“I’m…I was closer to Lindsey. We shared more interests. She was the sweetest thing on two feet, Detective. And beautiful inside and out.”

“And Erin?” Marge prompted.

“Erin’s more of an individual. But she’s a good girl also.”

“I’m sure she is,” Marge said. “The Glendale police interviewed Lindsey’s friends. She seemed to have had a lot of them.”

“What can I tell you, Detective? She was very popular.”

“Did you know most of her friends?”

“Yes. Our home was their hangout.” Again eyes welled up with tears. “I miss the noise.”

“Did Lindsey have a boyfriend?”

She shook her head. “Her father and I discouraged her from getting too involved with anyone special. A sixteen-year-old girl doesn’t need an immature boy breathing down her neck, monopolizing her attention. That’s how kids get into trouble.”

The irony wasn’t evident to her, and Marge talked quickly to keep it that way.

“But she dated?”

“She went out in groups with her friends. We knew all her friends, Detective. They’re nice kids.”

“What kind of student was she?”

“She didn’t have a head for academics, but she passed her classes.” She sighed. “We had tutors, but we decided against college for her…Her charm was her kindness and beauty. You’ve seen her picture. A lovelier girl never existed.”

Marge agreed with her.

“She was head junior cheerleader,” Mrs. Bates continued. “She had to compete with one hundred girls for that spot, but she knew she’d win. That’s the type of girl she is.”

Marge didn’t correct her tense.

“Was she involved in other extracurricular activities besides cheerleading?”

“She was on the tennis team. What a backhand!” The woman came alive, revitalized by the memory.

“What was her weekday routine, Mrs. Bates?”

“School at 8:10. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, tennis team from 3:15 to 4:30. Cheerleading practice was every day from five to seven. On Wednesday and Thursday nights at eight she had patch—ice skating, Once a week, on Tuesday, piano lessons. She loved to be active. She has an incredible energy level, unlike Erin who’s a—.”

She fell silent. Tension between Erin and Mom, Marge noted in her pad. She asked, “Did Lindsey go out on weekends?”

“Yes. But she had to be in by ten.”

Marge smiled, trying to look benign.

“Mrs. Bates, how would you describe your relationship with your daughter?”

“We were very close,” she said. “My daughter was not a runaway.”

“I’m sure she wasn’t,” Marge said quickly. She noticed Mrs. Bates was digging her nails into her hands.

Keep her talking.

“Do you happen to know if Lindsey kept a diary?” Marge asked.

One nail broke skin. There was blood.

“She did, didn’t she?” Marge said.