Page 61 of Little Buried Secrets

“Did you remarry after the divorce?”

“Heavens no. One marriage was enough for me. I had no desire to become involved with another man after our split. Harold and I have managed to remain friends all these years, if you can believe it. He comes to my place for dinner twice a week, and he’s done so since the day he moved out.”

“Harold may not have wanted children, but I imagine he was a father figure to Isaac if he was around so often.”

She nodded. “I was surprised how fast Harold took to Isaac. It was instantaneous, the first time he laid eyes on him. A few months later, he even suggested we get back together and make another go of it. But I liked the way we were apart a lot more than when we were together. It was more spontaneous, I suppose. More of a friendship. Less expectations and less … oh, let’s see now, what’s a good word … stale. Yes, that will do.”

There was something to be said for a person who spoke their truth. And I’d always believed that just because something worked for one person didn’t mean it worked for another. Donna seemed like a woman who knew herself, knew what she wanted, and went after it. Not everyone could say that about themselves, though I couldn’t help but wonder whether she leaned on her “miracle child” a little too much at times.

How would she feel one day when he married?

Would she be able to handle another woman coming into his life, a woman who took time away from her?

As I contemplated those questions, Donna turned toward me and said, “Are you married, dear?”

“I’m engaged.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t set a date yet.”

“Good for you. I’ve always thought it best not to rush these things.”

Try telling that to my mother.

The front door opened, and Isaac came strolling in, eyeing me like he wondered who I was and what I was doing there.

He was about to find out.

“Son, this is Georgiana Germaine,” she said, “the detective everyone in town is talking about. She stopped by to speak with you about Margot Remington, the young woman who died.”

His face went white, and he turned, removing the backpack from his shoulder and sliding it onto a hook on the wall. He cleared his throat and approached me.

“Why do you want to talk to me about Margot?” he asked.

“I want to discuss your relationship with her,” I said.

“We didn’t have a relationship.”

“You ran in the same circles, attended the same parties … you know, like the one at Sebastian Chandler’s house not too long ago.”

I smiled at him.

It was the kind of smile that let him know I knew things, lots of things.

He frowned and looked at his mother. “Hey, Mom, can I talk to the detective alone real quick?”

“I don’t understand why I can’t be here while the two of you talk,” she said.

“The detective’s right. I knew Margot. I haven’t talked about her before because … given our history, it’s something I don’t like talking about. Might be easier for me to do if we were alone. Don’t worry. I’ll fill you in on everything later.”

Smooth.

Don’t think for a second I won’t tell your mother what I know if I have to … because I will.

Donna was reluctant, but she nodded, adding, “Before Georgiana arrived, I was going to have a bath. I suppose I can do that now.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Isaac said.

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