Page 61 of All Good People Here

“I am.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry to show up like this unannounced, but I’m actually trying to find your brother, Elliott.”

“What’s he done this time?” Margot opened her mouth to respond, but then Annabelle held up a hand. “No, never mind. I don’t care. And I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I haven’t spoken to Elliott in years.”

“Oh, I see.” Margot flicked her eyes to the ground as she pretended to think this over. When she looked up again, she squished her face into what she hoped looked like guilelessness. “In thatcase, wouldyoube willing to talk? Just for a few minutes. I’m a reporter. Learning a little bit about your brother might help me find him.”

It was a gamble using this as leverage. From her experience, the proclamation that she was a journalist either piqued people’s curiosity or made them put up their defenses. To her great relief, it seemed Annabelle was one of the former.

“A reporter? What story are you working on? And what does my brother have to do with it?”

“Well, I’m a crime reporter and I’m covering a few different cases at the moment. Have you heard of Polly Limon?”

Margot watched Annabelle’s face closely as she said this, searching for any sign of recognition, but the woman just stared back at her blankly. “Who?”

“She’s a girl from Dayton, Ohio. I’m also writing about January Jacobs.”

At first, Annabelle looked surprised to hear the little girl’s name, then confused, then, slowly, her expression morphed to fury. “Excuse me, but are you insinuating that my brother is—that my brother had something to do with that girl’s death? Because if you are, you’re way off base.”

Margot kept her face even, but inside she was dancing. Finally, the woman had given her the perfect ammunition. When she spoke next, her voice was thick with sympathy. “New evidence has been found regarding January’s case. Someone came forward saying that your brother attended January’s dance recitals, that he went to the playground where she played, which suggests he could have been connected to her death.” It wasn’t technically a lie, although the one and only person who knew of this evidence and suspected Wallace of anything was her. And possibly Pete, if he believed her hunch. “It doesn’t mean he’s guilty of anything, but that doesn’t matter. This could turn into a witch hunt.That’swhat I’m trying to stop from happening.”

Annabelle studied Margot with a furrowed brow for a long moment. Then she glanced at her wristwatch, a dainty silver thing. Finally, she sighed. “I have a dentist’s appointment in an hour.”

“I’ll keep it short,” Margot said. “I promise.”

She followed Annabelle through the entryway and into the living room, which was both nice and outdated. A deep green rug softened the hardwood floors, and the couch where Annabelle gestured her to sit was upholstered in an old-fashioned floral print that matched the heavy window drapes. Sitting atop the mantel across from Margot was a collection of photos in silver and gold frames. In the biggest, a family of five, all in pastel blue, sat atop the dunes of a beach, their blond hair shining in the sun.

“Thank you for talking with me,” Margot said as Annabelle settled into one of the armchairs across from her. “I know you don’t have much time, so let’s dive in. You seem pretty certain that your brother had nothing to do with January’s death. How can you be so sure?”

Annabelle crossed her legs, taking what seemed to be a fortifying breath. “Elliott’s just”—she shook her head—“not like that. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

Margot kept her expression blank, but she knew Annabelle’s words carried no weight. No one was objective about their own family. “In that case, whatisyour brother like?”

Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “You said you believe he’s innocent, right? That’s what you’re trying to prove?”

Margot nodded. She didn’t like lying to interview subjects, but there was no way Annabelle would talk if she knew what Margot actually thought about her brother.

“Right. Okay. Well, Elliott’s…I don’t know. How do you summarize an entire person?”

“What was he like growing up?” This, Margot had always believed, was a good point of entry when getting someone todivulge about their family. It was innocuous enough to get people talking while also having the potential to be deeply revealing.

“Well…” Annabelle’s gaze shifted to the coffee table and slid unfocused as she remembered. “As a kid, Elliott was always very particular about things. I could never go into his room, for example, and I could never touch any of his toys—not that he had many to begin with.” She glanced up. “Our mother was a stay-at-home mom and our father was a high school chemistry teacher. We weren’t poor, but we certainly weren’t rich. I think Elliott always felt like our parents should have done better. He was always talking about a bigger, better life.”

“Were the two of you close?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. He’s four years older than me, and I was never interesting or smart enough for him, which he made very clear. He was always talking about books and films, art and culture. I cared about getting good grades and cheerleading. Then I went to college and met Bob. Meanwhile, Elliott had already dropped out of college and was doing…well, honestly, I don’t know what. But, you know, we still spoke over the phone every once in a while, and I always invited him to our Christmas. He never came, except for one time. He stayed over for a few nights and I thought everything was fine, until after he left and I discovered my diamond earrings were missing and Bob’s wallet was empty.”

“Wow. Is that why the two of you lost touch?”

“That was more like the straw that broke the camel’s back. Ever since I married Bob thirty years ago, Elliott’s used us like a bank. He wouldn’t call for months on end, and when he did, he’d pretend it was to catch up. But then, inevitably, he’d work into the conversation how broke he was and how he needed money for this or that. Bob always told me I was too soft, that I gave in too easy, but—” She hitched a shoulder.

“Last I knew, Elliott was a security guard,” Margot said. “Witha steady job and no children or spouse to support, he couldn’t have been in too much financial trouble, could he?”

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. “A security guard?” She let out one high-pitchedha. “Maybe for a while, I suppose. But that’s Elliott. He’s great at getting jobs, not so great at keeping them.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“People tend to like Elliott when they meet him. He can be very…charismatic. And when he pays attention to you, it’s like you’re the only thing on earth. He’s passionate too, always working on some project. But he gets bored. Itchy. As a kid, he’d always get some grand idea and get all excited about it, then he’d work nonstop for a week, maybe two, but eventually, he’d burn out and move on to something else.

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