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“No—” Millie began, but I refused to take the money back.
“It was delicious. Thanks for your help, I’ll let you know how everything goes.”
I knew what Henry and Sophia looked like from the photos in Sergio’s apartment—and my own snooping on social media—but hanging around the middle school made me feel weird, so I drove to Sophia’s foster home and parked down the street. The middle school was five blocks south, and this was the most direct route home.
The street was well maintained and many of the small ranch-style homes had been updated. Some houses had barred windows, but most didn’t. Lawns were neat, winter grass had been seeded, and there was evidence of remodeling in several of the properties. Before I bought my house, I’d toured a couple houses in this neighborhood. I could have stretched my money and bought here, but I liked backing up to the Phoenix Mountains Preserve, and found a great deal on a fixer-upper.
Though at this rate, I didn’t know when I would ever be done remodeling my house.
While Sophia’s immediate neighborhood was nice, two blocks over there were bars on windows, security screens over doors, plus most houses needed a lot of work. A microcosm of Sunnyslope in the heart of Sunnyslope.
I wondered if foster home records were public. Not the kids—their identities would be protected—but the registered foster parents. I felt I should know that. Would Gene know the information off the top of his head? I worried I was completely ill-prepared for being a private investigator tasked with helping people not only solve problems, but find justice.
What the hell was I doing here?
Discouraged and depressed, I was about to drive away when I saw Sophia walk right past my car and turn the corner toward her home.
She was a pretty girl with long dark hair sun-kissed with red highlights, pulled back into a thick ponytail. She was dressed in jeans and a faded Arizona Cardinals football sweatshirt. It was too big on her. Her head was down, and she clasped the straps of her backpack so tightly I could see her knuckles were white.
She’d been crying.
I got out of my car as she walked past. “Sophia,” I said.
She jumped, turned, clearly skittish. “I don’t know you.” She took a step away, ready to bolt. She glanced over her shoulder. The foster home was two houses away, on the next corner. She could easily run to it, but she didn’t.
“I’m a friend of Sergio’s employer, Mr. Perez.” I handed her my business card, practically had to force it into her hand. “Margo Angelhart.”
The card had my name, phone number, and PI license.
Her lower lip trembled and she bit it, crumpling my card in her fist. “What do you want?”
“You know about Sergio, right?”
She gave a very short nod. “He didn’t,” she whispered. “I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Who are you scared of?”
“No one,” she said quickly.
“I want to help your brother, Sophia,” I said, trying hard to exude both sympathy and gravitas. “But he confessed to murder and doesn’t seem to want to help himself. I think it’s because he’s protecting someone. Who would he protect?”
“You can’t do anything. No one can. Why do you even care?”
“Because Sergio is making a mistake. He might think he’s doing the right thing, might even believe he’s protecting you and Henry—”
At that sentence her eyes widened and my instincts were validated.
“—but,” I continued, “his actions are enabling a killer to walk free. He will kill again. Next time, it might be someone you care about.”
“No one can help. Please go, before anyone sees you.” Her eyes welled up and I felt bad putting pressure on this young teenager. But she wasn’t ignorant of the world. Her mother was in prison for attempted murder and her dad was MIA. She lived in foster care with other kids who had faced similar situations. So she knew the truth, or a version of it, and I needed her to trust me.
Sophia kept looking over to the house and I asked, “Are you scared to go back to your foster home?”
She shook her head. “It’s so much better than the last place, this is a girls-only house.”
“But you want to be with your brothers.”
“Yes.” Her voice was almost a sob. “I like Mrs. Edgar, but Sergio is family. But now—now it won’t happen and I—I don’t know what to do.”
