Margot, 2019
In the wake of Jodie’s accusation, Margot felt paralyzed. Even though the suspicion had been hovering at the edge of her mind ever since she’d seen her uncle’s face in that photo, hearing it articulated out loud and by a perfect stranger sliced through her like a cleaver.
Luke Davies is a murderer. You’re living with a killer.
No, Margot wanted to say. No, you’re wrong.
Luke had given her a home, a refuge from her parents. He loved her more than anybody else did and she him. He’s not a killer. He’s my uncle, she wanted to say. Elliott Wallace is the killer. But the words wouldn’t come. She just stared, head bowed and mind spinning, at a spot on the car’s floor.
“I’m sorry,” Jodie said after a moment. “But it’s true. He killed Kris—”
Her voice broke and Margot’s head snapped up. She’d been sure that Jodie had been going to finish that sentence with January’s name. Margot opened her mouth, closed it again, then shook her head. “What?”
“Your uncle killed Krissy.”
“No,” she scoffed. “Krissy Jacobs killed herself. My uncle hardly even knew her.” Margot knew this because Luke had told her so, every time she’d asked him about January’s case. “Why on earth would he kill her?”
“Your uncle knew Krissy very well. He was the father of her children.”
Margot froze as Jodie’s words penetrated her consciousness and slowly sank in. Was this woman delusional? Unstable? Was she simply lying? And yet, even as those suspicions bloomed in Margot’s mind, there was another part that couldn’t dismiss Jodie’s claim so easily. “Can you just…start from the beginning?”
“Yes. Of course.” Jodie took a deep breath and then she began. “Krissy, Billy, me, and your uncle all grew up here together. I think he goes by his first name now—Luke—but the only thing we ever called him was Dave.”
The nickname, Jodie explained, was an abbreviation of his last name, which they apparently sometimes did—“Zoo for Katy Zook, for example.” Then she went on to tell Margot everything she’d learned from Krissy ten years earlier: During the summer after their senior year, Luke, Krissy, and Billy became close friends. Krissy got pregnant with the twins and Billy proposed, but it was Luke, not Billy, who was the father. In order to protect her secret from Billy and the rest of the town, Krissy had pushed Luke away. And then one day, twenty-one years later, when she received a letter from Jace, she decided to tell Luke the truth. Twenty-four hours later, Krissy was dead.
“So, you see?” Jodie said. “She told your uncle the truth, but in his eyes, it was too late. Jace was grown and gone, and January was dead. Krissy not only lied to him for more than twenty years, she also robbed him of his only chance at being a father.” Margot’s mind flashed to the nursery in her uncle’s house, the one that had been forever empty. “And he lost it,” Jodie said. “I warned her he would, but she trusted him.”
Margot realized suddenly that she was touching her cheek, absently prodding the sensitive spot just below where the freezer door had sliced through her skin. She dropped her hand into her lap.
“But the gun found in Krissy’s hand,” she said. “It belonged to her—them, the Jacobses. They kept it in a case in the living room.”
Jodie nodded. “Like I said, Dave—Luke—knew them. Before the kids were born, he used to go over to their place all the time. He would’ve known where the gun case was, and he also would’ve known it was never locked.”
Margot shook her head. “No. No, Luke wouldn’t have done that.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but—”
“No,” she said again, and this time her voice was hard. “That’s not it. Or yes, it is. But that’s not just it. Luke wouldn’t have killed Krissy when she told him he was the twins’ father, because that’s not when he found out that he was. He already knew.”
Margot had realized this the moment Jodie had told her Krissy’s secret. Because it was then that everything she’d discovered about her uncle in the past twenty-four hours suddenly made sense. It explained why Luke went to January’s dance recitals, why he kept a copy of every one of her programs. If Jace had done an activity, Luke would have gone to his events too. Her uncle didn’t have some perverted infatuation with January. He loved her—and Jace—as a father.
This even explained why Luke had lied to Margot about not knowing the Jacobs family. He was keeping Krissy’s secret too, not to avoid gossip, not to prevent Billy from getting hurt, but to protect his wife and niece: Rebecca, who’d tried for years to get pregnant; Margot, who was young and already felt unloved by her own parents. What it would’ve done to her to learn that the little boy and girl across the street were actually the children of the man she considered her own father, she didn’t know.
Relief flooded through her. Of course, her uncle had known he was the twins’ father. It must’ve been obvious. Even though Krissy was also having sex with Billy at the time, if she’d slept with Luke that summer and nine months later gave birth, Luke would’ve known it was a fifty-fifty shot that the twins were his. And now that Margot thought of it, she could even see the resemblance. It was vague—Krissy’s features were far more pronounced—but there was a slight dimple in Jace’s and January’s chins that reminded Margot of her uncle, a certain curl to their chestnut-colored hair.
Margot explained all of this to Jodie, who listened with a line between her brows and an unfocused look in her eye.
“Okay…” she said after Margot had finished. “But even so, Krissy told your uncle the truth, and within hours, she was dead. That’s not a coincidence. Even if he’d already guessed he was the twins’ father, we don’t know how that conversation between him and Krissy went. She lied to him for over twenty years. It’s the only logical explanation there is.”
But the accusation held no weight for Margot now. She was convinced Luke hadn’t killed Krissy for hiding the truth because he’d already known the truth. Nor had he killed January; he’d loved her.
I’m worried about her, Luke had said to Margot the previous evening. She’s been asking a lot about January. I’m afraid she’ll find out what really happened. Far from some ominous indication of guilt, Margot now realized that her uncle had just been trying to protect her younger self. For a long time, she had been told, by all the adults in her life, that January’s death was an accident. Luke had been worried how six-year-old Margot would handle learning that her closest friend had actually been murdered. Just as he’d done his entire life, her uncle had been looking out for her. For the first time in twenty-four hours, Margot felt her shoulders relax.
“Margot!”
She looked at Jodie, her eyebrows raised in question.
“Did you hear me? I said it’s the only explanation.”
“Jodie…I know you believe what you’re saying is true, but it’s all based on one coincidence. It’s just a guess. You don’t have any evidence, right? You don’t have any proof.”
“I don’t need proof. I know Krissy and she didn’t kill herself.”
Margot didn’t respond. After all, what could she say to that? Then something occurred to her. “Wait a second. Did you write that message on the Jacobs barn to somehow frame my uncle for January’s death? Because you think he killed Krissy?” It wouldn’t have made much sense if she had—the barn message didn’t point to Luke—but Jodie was desperate, and desperation made people do illogical things all the time.
“What?” Jodie shook her head. “No. I told you. I was trying to help you connect January’s death to Natalie Clark. I’m not lying about that.”