Page 71 of Little Buried Secrets

Cass pointed in the direction of the living room. Then she turned, making her way down a short hallway into the back bedroom.

The house was on the smaller side, and the boxy layout reminded me more of a condominium than a house. What it lacked in size was made up for in its tasteful décor. The house was decorated in a coastal theme, with shades of blue, white, gray, and tan. Everything matched. On the wall above the sofa was a four-panel painting on canvas of a giant blue whale. On a shelf I spotted a series of small glass bottles, all lined up next to each other. Inside the bottles were shells, and on the outside, the bottles had been labeled with the city where I assumed the shells had been collected.

A photo album rested on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I glanced over my shoulder, and when it appeared there was no one in sight, I ventured a peek inside. The album was filled with places Warren and Cass had visited together over the years. I saw no photos of children. But not everyone had children nowadays.

“We’ve been adding to that album for more than ten years now,” a male voice said. “We take turns choosing the destination and travel somewhere different for a couple of weeks every summer.”

I snapped the album closed and faced him.

At first glance, the coach wasn’t what I expected. He was short and lean and reminded me of a squeaky-clean, boy-next-door type.

He crossed his arms and said, “I’ve been wondering when you’d stop by. Some of the kids at school reached out to me and said Dr. Rae hired your agency to investigate Margot’s … well, I guess it’s a homicide now, isn’t it? What a shameful, horrible thing. And to such a sweet young woman. My wife and I were devastated when we heard the news.”

Devastated, indeed.

The expression on his face seemed sincere enough.

The comment he’d made about how he’d been waiting for me to stop by was not only frank, it struck me as odd.

Why would he assume I’d stop by at all?

It was a question worth asking, so I did.

“I wasn’t aware you expected me to pay you a visit,” I said.

“Given I was Margot’s coach, why wouldn’t you? You’re questioning everyone who knew her, right? That’s what I’ve been told.”

He made no attempt to hide the fact he’d had his ear to the ground. It was almost like he wanted me to know he was keeping up with what was happening on the case.

“You’re right,” I said. “I am questioning everyone.”

He sat down on the sofa and gestured for me to sit in the chair opposite him, which I did.

“Ask me anything you like,” he said. “I’m an open book.”

He may have perceived himself as an open book now, but would he feel the same way when he learned the true nature of my visit?

“You coached Margot in volleyball at the start of the year, but she didn’t stay on the team for the entire season,” I said.

“No, she did not.”

“Why not?”

“You know, I’ve wondered the same thing myself. It was like one day everything was fine, and the next, she started acting like a different person.”

“Different in what way?”

“Hard to say. I always assumed we had a good relationship. We’d talk here and there, as I do with all the young ladies on the team, and we seemed to get on well. One day, it all changed. I’m not sure what happened. She shut down, started acting distant. She even canceled one of our sessions.”

“When you say sessions, do you mean private sessions, or sessions with some of the other young women on the team?”

“Most of the time, I don’t offer private sessions.”

Most of the time.

Not all of the time.

“Why not?” I asked.

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