uncle Rafe continued. “I spoke with Elijah’s teachers and his friends. It was after that, and after prayer, that I reached out to Alina yesterday and suggested we talk to someone who can look into what happened the night Elijah died.”

I had a whole bunch of questions, but Jack spoke up first. “The police would have conducted a death investigation in conjunction with the ME’s office.”

“They did,” Rafe said. “After the funeral, we learned that the police have closed the case. The ME’s report was taken at face value. They are no longer investigating how he obtained the drugs or who he was with the night he died.”

“No one cares,” Alina said, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

Uncle Rafe took her hand, held it. “I called Josie, who was the responding officer that day, to see if she could find out more, because one week doesn’t seem long enough to get answers. She said she would do what she could, but indicated that the detective in charge wasn’t open to pursuing other angles. That at most, she’d refer the case to the drug unit.”

Josie. Was that why she’d texted me? To give me a heads-up?

Jack nodded. “If there is no evidence of homicide, they’d close the case and refer follow-up to the Drug Enforcement Bureau. It could become part of a larger drug investigation. Most drug-related deaths are accidental overdoses.”

“Elijah did not do drugs,” Alina said. Her voice, though quiet, was emphatic. “He would not. Since his father died in an accident ten years ago, it’s been him and me. He has always been a good son. He planned to go to college. He even took night classes at the community college this summer, because he wanted to get ahead. He has straight A’s. His teachers like him. His friends are good kids—they know he doesn’t do these things. I need someone to find out what happened to him. Someone gave him those drugs. I don’t think he knew, and then he died. Alone.” Her voice cracked.

Before my mother could speak, I said, “Alina, are you suggesting that someone gave Elijah drugs without his knowledge or consent?”

She nodded. “Sí. That is correct. He would not do that to himself.”

Mom said, “Are you prepared to share everything about Elijah, his friends, give us access to his room, his property, his life history? Are you prepared to learn the truth, no matter what we find?”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “I need the truth. No matter what.”

Ramos cleared his throat. “I’ll fund your investigation. Alina,” he said when she began to protest, “it is the least I can do to help. Elijah was a good young man, and he worked in my store. I want answers, as you do.”

Mom said, “We can discuss that later. For now, I need to confer with my partners. Rafe, can you take Alina and Manny out for a moment?”

Rafe didn’t want to leave, I could see it in the way his body tensed, but he simply nodded and the three of them left the room, closing the door behind him.

“We need to decide if this is a case we want to take,” Mom said.

“Yes, of course we take it,” I said without hesitation.

“We have paying clients we need to continue to service in a timely and professional manner,” Mom said.

“Ramos said he was paying,” Jack countered. “What am I missing?”

“Alina doesn’t feel comfortable accepting more money from Manny. He paid for Elijah’s burial.”

“I managed to juggle paying clients with non-paying clients for eight years all by myself,” I said.

“By

working eighty hours a week.”

“Point?”

“My point is that you and Tess are working the background checks for Logan Monroe’s resort, and we have a deadline to complete that work. Jack has several subpoenas for the law firm that has us on retainer that must be served in a timely manner. We also have a criminal case we’ve been asked to investigate for the defense. I haven’t decided whether we’ll take it—I’m meeting with the defense attorney later today to go over the facts.”

I frowned. “Shouldn’t we all vote on whether we take it or not?”

“Mom vets our cases,” Tess said. “This isn’t a democracy.”

I bristled. “I vet my own cases.”

“You want to go back to taking sex pics of adulterers?” Tess snapped.

Mom cleared her throat. “Margo, I would not ask any of you to work on a case you didn’t want, or stop you from working on a case you had passion for. However, in this instance, I’m pre-vetting the case. Meaning, I need to be comfortable working with the defense before I ask any of you to work on it. And because it’s a capital case, I would be very involved with the legal end.”

“Capital case?” Jack asked.

“A woman accused of murdering her husband.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “It’s the Madison O’Neill case.”

Mom nodded.

I grinned. “Well, either way, I’m all in. That sounds like fun.”

Tess wrinkled her nose. “What if she’s guilty?”

“Still fun. If she’s guilty, we’ll prove it and the defense lawyer can work out a plea. If she’s innocent, we’ll prove it, and she won’t go to prison for life. Mostly, it’s completely different than the boring crap we’ve been doing for the last few months, dropping subpoenas and running background checks.”

“Which pay our bills,” Tess countered.

“Tess,” Mom said, sounding sharp and irritated. Was she sensing that Tess was picking on me because of the dress argument? “Let’s shelve this discussion for the time being. I’ll let you know what I learn on the O’Neill case, and then we can decide—as a group—whether to take it or not.” 

orking a case we had a passion for. I want to help Alina. Uncle Rafe asked us to.” And he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important to him, which made it important to me.

“It’s difficult to say no to my brother, ...