Page 90 of Little Buried Secrets

“I get it. Tell you what … I’ll set it here on the desk, and you do whatever you want with it. Trash it, shred it, light it on fire … whatever you think is best.”

She grinned. “You’re kinda savage, aren’t you?”

“I’d say I’m a bit more than kinda savage. I try to rein it in when I can.”

She reached for her cell phone once more, looked at it, and set it back down again.

“Are you waiting to hear from someone?” I asked.

“Yeah … Sebastian.”

“Is he coming over? I haven’t seen him or his parents since I arrived.”

“Who knows, at this point? Last night he said he’d hang out with me while the wake was going on, so we could do our own thing. I’ve been messaging him ever since the funeral ended. He’s not responding.”

“Do you think he’s embarrassed because he fainted earlier today?”

“I’m sure he is, but here’s the thing— it’s not like him to leave me hanging, or anyone. If he says he’s going to be somewhere, he’s there. He’s the least flaky person I know.”

“Have you called him?”

“Yep. Goes to voicemail. I don’t get it. I was going to drive to his place, but I don’t want to leave my mom until everyone’s gone.”

I glanced at my watch.

The wake was over in forty minutes.

Again, my mind wandered to what Sebastian had said at the funeral earlier and how he glared at me. Except this time, when I replayed it in my mind, I realized something I hadn’t before.

It was possible he wasn’t looking at me when he said what he had.

It was possible he was looking at someone else.

I thought about those sitting around me, and all at once, everything made perfect sense.

CHAPTER 38

I was about five minutes away from Sebastian’s house, and neither Foley nor Whitlock were answering my calls. My phone buzzed with a call from a number I didn’t recognize. I considered sending it to voicemail to keep the phone line open, but then I answered it.

“I’m … suh, suh sorry.”

“Who is this?” I asked.

“I didn’t … I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Sebastian?”

“I meant to … but I didn’t mean … I mean …”

He was in hysterics, his voice so unstable, it was hard to make out what he was trying to say.

“I’m almost at your house,” I said. “What have you done?”

“I shot him.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter now. None of it matters now.”

---