Page 60 of Little Buried Secrets

“Sounds good to me.”

Danny slung his arm around Bronte and said, “You think your mom would be okay with us hanging out tonight?”

“If she’s not, I’m sure we can talk her into it.” Bronte turned toward me. “You can stay.”

“Thanks, but I have somewhere else to be.”

And that somewhere was an unannounced visit with a young man named Isaac Turner.

CHAPTER 23

I figured Isaac was staying at his mother’s house for the holidays. Hunter gave me her address, and as I drove over, I realized I’d been so wrapped up in Margot’s case, I’d almost forgotten Christmas was a couple of days away.

I parked and made my way to the door, which was adorned with one of the biggest flocked wreaths I’d ever seen. The wreath was covered in blue lights, which blinked off and on every few seconds.

I knocked on the door and was greeted by a woman I presumed to be Isaac’s mother. She was petite and had long, white, braided hair which fell over one of her shoulders. She was a lot older than I expected, given Isaac had just graduated high school.

“Hello,” I said. “Are you Isaac’s mother?”

She nodded. “I’m Donna.”

“I’m—”

“There’s no need, dear. I know who you are. You run that private eye business over on Main Street.”

In a town with a population under six thousand, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Is your son at home?” I asked.

“No, he’s not right now,” she said. “Why do you want to speak with him?”

It was a question I’d expected, and one I wasn’t ready to answer, not with full disclosure. “I’m trying to piece together the last few months of Margot’s life. I was hoping your son could help.”

“Did he know her?”

“I believe he did,” I said. “I’m sure he’s heard about what happened. I imagine just about everyone has by now.”

Donna tapped a bare foot to the tile floor. “We were talking earlier about what the chief of police said on television this afternoon. Well, I was talking about what the chief said, at any rate. Isaac was in a hurry to get out the door and meet up with a few friends. He grunted something about how sad the situation was, and that’s all he had to say on the matter.”

“Do you expect him home soon?”

“Oh, yes. He texted me a half an hour ago, saying he’d be on his way home soon. Would you like to come in? I’m sure he’d be happy to help with your investigation if he can.”

Once he knew what questions I had for him, I was sure he wouldn’t.

But that was a problem for later.

I followed Donna to the living room, which had been decorated with one specific theme in mind—it was a shrine of Isaac. I guessed there were at least fifty photographs of him, all in white frames, ranging in age from baby pictures to what I assumed he looked like now. Photos were everywhere—on the walls, the coffee table, the hutch, and even a couple of end tables.

I walked around the room, taking my time as I moved from one photo to the next. In Isaac’s most recent photos, I found him to be tall, muscular, and attractive, with short, black hair and sparkly, topaz-colored eyes.

“Your son’s a good-looking guy,” I said.

“He’s my miracle child. I wasn’t sure I’d ever have kids before he came along. I was married for about twenty years to a fellow named Harold. He was nice man, a good man, but he made it clear he never wanted children. I convinced myself he’d come around to the idea one day, so I froze my eggs. It was a brand-new procedure at the time. Wasn’t even sure it would work.”

“Did Harold know you froze your eggs?”

She shook her head. “Not until after we divorced. By then, I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life alone. So, I found a surrogate, and about a year later, Isaac was born.”

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