Page 16 of Little Buried Secrets

She looked at it, shouted more expletives, and hurled it onto the grass.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” I asked.

“It’s Sebastian. He wants to meet up somewhere to talk. What does he think? We’re gonna get together and have a kumbaya bonding moment because my sister’s missing? Freaking idiot.”

“I stopped by his house earlier today and talked with him.”

She moved a hand to her hip. “What did he have to say for himself?”

“His concern about your sister seems genuine.”

“It’s not. It’s an act.”

“You don’t believe he cares for your sister?” I asked.

“Sebastian and I used to work together at the grocery store. We became good friends. He was assigned to work with Margot on a school project a while back, and after that, she was all he could talk about. He told me he wanted to ask her out. I’ll be honest, it was weird for me. But I stepped aside, and I allowed him to date her. And then I watched her get destroyed by him because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

She’d allowed him to date her.

Interesting choice of words.

It was almost as if she was saying if she hadn’t wanted them to be together, they wouldn’t have been.

“Were you upset when Sebastian told you he liked Margot?” I asked.

“Are you asking if I’ve ever had the hots for him or something? No, I haven’t. He’s nowhere near my type … too cookie-cutter clean.”

Now seemed like the perfect time to switch subjects.

“Do you remember what Margot was wearing the last time you saw her?” I asked.

“I already gave a full description to the police. What, you all don’t get together and share stuff?”

“We do, sometimes. Other times, I’d say we’re guilty of keeping things from each other.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I suppose we have our reasons.”

“Do you trust them—the cops in this county?”

“I do. I know Chief Foley well. He’s dating my sister. He’s a good guy who just so happened to have forgotten to tell me what Margot was wearing when she went missing.”

Bronte shook her head at me, like she could see straight through my ploy to bring her back around to the question she still hadn’t answered.

“Margot was wearing a white sweater, brown pants, and pink-and-white tennis shoes,” Bronte said. “Anything else you want to know?”

“I need to ask you about the incident with your car,” I said. “It’s not because I think there’s any merit to the idea that you had something to do with Margot’s disappearance. I need to make sure I have the facts—all of them.”

Bronte blew out a heavy sigh. “About the car … I should have handled it better. I know what I did was wrong.”

“I’m not passing judgment here. What’s done is done. I just want the details.”

“All right. I was thirsty, so I decided to stop at Sea Breeze Market to grab a drink. I found a parking spot, and right as I was getting ready to pull in, this bird swooped down to grab a piece of food on the ground. I swerved, trying not to hit it, and I ran into the car in the next parking spot over instead.”

“What happened next?”

“I got out and checked the other car for damage. It was just a scratch. I figured the owner might not even notice it. My car was the one that got dented.”

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