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Margo Angelhart
Logan Monroe had a suite of offices in the Scottsdale Quarter. Convenient with ample parking, great restaurants, and easy access to the 101 and small Scottsdale Airport.
When I arrived, I went to the top floor—the fourth floor—in a building near the Apple Store and across from the small palm-tree lined park in the center of the Quarter. At night the trees were lit with tiny white lights and it was quite pretty. With restaurants, shopping, and a theater, it made the area great for date nights. Not that I’d had a date in a while.
Logan was one of the investors in the Quarter, and leased a small office suite on the top floor of one of the buildings. When I entered, there was no receptionist, but I spotted Jack and Logan through the open door that led to the corner office. Logan didn’t know the meaning of the word security.
“Want something to drink?” Logan asked when I stepped in. “I have soda and water. No coffee, sorry—I don’t drink it.”
“Water would be great, thanks,” I said.
He opened a mini-fridge in his office that was stocked with Coke and water. He might not drink coffee, but the sugar and caffeine in the fully loaded Coke would give a jolt.
“I already told your brother what I know,” he said.
“Tell Margo,” Jack said. “Because if anyone can find Jennifer, it’s my sister.”
I was surprised by the praise—not because I hadn’t earned it, but because Jack was just as capable as me.
“You work together, though, right?” Logan looked down at Jack’s card. “Angelhart Investigations.”
Jack and I both said, “Sometimes” and I added, “I have my own shingle, but all the same credentials.”
Jack gave me a quick rundown on how Logan and Jennifer ended up at Logan’s house in Paradise Valley, then he said, “We haven’t been able to locate Jennifer, and that lends credence that she’s in hiding, and that whoever poisoned them was targeting her.”
I asked Logan, “How did you and Jennifer communicate in the days leading up to Sunday’s meeting? Phone? Email?”
“Text,” Logan said. “The last time I heard from her—again, text message—was Sunday night. She promised to call me when she was settled.”
“And she hasn’t contacted you?”
He shook his head. “That’s why I’m worried.”
“Do you have any idea who drugged you and Jennifer?” I asked.
Logan shook his head, and Jack said, “I talked to my contact at the crime lab this morning. They found three canisters of nitrogen in the ventilation system.”
That stunned me. “Nitrogen? That could have killed them.”
Jack nodded. “Margo saved your lives,” he said. “You and Jennifer could have been asphyxiated.”
Logan nodded. “The police called me this morning with a report—they’re treating this as an attempted murder. I gave them all the information I had, but it’s not much. They promised it’s a priority for them.”
It probably was, I thought, but an investigation like this would take time and they didn’t have much to go on. “Did anyone know you were going there Sunday?” I asked.
He shook his head. “The police asked the same thing. No one—except Jennifer. But it wasn’t her.”
“You’re certain.”
“Why would Jennifer try to kill me? She was exposed as well.”
I leaned toward agreeing with Logan’s assessment, and Jack said, “It would have taken someone an hour or more to set up the canisters. There were no prints, and the police are working on tracing them but they’re commonly available at retailers and online. I was watching Jennifer and she was only there ten minutes before you arrived. She didn’t have time. And get this—the canisters were set on a remote, not a timer. Someone triggered them after you entered the house.”
“What was the range?” I asked.
“They had to be close according to the lab.”
I thought about Frank Sanchez on the mountain and Jack must have read my mind because he said, “Closer than the mountain. I think someone was in the house. I relayed my theory to the detective, and he’s following up.”
