Chapter Eighty-Two Piper
Chapter Eighty-Two
Piper
They parked at the end of a quiet street in Old Town, near the entrance to the cemetery, and gently pushed against the wrought iron gates. Piper squinted up at the cloudless blue sky as the gates opened silently on ancient but well-oiled hinges. A perfect fall day, unseasonably warm for November.
She redirected her attention to the kids, roving through the cemetery with notebooks and pencils, searching for the tombstone of Cavan Boa, a Revolutionary War veteran who found his place in history as George Washington’s tailor, and Pierre La Croix, a drummer boy from the French and Indian War who eventually joined the American Revolution.
Next door to the cemetery, on the other side of an ancient brick wall, children laughed and shrieked during recess at St. Margaret’s, the local Catholic school. Piper smiled. It seemed appropriate somehow, for life and death to coexist side by side.
Lillian sat in a lawn chair, absorbing the autumn sunshine. The kids ran back and forth to show her their historical discoveries.
Piper shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed across the cemetery, past the beautiful stone angel at the entrance and toward Kiersten, who stood in front of a headstone.
Suddenly Kiersten slumped to her knees.
Piper sucked air into her lungs as the darkest part of her mind manufactured a thousand terrifying scenarios. Sniper. Bomb. Heart attack. Seizure. Sinkhole. Snake bite. Mad dog. Murder hornet.
Her legs worked like pistons as she sprinted across the cemetery, heart throbbing inside her chest, her ears, her skull. She skidded to a stop beside Kiersten.
“What’s wrong?” she puffed. “Are you okay?”
Kiersten looked up, tears streaming down her face. “I found Dottie.”