All Good People Here(24)

“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’s where 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—it was 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 terrorize us, 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-American family, 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.

“At first, we all rallied behind them like you wouldn’t believe. I bet they had enough casseroles to last a lifetime. Their front stoop turned into a January shrine—flowers, balloons, framed pictures of her. I brought a teddy bear because I thought, you know, it’d be nice for her to have, wherever she’d gone.”

Linda’s eyes grew glassy. Too-early deaths did that to people. They didn’t just rob children of their lives; they robbed them of their futures. Alive, they could grow up to become famous dancers or hard-hitting reporters. Dead, they turned into nothing but lost potential.

“But it wasn’t long before the town turned on them,” Linda went on. “And it all started when they went on TV. Krissy was—well, I’m sorry, but she was just not acting normal, not like a grieving mother. She would just stare off into space, her knuckles white on little Jace’s shoulder. And then people started to talk. Krissy always wanted to be a dancer—that was no secret—and here her little girl was winning competitions at the age of six. She was more successful than Krissy had ever been or would ever be. At the rate she was going, January could’ve been famous. And everyone knows jealousy is a powerful motivator. So that’s when people around here started to be not so nice to them.”

“Sorry,” Margot said, “but it kind of sounds like you think Krissy killed January.”