Page 67 of Little Buried Secrets

Whitlock handed the warrant to Donna.

“Whatever it says, I can’t read it,” she said. “Not without my glasses.”

“Give it to me, Mother,” Isaac said.

She handed it to him, adding, “I’m sure it’s nothing. We haven’t anything to hide. Best we cooperate, don’t you think?”

Donna may have had nothing to hide.

But I doubted the same could be said about Isaac.

“Will you please explain why you have come here with a search warrant?” Donna asked. “Search warrants are only served to people who have done something wrong, right? I can assure you, we have not. This must be some sort of misunderstanding.”

“We have reason to believe your son is in possession of a piece of the wicker basket off Margot’s bike,” Whitlock said.

“A piece of wicker?” Donna asked. “It makes no sense. Why would my son—”

“Good question,” I said.

I walked over to the piece of wicker and pointed at it, noticing a small sticker affixed to it, a sticker that read: Life is too short to wait.

“Where did you get this, Isaac?” I asked.

He sighed in frustration. “You want the truth? I forgot all about it. And it’s not what you think. I mean, okay, maybe it is what you think, but not for the reason you’re thinking it. I wouldn’t have suggested talking in the basement if I knew you’d go berserk and ask your detective friend here to get a warrant.”

“How did it get here?” I asked.

With all eyes on Isaac, it didn’t take long before he felt pressured into giving us an answer.

“All right, fine,” Isaac said. “When I heard Margot was missing, I got curious, and I decided to check out where her bike was found. I wanted answers, same as you. I wanted to know what happened and why it happened. I found a piece of her basket in the weeds … and yeah, I took it.”

“Why did you take it?” I asked. “Because so far, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“That sticker … I gave it to her. I knew she collected them. Her stuff was always covered in stickers.”

“When were you at the crime scene?” I asked.

“I dunno. Maybe a couple of days after she went missing.”

“When you weren’t feeling well, you mean?” I said. “Earlier tonight you told me you were sick when Margot went missing. You said you didn’t leave the house for a few days.”

“I didn’t leave … except the one time.”

“You lied,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess I did. You were asking a lot of questions.”

I wondered what else he was lying about.

During our conversation, I’d been studying Donna’s reaction to what was being said. It seemed to me she was doing everything she could to refrain from making facial expressions of any kind. But her eyes gave her away, expressing how she felt in this moment—shocked.

Was she in shock because her son had lied and he hadn’t been home when he said he had? Or was it because he had a piece of a murdered woman’s bicycle basket in his possession? Or both? Donna had been under the impression her son didn’t know Margot well. I expected she was questioning everything he was saying at this point … just like we were.

Whitlock studied Isaac for a moment and said, “Let me make sure I’m hearing this right. You’re saying you went to the crime scene a couple of days after we started searching for Margot. While there, you just happened to stumble on a piece of her wicker basket. And not just any piece. A piece containing a sticker you had given her.”

Isaac shrugged. “I know how it sounds, but it’s the truth.”

“Well, that there was a dandy story you just told,” Whitlock said. “Problem is, I don’t believe a word of it. Here’s why. We searched the entire area where Margot’s bike was found. Not just once, multiple times. We recovered every piece of her bike except for one—that there piece of wicker. I’d say it’s time for you to tell us a different story. How about telling the truth for a change?”

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