Page 92 of Little Buried Secrets

“No, and he tried to deny it, but I’ve seen him flirt with other women in the past when my mom wasn’t around. My mom wouldn’t lie, not about that.”

“Margot never said anything to you about it?”

He shook his head. “I think it’s what she was talking about in the note she left in Bronte’s car.”

“Let’s say you’re right, and your father tried to kiss Margot. Kissing her and killing her are two different extremes.”

“Why do you think I was sneaking out at night, trying to find out what happened? I went to the trail that night because my dad hikes it twice a week. I thought if he was guilty, he might have taken her there, and I wanted to prove either he did do it or didn’t do it.”

“And did you?”

“Not at first, and then I noticed my grandfather’s old pickup was missing from the garage. I asked my dad where it was, and he said he sold it, but he wouldn’t give me any details.”

“What color was the pickup?”

“White.”

White—just like the paint chips found on Margot’s bike.

“I’m guessing you didn’t find the pickup?” I asked.

“I didn’t. But remember that blue piece of fabric we found? My dad has a blue jacket. He wears it every day in winter, except he hasn’t worn it in over a week.”

I now understood why Sebastian had been a wreck and had distanced himself from his parents. Not only was he grieving, he was coming to terms with the fact that his own father may have killed the woman he loved.

“Did you look for the jacket?” I asked.

“I’ve searched everywhere. I haven’t been able to find it. I’ve been keeping things from you, but I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”

“And now you know for sure? What is it, Sebastian?”

He rubbed his hands together, took a few deep breaths in, and said, “After the funeral, we all came home, and my dad started humming the beginning of a song. It was one of Margot’s favorite songs. She played it a lot when we hung out in my room. I asked him why he was humming that song, and it was as if he hadn’t realized he was doing it until I questioned him. He had this look in his eye, and I knew he was guilty.”

“What did you do?”

“I went to his gun cabinet and then I went to the den and pointed it at him. I told him if he didn’t confess right then and there, I’d shoot him. He blew me off, said I was acting out of anger because I needed someone to blame.”

He paused, taking in a few deep breaths, and I urged him to continue.

“I mentioned Grandpa’s pickup, the coat, the song,” he said. “My mom was standing there, and she looked at me. I thought she was going to defend him at first, but then I think she realized how much sense it made. I kept pushing him to confess, and he kept denying it. He came at me, trying to get the gun away from me, and I shot him. And I … I stood over him, and I said if he didn’t admit what he’d done, I’d shoot him again. That’s when he said he killed her, but that it had all been an accident.”

CHAPTER 39

Foley and Whitlock arrived at Sean and Meredith’s home along with an ambulance and a few police officers. Sean was alive. The bullet had penetrated his rib cage but had caused no major damage. He would live, whether he deserved to or not, and Rae and Bronte would have the closure they deserved.

When the police questioned Sean, he was quick to change his story, saying he’d confessed to Margot’s murder out of fear for his own life. For the remainder of the night, I assumed he rested easy, thinking he’d find a way to prove his innocence.

The following morning, a news station televised the description of the pickup Sebastian’s grandfather had owned. The manager of a storage unit located about an hour outside of Cambria contacted the police a short time later. He was sure he’d rented a unit to a man several days earlier who’d brought in a vehicle in matching the pickup’s description. The truck was now in the possession of the San Luis Obispo Police Department being assessed by Silas and the rest of his forensics team.

While we waited for the results, I paid Sean a visit at the hospital.

He was watching a movie when I walked in, and he wasn’t pleased to see me.

“Good thing I wasn’t dying last night,” he said. “I hear you sat in the car with my son until the police arrived instead of doing what you should have done, which was to check on me.”

“If you ask me, I made the right call. I’ll be honest with you, I hoped you’d die. You deserve to after what you did.”

“Whatever my son told you, it’s all a lie.”

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