Page 69 of Little Buried Secrets

I envisioned a scenario in which Isaac returned home for the holidays, saw Margot at the restaurant, and the feelings he had for her came flooding back, just as they had at the party. Feelings that led to frustration over being told no when he was used to being told yes. Feelings that turned him into a cold-blooded killer.

CHAPTER 26

It was the day before Christmas, and given it was also Sunday, Giovanni and I were expected at my mother’s place for family dinner. Ever since Margot had gone missing, it felt like the days were bleeding into each other, so much so, I’d lost track of them. It was like I’d rowed my boat into the heart of the ocean and was uncertain how to find my way back. I wanted clarity, and I wanted it now, and it didn’t feel like it was within my reach.

As a result, I wasn’t in much of a celebratory mood, and though I’d spent the morning toying with ideas on how to bow out of tonight’s family dinner, it wouldn’t change anything. I’d be going whether I wanted to or not. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way, and I had no intention of disappointing her. When it came to the holidays, nothing meant more to her than being together with family.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I reached over and picked it up, hoping I had a message from Whitlock or Foley. Before I’d left Donna’s house the night before, I’d filled Whitlock in on everything Isaac had said before he’d arrived. I’d heard nothing since Isaac was taken in for questioning, and I was anxious to know what was going on.

The message I’d received was from Hunter, giving me a home address for Coach Warren. I slipped on a twenties-era silk robe and walked to the kitchen. Giovanni was standing in front of the oven, whistling to an Italian tune playing through the new speakers we’d just had installed. He slid a hot pad over one hand and bent down, cracking the oven door open.

Peering inside, he said, “The quiche I made is just about finished. Another fifteen minutes and you would have been served breakfast in bed.”

I grinned and shot him a wink. “I can get back in bed if you prefer.”

“I prefer to have you here with me.”

“Then I’ll stay.” I slid onto a barstool, squeezing my eyes open and closed a few times. “I went to bed at a decent hour last night, but I feel like I haven’t slept in days.”

“That’s one mystery I can help you solve. You talked in your sleep off and on throughout the night.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It can’t be helped.”

“I hope I didn’t keep you up.”

“You were fine.”

“Do you happen to remember what I said?” I asked.

“Some of it. You mentioned Margot several times. You said you knew who was responsible for her death.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“Huh,” I said.

“Do you know who’s responsible?”

“I don’t. Not for certain.”

“Are you getting any closer to figuring it out?”

“If anything, it feels like I’m getting further away from it,” I said. “Did I talk about anything other than Margot?”

Giovanni leaned against the counter, crossing one leg in front of the other. “It was hard to make out, cara mia. You were mumbling at times, and your sentences were jumbled together. Most of what I could make out were names. You brought up Coach Warren and Rae’s boyfriend, Grant. Someone named Isaac. Oh, and you also mentioned Sebastian.”

It made sense.

All of them had consumed my thoughts over the last week.

“Each time I interview a suspect, I think they’re going to slip up, say something to me to let me know they’re the killer,” I said. “I’m closer to solving the case but not close enough.”

Giovanni pulled the quiche out of the oven and set it on the stovetop to cool. “Is there anyone you haven’t interviewed yet?”

“Margot’s volleyball coach. She quit the team before the season was over and told a couple of her friends the coach had been inappropriate with her.”

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