Page 15 of Little Buried Secrets

“The car is priceless,” I said. “It was my grandmother’s. She left it to me when she died. And I’ll leave it to … well, my niece I suppose, one day.”

“Why your niece? You don’t have kids?”

“I had a daughter. She passed away.”

Bronte pressed a finger to her lips. “Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have, you know—”

“It’s all right. Are you older or younger than Margot?”

“One year older. So, what are the odds my sister is going to be found alive at this point? You can be straight with me. I’ve looked up the statistics. None of it is good.”

“I tend not to focus on odds or statistics. I prefer to take each situation as it comes. But you’re right. The outlook isn’t great at this point.”

“I think about it a lot, the fight we had the other day. I think about what I could have said instead of what I did. Who argues over a stupid sweater? It’s so lame.”

“The argument wasn’t about a sweater, was it? It was about Sebastian.”

She crossed her arms, huffing, “I couldn’t believe she agreed to see him after what he did to her.”

“Do you know for a fact Sebastian did what he was accused of that night?”

“Yeah … I mean, no, but—”

“Sometimes in life, we see things the people we’re closest to don’t. In those times, as much as we want to shake some sense into them, I’ve learned what they want the most is support. I’m sure Margot had her reasons for wanting to meet with him.”

“I guess.”

“No matter what you said to her a few days ago, what’s happened isn’t your fault.”

“It is my fault. You can say it. It’s what everyone thinks. Hell, the cops think I ran her over with my car. And then what? I tossed her into the ocean or something so I wouldn’t get caught?”

Her bottom lip was trembling. She bit down on it, forcing herself not to cry.

“This is where I come in,” I said. “I don’t believe you had anything to do with Margot’s disappearance. Let’s shift the focus from you to the person who’s responsible.”

“How?”

“Tell me more about Margot,” I said. “What’s she like?”

“I see what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“Talking about her like she’s still alive. If you think it will help me feel better, it won’t.”

“I’m not trying to do anything except have a conversation.”

She stared at me a moment and said, “We don’t argue, not a lot. We’re complete opposites. She’s soft, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. She’s easy to love. Sometimes I wish I was more like her.”

“In what way?”

“When we were kids, if she wanted attention from my parents and she wasn’t getting it, she’d give it to them first, hoping she’d get it back in return. It always worked. I couldn’t … I mean, I’ve never been good at that kind of thing. I don’t know why.”

“I was the same way growing up. Initiating contact felt unnatural to me, I guess.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you get it. Margot is the most likable person I know. Guess it’s what makes this all so bizarre.”

Bronte’s phone buzzed again.

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