Page 40 of Little Buried Secrets

I remained there for some time, breathing in and out, until I was able to gain a modicum of control over my emotions. When I opened the bathroom door, Silas was waiting outside, leaning against the wall with a glass of water in one hand and a couple of tablets in the other to help soothe my stomach.

“You were right,” I said. “Looking at those photos was a lot harder than I figured it would be. I can’t remember the last time one of my cases affected me this way.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s understandable. We all love Dr. Rae.”

“All I could think about when I was looking at the photos was how I was going to bring myself to tell her what happened to her daughter.”

Telling Rae that Margot was dead was one thing.

Telling her the way in which she’d died was another.

“I know she’s your client, but you could always have Foley or Whitlock speak to her if it’s too hard,” Silas said.

He was right.

I could.

But I knew I wouldn’t.

CHAPTER 17

I’d just entered the office and taken a seat next to Hunter on the sofa when I noticed she was staring at me like she was about to burst.

“It looks like you have something you want to say,” I said.

“Grant Nichols was accused of sexual assault,” she blurted.

I sat up straighter. “When?”

“It was a while back. He was twenty-two at the time.”

“How old was the girl?”

“Seventeen.”

Interesting.

When I was eighteen, I’d met a twenty-five-year-old man while bussing tables at a five-star restaurant. He came in a few times, we got to know each other, and then he asked me on a date. I was flattered, and I accepted. At the time, I’d justified our age difference by telling myself I was a lot more mature than most college-age girls. He also looked younger than he was, so I saw no harm in dating him. My mother, on the other hand, was beside herself when she learned of it, and he was shooed away faster than a fox in a henhouse. We never saw each other again, and for a while, I was bitter over my mother’s interference. Looking back on it now, I supposed I would have done the same thing if it had been my daughter.

“What can you tell me about the sexual assault accusation made against Grant?” I asked.

“The girl’s name is Jenny Conroy. Her father, Rick, was the one who filed charges.”

“Were they living in California then?”

“Nope, Las Vegas, Nevada. She still lives there.”

“What was the age of consent in Nevada at that time?” I asked.

“It’s been sixteen for a while now.”

Sixteen, meaning Grant had done nothing illegal.

It was within his rights to pursue Jenny.

“Jenny’s father wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere if Jenny said it was consensual, right?” I asked.

“Right. Her father tried to argue that Jenny had been seduced by Grant, but it wasn’t enough to make the charge stick. Jenny said she consented to the relationship, so nothing more came of it. Until …”

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