Page 19 of All Good People Here

“You think I’m wrong?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what I think.” But as she looked around at the very place she used to call home, the words on the barn flashing in her mind, the tail of yellow caution tape flapping in the wind, Margot knew one thing for sure. She did not think this was a hoax.

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The moment she was back in her car, Margot pulled her phone out of her backpack pocket, opened her banking app, and logged in to her account. For a long moment, she stared at the numberin her savings, trying to calculate how quickly she would go through it without a steady paycheck. Though it wasn’t a completely anemic amount—she’d done her best to save over the years—with all her extra expenses and no money coming in, it wouldn’t last long.

“Two weeks,” she said aloud. She’d give herself two weeks to research and write this article. If this story was as big as she thought it was, her byline beneath it would be enough to get her old job back. Or, she thought, suddenly feeling excited, it could help her win a new job at a bigger paper, one that valued thoughtful work and supported its writers. Two weeks was far longer than she’d ever had atIndyNow,and if she couldn’t get it done by then, she’d ask Linda for a waitressing gig at Shorty’s until she could find something else. If she could break this story, she didn’t care what she had to do after. Because in her bones, Margot knew the state police were wrong. The local police were wrong. Pete Finch was wrong. In a town eight miles away, a little girl went missing, and less than twenty-four hours after the press conference covering her case, a message appeared on the Jacobs family barn. Maybe the age of the two victims and the close proximity of their hometowns could be construed as coincidence, but the timing of this barn message could not. Someone was trying to connect January Jacobs with Natalie Clark, and Margot was going to figure out why.

She turned her key in the ignition and looked toward the Jacobs yard one last time. Though she could only see the pitched roof of the barn above the line of trees, she could see the spray-painted words clearly in her mind:She will not be the last.

EIGHT

Margot, 2019

When Margot walked into Shorty’s later that Saturday morning, it looked almost unrecognizable as the place she’d been two nights previous. In the daylight, she could see that all its surfaces, from its dingy carpet to the faux-wood-paneled walls, seemed to be sticky with beer. Dust particles floated lazily in the air. And far from the bustling hub of action it had been the other evening, now it was completely devoid of customers. The only thing that was the same was Linda behind the bar.

“Hi, Margot,” Linda said. There was an eager glint in her eye, which Margot attributed to her own newcomer status—newcomers were always potential sources of gossip in Wakarusa—but then Linda continued. “Have you heard about what was written on the Jacobs barn?”

Margot nodded. “I have.”

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

“It is, yeah. Actually, that’s sort of why I’m here. I was hoping to do some interviews about it. But…” Margot glanced around at the empty tables. Two nights ago, she’d gauged the place’s vibe as the town’s go-to for gossip, where people went to talk whenthere was news. But maybe she’d been wrong. If so, she wasn’t going to waste time away from her uncle to sit alone in a restaurant. She’d swung by his house to check in after visiting the Jacobs place earlier and he’d seemed completely fine, but losing him yesterday had her rattled. If she was going to finish this story by her self-imposed two-week deadline and also manage to help Luke around the house, she needed to be smart with her time. “Where is everybody?”

“Church, honey,” Linda said with a look that told Margot it was a dumb question.

“Church? But it’s Saturday.”

“They got some event going like they always do. Think it’s a midsummer something or other.That’swhere everybody is. Or, should I say, no one’s willing to show their face at a bar until the church thing is over.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “But folks will be here soon. They always come here to drink after that kind of thing. In about ten minutes, you’ll be lucky to get a table.”

“Guess I’ll have to grab one now then.”

Linda swept an arm around the room. “Sit wherever you like.”

Margot made her way to the far side of the restaurant and settled at a table sandwiched between a dartboard and a cardboard cutout of a Miller Lite bottle that was taller than she was. Linda finished filling a plastic caddy with napkins and maraschino cherries, then strode over. She handed Margot a sticky plastic menu, but Margot put it down in front of her without looking at it.

“I’m gonna get something to go later for me and Luke,” she said. “But for now, I’ll just have a cup of coffee.”

“How is Luke, by the way?” Linda said. “There was so much going on the other night, I didn’t get a chance to ask you.”

“He’s good,” Margot said automatically. She wasn’t sure how much people already knew about his diagnosis, but the look of curiosity in Linda’s eye bordered on hunger, and Margot had the sudden, uncomfortable sensation of agreeing with her mom—itwas none of their fucking business. “He’s great. Anyway, Linda, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night. That Natalie Clark was taken by the same person who killed January. Do you really believe that?”

“Well, of course I do. We’re only big enough for one childnapper round these parts.”

Margot leaned over to grab her notepad and phone from her bag. “Do you have a few minutes to talk? And would you mind if I record?”

Linda’s eyebrows shot high on her forehead. Then, just as quickly, her face corrected, her back straightened, and she dipped her chin in a magnanimous gesture. “Not at all.” In the briefest of moments, she’d gone from surprised at the invitation for an interview to regally accepting it, as if she’d been patiently sitting by all day just for someone to ask her.

“Thanks.” Margot smiled as Linda settled in the chair across from her. “So you believe whoever killed January also took Natalie Clark. And what about this note on the Jacobs barn? Any ideas about who wrote it?”

“It’s all the same guy, isn’t it? He kills one little girl, takes another, and now he’s trying to terrorizeus,the whole town. It’s what everybody’s saying. That this is January’s murderer, come back again.”

“Let’s talk about January’s case,” Margot said. “What can you tell me about the Jacobs family? What were they like back then?”

“Well, before everything happened, the Jacobses were like royalty around here. Billy and Krissy were ten years older’n me or so, so I didn’t know them in school or nothing, but I knew them because everybody knew them. They owned basically the whole town, and both Krissy and Billy were so attractive, you know? Billy with his golden hair and all those muscles? And Krissy, well, she was a knockout, pure and simple.” Linda made a little sound in her throat for emphasis. “They were basically the all-Americanfamily, walking around with those adorable twins. Bless Jace’s heart, but the town’s jewel was really January. Whenever she’d go off to one of her competitions, the dance studio would make a banner and hang it right in the town square to wish her luck. When she was found in that ditch”—Linda shook her head—“a little bit of all of us died with her.”

“What was it like in the days after she was found?” Margot asked. From her experience, interviews worked best when the subject steered the conversation, so she was content to follow Linda’s train of thought wherever she went.

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