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“She didn’t. My friend there wanted to make sure I knew she and the kids were safe.”
I didn’t need to know; I didn’t want to know. Peter Carillo still loomed—free, angry, with resources. The fallout could be serious. Yet...there was also peace in knowing that Annie had made it all the way, that she hadn’t had cold feet and backtracked.
“Okay. Good.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You sound off.”
“What, are priests psychic now?”
“No, but maybe uncles are.”
“I’m fine. Working with Jack and Tess on a case, it’s a bit on the weird side.”
“I look forward to hearing about it.”
“I’ll tell all at the party. I gotta go, but I’ll see you later, Uncle Rafe.”
“Bless you, Margo.”
“Right back at you,” I said and ended the call.
“How’s Uncle Rafe?” Jack asked.
I hit unlock on my car fob. I hadn’t seen him exit the building.
“Good.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, but is everything okay?”
“Peachy.”
Jack stared at me. “We’re still family. We’ll always be family.”
“I know.” That’s why it hurt to be on opposite sides about something so fundamentally important to me. To them. I loved them, but we couldn’t get beyond my dad’s imprisonment. I would never understand how my mom could stand down.
Jack obviously wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He was his mother’s son, noble, loyal, always looking at the greater good. He, like everyone in the family, would argue with Ava Angelhart if they disagreed with her, but when Mom made a decision, Jack obeyed.
Most of the time, so did I.
“I miss—” I caught myself before I said something that opened up a bigger can of worms.
“Me, too,” he said. “Margo, there will always be a desk for you here. Always.”
It was an olive branch, so I didn’t jump down his throat. “See you tonight.”
Fifteen
Margo Angelhart
Trident Security Group was located in the pricey Biltmore area. Everything was expensive—houses, commercial property, retail. Miriam Endicott’s secure building also included a bank, a major insurance company, and several lawyers. Miriam’s white Mercedes was parked in her assigned slot, so I went up to the Trident suite on the fourth floor.
Miriam’s bread and butter was corporate background checks. They had secured contracts with multiple major employers in order to score the nice digs. Ninety percent of the work could be done with a computer and a phone, and Trident employed six full-time researchers who worked in cubicles and did the bulk of the work. Anything that needed to be verified in the field went to Frank Sanchez or Justine Young, both licensed PIs who I knew and didn’t love. Andy Drake must be a new guy or a temp.
I knew enough about Roger and Miriam Endicott—and their history with my mother—to know that they played dirty. That didn’t actually bother me—sometimes doing the right thing meant breaking a few rules. But motive mattered, and the jury was still out on that. Miriam was a hard woman to figure out.
