Chapter Eighty-Nine Piper
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Piper
Piper slumped beside Kiersten in the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room at Alexandria Hospital. The air around her held a faintly antiseptic smell, heavy and oppressive with the anticipation of bad news.
When the paramedics had loaded Lillian into the back of the ambulance, she and Kiersten jumped into Reggie’s car to follow Lillian to the hospital.
Through the passenger window, she’d watched Brendan scoop Bella into his arms. The little girl sobbed into her father’s shoulder as the ambulance pulled away.
Then she opened and closed her little fist, waving goodbye to the old lady who’d taught her how to make elegant ladies in ballgowns out of hollyhock blooms and toothpicks.
Blinking back tears, Piper had watched Garrett and Brendan load all the kids into her SUV and Kiersten’s minivan.
We’re taking everyone to Chuck E. Cheese for dinner Brendan had texted.
She’d grimaced but hadn’t argued. This choice of dining establishment guaranteed they’d all have norovirus and strep throat within a week. But it might help distract the kids from the hospitalization of the woman who’d become their beloved living history lesson.
Kiersten had called Lillian’s son on the way to the hospital, and now Lillian’s local children and grandchildren filled the critical care waiting room upstairs, waiting to see if the eighty-seven-year-old woman would emerge from her stroke diminished, or if she would somehow remain the funny, independent person her family adored and her neighbors had come to love.
She and Kiersten had moved downstairs to the main waiting room to give Lillian’s family privacy as they waited for news from the doctor. Reggie would be back any minute to give them a ride home.
Piper sat in her chair, shoulders slumped in defeat.
She had done everything in her power to keep her daughters safe and happy. She’d pulled them out of school. Out of all their activities. She’d become an actual teacher, spending her entire day with her kids.
And yet she’d failed. Repeatedly. Epically.
Because her kids were still not safe. And neither were Kiersten’s.
They could have been arrested today and charged with vandalizing their neighbor’s property.
Social services could have gotten involved, enmeshing her family in an invasive investigation, with the threat of removal and foster care.
All because she’d failed at her one and only job. Protecting her kids.
She ran her hands over her face. Maybe it was time to cry uncle.
Time to pack up and move. To start fresh with a new address.
One that Hawkeye Slaughter didn’t know. One that Chip and Trey Davis and Alex Orlov didn’t know either.
They could purchase a different house and put the title in her in-laws’ name.
Hide their identity. Start over in a new neighborhood, a different suburb.
She glanced at Kiersten. Her neighbor. Her friend. Her best friend.
The friend she’d have to leave behind.
Kiersten’s mascara had run, streaking her face, clumping her lower lashes. Her blond hair lay flat and lank around her shoulders as she stared at the wall, blue eyes glassy.
“You look like the Shield-Maiden of Stamendahl after losing the battle of Stiklestad,” Piper said gently, suddenly aware that she had no other female friends to whom she could make such an honest and completely unflattering statement.
Kiersten turned to her with a thousand-yard stare. “What the hell is the battle of Stiklestad?”
“I don’t know exactly.” She shrugged. “Something Rosamund was teaching the kids about the other day in history.”
Kiersten raised a weary eyebrow. “Well. You look like a postapocalyptic Talbots model.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Piper said, sitting up a little straighter.
An exhausted but comfortable silence fell between them.
“We’ve been successful failures,” Kiersten finally said.
Piper turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“The Experiment worked. We’ve created a community. A village. Our kids were happy. I was happy. We were surrounded by loving people who have our best interests at heart. And those people came through today, in a huge way.”
Piper rubbed her temples, trying to ward off a colossal headache. “With the notable exception of Chip and Trey.”
Kiersten swallowed. “If Brendan hadn’t known that cop . . . if Miles hadn’t produced footage that exonerated the kids . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Piper squeezed her hand, letting her know she didn’t need to speak the unspeakable.
Kiersten shook her head, blinking back tears. “I just wanted peace and freedom. And instead, I have this.”
She gestured at the hospital waiting room and all it represented.
“Maybe it’s time to go back to Minnesota.” Her voice was flat. Defeated.
Piper said nothing. The giant lump in her throat made it impossible to speak.
Kiersten blew her nose into a disintegrating tissue. “This situation obviously calls for chocolate.” She rose from her chair and grabbed some cash from her enormous purse. “You want anything from the vending machine?”
Piper shook her head. “I’ll watch your bag.”
Kiersten tossed her phone into her purse and slumped down the hall.
As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Piper’s phone rang. Her shoulder muscles tensed as she picked up the call.
“Brendan?”
“You need to come home.”
The undertone of despair in his voice sent her stomach plunging. She dug her nails into her palms and fought to remain calm. “What’s wrong?”
“We just got back from Chuck E. Cheese.”
“And?”
He took a deep breath. “And . . . you know how it looks after the DEA tosses a house, looking for drugs?”
Her mouth went dry. “Yeah.”
“That’s how our house looks right now.”
Her brain froze, unable to process the words coming through the phone. At the end of this long, dramatic, terrifying, exhausting day, her mind had finally shut down. Stopped working. Gone on strike.
“I don’t understand,” she finally managed.
“Wait. Garrett’s at the front door. Hold on.”
She massaged her forehead and tried to think.
Hawkeye Slaughter?
No. Chip and Trey Davis. Searching for the diaries.
An indistinct rumble of voices came through the phone, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then Brendan came back on the line.
“Same thing at Garrett and Kiersten’s house. Someone ransacked their place too.”
She shook her head, trying to corral her wild, scattered thoughts.
“How fast can you get home?” he asked.
“Reggie’s on his way. Send me pictures. And don’t touch anything. Tell Garrett the same thing.”
An exasperated sigh came through the phone. “Honey. I know better than to tamper with a crime scene.”
“Sorry . . . I know . . . I just . . . make sure Garrett knows that too.”
“I already told him. We sent the kids over to Rosamund’s. And I just called Sam, the cop who was here earlier today. He’s on his way over with a detective. They’re gonna want to talk to you. And Kiersten.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” she said and ended the call.
She gnawed on her cuticles, waiting for the ding of an incoming text. Then Kiersten came around the corner carrying a Kit Kat and a Diet Coke.
She took one look at Piper, and her face fell. “Oh no. Now what?”
“Do I look that bad?”
“You look horrible.” Kiersten sat down beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
A ping alerted her to a new text message. She looked down at her phone; then she held it up to show Kiersten the picture Brendan had texted.
“This.”