All Good People Here(21)

Margot had to take a deep breath before responding. “You’re right. I get it and…I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to what you asked of me. I’ll do better next time. I promise.”

“Well. Margot…I’m sorry. I thought you understood. There’s not going to be a next time.”

Margot froze. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry,” Adrienne said again. “I thought I made it clear yesterday that this piece was Edgar’s test. I’ve fought hard for you over here, but I also know how much you have going on in your personal life right now, and I really think this is the best thing for you. Take a step away from work, focus on things with your uncle, and get back out there when you’re ready.”

“You think firing me is the best thing for me?”

“I wish I could do more. I do. You’re a great reporter and you know how much I care about you, but…it has been a few months now, and the paper can’t afford to pay a salary to a writer who’s not producing consistent work.”

A stab of humiliation cut through Margot’s anger. “Right.” Her throat was so tight the word was almost indiscernible.

“I’m really sorry—”

But Margot had had enough. “I should get going.”

“I—” Adrienne let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, Margot. Take care.”

When she hung up, Margot hurled her phone across the room, where it bounced against the carpeted floor. She grabbed her pillow, pressed it to her face, and screamed.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. Ever since she was young, before high school even, Margot had known she wanted to be a reporter. Since before she could remember, she’d felt compelled to understand things, to research them, dissect them, then turn them into something comprehensible. And even though IndyNow didn’t have the budget for the level of investigative work she wanted to do, even though they prioritized quick turnover and easily digestible stories over asking questions and digging in, it was a good paper, and until now, they’d always supported her.

But more than the loss of the career she’d worked toward her entire life, what worried her most was the loss of the paycheck. If this had happened a year ago, it would have been devastating, but survivable. She’d live off her savings and ramen until she found the next best step. But she couldn’t afford not to work now—not when she was supporting her uncle as well as herself. Although his house was paid off, she was still paying her rent in Indianapolis until her subletter moved in, the date of which he had yet to confirm. Meanwhile, she didn’t want to use Luke’s credit card for anything until she had a better idea of his finances. So she was paying for his exorbitantly priced medications, food for them both, all their utility bills when those came in, and now, possibly an in-home caregiver whose price had given her heart palpitations when she’d heard it over the phone. What the fuck was she going to do?

A knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts.

“Kid?” Luke called. “Can I come in?”

Margot pulled her face out of the pillow. “Just a second!”

She hastily wiped the tears from her face, and as she did, she noticed a sharp stinging in both her palms. She looked down at them to find bright red indentations scattered among the little half-moon scars. Apparently, she’d been digging her nails into her skin. She dropped her hands and looked away. She hadn’t done that in a long time. Taking a breath, she tucked her hair behind her ears, stood, and walked to the door.

When she opened it, she could tell immediately that something was wrong. Her uncle’s face was clear and lucid, but his eyes were worried. “There’s something you should see.”

Margot followed him into the living room, where the TV was on and tuned to the news. Two anchors, one man, one woman, were looking into the camera.

“…was discovered early this morning by an employee of Billy Jacobs,” the man was saying. Margot’s stomach lurched at the name, and she took an involuntary step closer to the screen. “Apparently, Mr. Jacobs was away at a farming equipment convention these past few days, and when he returned this morning, his employee told him there was something he needed to see, a message written on the side of the Jacobses’ barn.”

As he said this, the screen filled with a photograph of a scene Margot knew well. It was the view she’d had from her childhood bedroom window, the big red barn in the yard across the street. Only now, it was marred by words scrawled in black spray paint. The sight of them sent a shiver up her spine.

“Holy shit.”

Margot stared at the photo on the TV, her heart thumping so hard she could feel it against her ribs. She felt paralyzed, unable to move or even think. Finally, after a long moment, she snuck a glance at her uncle. What would this do to his already fragile state of mind? The news of Natalie Clark’s disappearance two days ago had unraveled him, and this was far closer to home than the little girl of Nappanee.

Margot breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him. He looked concerned—his arms crossed over his chest, his chin dipped in concentration, a hard line between his eyes—but he was very much in control.

“Hey, Uncle Luke?”

He turned his head to look at her.

“I’m gonna go to the grocery store.”

To Margot’s surprise, this elicited a wry grin. “The grocery story, huh? Is that what they’re calling crime scenes these days?”