Page 46 of Little Buried Secrets

Whitlock clapped his hands together and smiled. “I’m game. Name it.”

I bent my head toward the window.

He looked at Bronte and then at me.

“Would you mind keeping Bronte company while I talk to Rae?” I asked. “There are a few things I’d like to go over with her in private. I’d rather Bronte not overhear. Some things are best coming from her mother, not from me.”

“Sure thing. Easy-peasy.”

“You say that now, but have you spent any time with her?”

“A little.” He swished a hand through the air. “I’m not worried. I have three granddaughters. I speak disgruntled teen, and I speak it well. All I need is to find an in.”

“An in?”

“A way to connect. I have a few ideas. Let’s go.”

Before I could say anything more, he’d stepped up to the door and rapped on it. Bronte answered in true Bronte fashion, complete with loose-fitting black attire from head to toe and her signature scowl.

Whitlock stuck his hand out to her. “We meet again! I’m Detective Whitlock, but you can call me Amos.”

Bronte looked at his hand but didn’t take it. “Uh, yeah. I know who you are.”

“Wonderful,” he said. “What a fine day it is today. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Bronte looked past him at me as if to say, Is this guy for real?

They were off to a shaky start.

But at least they were off.

We entered the house, and I leaned toward Bronte, whispering, “How’s your mom doing today?”

She shrugged. “Same as every day this week. Quiet. Distant. Emotional.”

“Have you heard from Grant?”

“He hasn’t been back to the house since he left last night. He talked to my mom this morning. Not sure what was said.”

“Hey, Bronte,” Whitlock said. “Whadd’ya say we take a walk down to Pattie’s Parlour at the end of the street? I hear they make the best ice cream sundaes in town.”

“What do I look like … a child?” Bronte asked.

Whitlock lifted a finger. “You can be one hundred and five and still enjoy ice cream.”

“I, uhh … I think I’ll stay,” Bronte said.

“Too bad,” Whitlock said. “They also have a dart board. I haven’t thrown darts in some time, but I’ve never been beaten. Don’t expect I ever will be, either.”

“That’s because you haven’t played me,” she said.

“Words are just that, young lady … words. Care to prove it?”

“Twenty bucks says I beat you on the first game.”

Whitlock tugged at his chin, considering the offer. “I suppose I shouldn’t accept such a wager while I’m on duty. But I came out of retirement for this job. Let’s live a little, shall we?”

Bronte nodded and then excused herself to pop up to her room and grab a hoodie.

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