“You better believe it.”
Maggie smiled. She had to admit it felt nice to have someone care about her, no matter how unwarranted the concern. She’d been on guard most of the morning, but John had been nothing less than a model employee. He’d followed her instructions, done whatever she’d asked and proven he’d known exactly what he was doing. Whatever else she didn’t know about him, he hadn’t lied about his experience. She’d watched him closely for even the slightest hint of him looking at her funny. He never had. In fact, he’d barely given her a second glance. Under different circumstances, it would have been quite the blow to her ego. Hell, she wasn’t sure it still wasn’t.
In the background, she could hear one of Annie’s kids—most likely Casey, the youngest—babbling. “Annie, you already have three kids to mother. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I can’t help it. It would be easier if you’d give up this restoration idea so I didn’t have anything to worry about.”
“Look, I know you don’t approve, even if you are nicer about it than anyone else in this town—”
“It’s not that I don’t approve.” Annie sighed. “I just hate the idea of you wasting all that time and money for no reason.”
“It’s not for no reason. When I’m done, the house is going to look like a brand-new place.”
“Where no one will want to live.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Mags, I’ve lived here my entire life. It’s the Murder House. Believe me, nobody’s going to want to live there.”
“Don’t call it that,” Maggie said automatically, unable to keep the faint trace of offense out of her voice. Even as she heard it, she had to acknowledge how ridiculous it was, being offended on behalf of a house.
“It doesn’t really matter whether or not I call it that. Everyone else in this town is still going to.”
Maggie threw her head back and groaned loudly. “What is the deal with the town and this house?”
“What’s the deal with you and that house?”
“It’s a perfectly fine house. Well-designed. Solidly built.” By Dalton himself, she conceded, if only to herself. He’d been the contractor who’d built the house based on her grandfather’s designs all those years ago. For that reason, she was somewhat surprised he was so eager to tear it down.
“I think we both know it’s not really about the house,” Annie said, softly but pointedly.
“Yes, it is,” Maggie said immediately, not about to let the comment or the sympathy in Annie’s voice get to her. “This is about a perfectly decent house that has no business being torn down just because something bad happened in it a long time ago. It’s been almost thirty years. It’s time for people to get over it already.”
“It’s part of living in a town where not much happens. Yesterday’s headlines stay in people’s minds a lot longer when there’s nothing new to replace them. There have only ever been two murders in this town, and they both happened in that house on the same night. It’s hard to get past that.”
Maggie recognized the tone in Annie’s voice and could practically picture her friend shuddering. “I don’t remember you being as creeped out by the house or the murders when we were kids.”
“Maybe it’s because I have kids of my own now and it’s hard not to think about that part of it. Those people had four or five kids, little ones from what I remember. Little kids who were left to wake up and find their parents butchered in the morning. Just the thought of it…” Maggie could hear Annie’s voice hitch as her words trailed off.
Maggie suppressed a shudder of her own. She had to admit, it was a chilling thought. Those poor children. She couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like for them. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Almost in spite of herself, she cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder, feeling the echoing emptiness of the house a little too keenly.
“But it’s more than that,” Annie continued. “Whoever killed them was never caught, you know? No one was ever punished, and nobody even knows why it happened. There’s not exactly a lot of turnover in the population around here, which means that if whoever did it is still alive, there’s a good chance that person is still living here. Who wants to be reminded that their neighbor could be a murderer?”
No one, Maggie had to admit, even if she couldn’t quite say so to Annie.
Annie’s words stayed with her long after they ended the call. From the moment she’d decided to restore the house, she’d brushed off any reference to what had happened here, because she hadn’t thought it mattered, because it shouldn’t. It had been so long ago. People should have been able to get past it.
But maybe Annie was right. Maybe no one could get past it as long as there was no real resolution. No punishment. No explanation for why such a terrible thing had happened at all.
Ignoring it and hoping it would go away may have been the wrong approach. Perhaps what she needed to do was confront it head-on.
Because reasons did matter, she thought as an uncomfortable twinge struck her. They mattered a lot.
She knew that better than anybody.
AFTER leaving the house, Sam drove straight into the heart of Fremont, looking for a restaurant or a diner. It didn’t take him long to spot one. This was a small town, and the restaurant was one of only a handful of businesses on the main street, and the only eating establishment.
There were a couple of fast-food places on the outskirts of town, by the highway, that would have been both closer and cheaper, but they wouldn’t have suited his purposes. They were too bland, anonymous, places where people didn’t linger or make conversation with one another. And it wasn’t food he was interested in.
Parking in front of the restaurant, he scanned the rest of the businesses on the street before making his way inside. There was nothing particularly noteworthy that he could see. A police station. A lawyer’s office. A grocery store. Only the library grabbed his notice. It couldn’t hurt to make a visit there the first chance he got.
Stepping into the restaurant, he saw it was more of a typical small-town diner. A counter ran almost the entire length of one wall. Booths lined two other walls, with tables and chairs arranged in the middle of the room. The place was about half-full, less than he might have expected for a Sunday afternoon.
As soon as he set foot inside, he saw most of the patrons check to see who had entered. Most of the gazes lingered.
He did his best to ignore them. There was no formal host, which seemed fitting for a place like this. Instead, a waitress strode toward him from the other end of the counter as soon as she saw him, excusing herself from the customer she’d been talking to. She was a bottle blonde in her fifties, wearing the usual waitress uniform but no name tag. Probably didn’t need one in a place like this.
“Table or booth?” she asked, already reaching for a menu from the holder at the end of the counter.
“Can I get something to go?”
“Sure thing.” She placed the menu on the counter and gave it a little pat. “Just let me know what you want.”
Sam felt what seemed like every eye in the place on him as he opened the menu. The usual small-town curiosity about a stranger, or something more than that?
He did his best to act like he hadn’t noticed their interest as he scanned the menu. Maggie hadn’t told him what she wanted, saying anything was fine with her. He didn’t care much, either. Figuring he couldn’t go wrong with a couple burgers and two orders of fries, he closed the menu and raised his head to call the waitress back.
He didn’t have to bother. He looked up to find her standing