Page 32 of Little Buried Secrets

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Rae asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Rae.”

I heard what sounded like someone descending the stairs, and I turned to see Grant standing at the bottom of the staircase with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Eyes wide, he looked at me like he was shocked to find me there.

“I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

While we hadn’t been loud, I assumed our voices had carried enough for him to know Rae was talking with someone inside the house. Then again, if he had heard her talking, he could have assumed she was on the phone.

He pivoted, speed-walking back up the stairs.

I wondered if Grant had ever walked around in a towel in front of Margot and Bronte. I was about to pose the question to Rae, and I noticed she was looking at me funny, like she wondered why I had an inquisitive look on my face.

No point hiding my concerns now.

“Does Grant walk around in just a towel often?” I asked.

Rae shook her head. “Good heavens, no. Never, unless we’re in the bedroom together. It was just supposed to be us for most of the night. Bronte’s out. We don’t expect her home for a couple of hours, at least.”

“Is she with her boyfriend or other friends?”

Rae shook her head. “I should have told you earlier.”

“Told me what?”

“Bronte’s with Sebastian Chandler.”

Sebastian Chandler.

The guy got around.

The last I’d seen Sebastian, he’d joined his parents and was going down to the police department for questioning. I wondered what had come of it.

“I thought Bronte and Sebastian weren’t speaking to each other,” I said.

“They weren’t. He sent her a text message earlier today. I don’t know what it said. She didn’t tell me. All I know is that it was enough for her to decide to meet up with him.”

I wondered if Sebastian had told Margot about the shoe he’d found. He’d been asked to keep quiet about it, but it didn’t mean he would be.

“When can I see Margot?” Rae asked.

“They’re still processing the area where she was found,” I said. “It will take some time. They want to make sure they don’t miss anything.”

“I want to see her for myself. Will you take me?”

“They’re not allowing anyone at the scene right now.”

“I’m not anyone, Georgiana. I’m her mother.”

“I know. And I know how hard it is to wait, but we need to give the police and the forensics team the time they need to gather evidence.”

She frowned, disappointed with my answer.

“You’re asking a lot of me … too much,” she said. “How would you feel if you were in my position?”

Years earlier, I had been in her position.

She clasped a hand over her mouth as if she realized what she’d said the moment the words left her mouth. “Oh, Georgiana. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking about—”

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