and pulled out of the lot. “Are you okay?”
“I haven’t decided yet. How about you?”
“Still shaking.”
“Me, too.”
“I can’t believe I talked you into coming tonight. We both could have been killed.”
“But we weren’t.”
“Thanks to you.” Gabby turned into the university’s parking lot and pulled up next to Piper’s GTO. Then turned to face her. “You’re a hero. You know that, don’t you?”
Piper laughed and pushed the door open. “The only twenty-nine-year-old hero whose brother sends the cavalry to save her.”
“Is that what Sheriff Reed was doing there?”
“Yep.”
“And the guy that was with him? The cute one with the camera?”
“Cute? Cade Macalister is not cute. He’s a menace. Or at least he was when we were kids.”
“He’s cute.”
“To each her own.” But even as she said it, Piper silently agreed with Gabby’s assessment. “Have a safe trip tomorrow, and have fun in Florida.” Piper leaned over and hugged her friend.
“Me and my parents are sharing a two-bedroom condo. I don’t think fun is going to be possible.”
“At least you won’t be teaching. That’s got to be worth something.” Piper stepped out of the car, hitched her purse up on her shoulder. “See you in a month.”
She waved as Gabby drove away, then slid into her own car and started the engine. Usually she enjoyed the forty-minute drive to Lakeview, but tonight she felt anxious and worried, each shadow by the side of the road, every car swooping up from behind, a sinister reminder of the attempted kidnapping.
The outcome could have been so much worse. The gun could have discharged as it fell. Someone could have been hurt in the fire. Or killed. The thought brought a wave of nausea, and a cold, clammy sweat to Piper’s brow. Gabby had called her a hero, but there was a fine line between heroism and foolishness. Piper had yet to decide if she’d crossed it.
She swiped a shaky hand across her forehead and forced tense muscles to relax. By God’s grace no one had been hurt. Piper wouldn’t have to live with regrets or recriminations. She needed to be thankful for that, and move on.
Mozart’s Fantasy in D Minor was playing on the radio and she cranked up the volume, trying to lose herself in the music, but the images of the kidnapper and his intended victim were etched deep in her mind and she couldn’t shake them, no matter how loud the music or moving the score.
By the time she pulled into her driveway, Piper’s nerves were on edge, her hands in a death grip around the steering wheel. She sat in the car, eyes fixed on the front door and the golden glow of the porch light.
A tiny bungalow at the end of a dead-end street, the house had once been her great-uncle Marcus’s music studio. Now it was Piper’s home. In the three months since she’d moved in, she’d never felt anything but comfortable. Now she felt nervous, afraid to leave the safety of the car and step across the shadowy yard.
She scanned the area, looking for a reason for her unease. The house was the same as it had always been—the wide stoop and steeply slanted roof, the portico and bowed windows. But, to the right, thick woods created a sinister blackness. To the left, Mr. Thomas’s hulking Victorian spread its excess across a huge, unkempt yard, its hedges and trees overgrown and wild. So many places for someone to hide.
Unfortunately, Piper couldn’t sit in the car all night. She shivered, grabbed her purse and stepped out of the GTO, hurrying across the dark yard and up the steps, her heart thundering in her chest.
The living room was to her left as she entered the house. She walked through it into the dining room, setting her purse on the pine table; listening to the silence, feeling the stillness. Everything was as it should be—the soft hum of the refrigerator, the small pile of mail that sat on the table. Yet Piper couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. She turned on her heels, eyeing the room again and still finding nothing out of place.
Leftover nerves from the day’s events. That had to be the reason for her unease. Piper walked through the house anyway, checking the morning room that housed the Chickering piano she’d inherited. Then the kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and office. Everything was as she’d left it, and the too-fast tempo of her heart finally eased as she put on a Bach CD and settled in front of her computer. She had term papers to correct for the music theory class she was teaching at Lynchburg University, music scores to choose for her piano students. Both were tasks she usually enjoyed, though tonight neither appealed to her. Instead, her mind returned again and again to the gunman, the pale face of the woman he’d tried to kidnap, the hysterical screams of the other women, the fire.
The shrill ring of the phone offered a welcome distraction from her thoughts, and Piper grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”
“Piper? It’s Wayne.”
“Hey. What’s up?” Surprised, Piper fiddled with a pencil, wondering what had prompted the call. Though Wayne Marshall was a cousin of sorts, they’d been closest during Uncle Marcus’s battle with ALS. Since Marcus’s death, Wayne had reverted to the more solitary ways he’d exhibited since his mother had married Marcus fifteen years ago.
“I heard the news. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. How’d you hear?”
“Channel Seven ran a clip about the kidnapping and fire. I saw you standing near an ambulance.”
“How did I look?”
“Good, all things considered. Now can we be serious? You could have been killed.”
Piper rolled her eyes. After so many years of knowing one another, Wayne still didn’t understand her need to make light of difficult situations. “I know, but I’m fine. And so is everyone else who was there.”
“And some guy with a gun is on the loose.”
“Hopefully not for long.”
“‘Hopefully’ doesn’t do a whole lot for me. What are the police saying?”
“They’re investigating. As soon as they know something, I will, too.”
“I guess that will have to be good enough. We still on for Saturday?”
“Yes. Mrs. James is expecting us at eleven. It sounds like her husband compiled quite a bit of information about Music Makers. She wants me to use whatever I can.” Which was good, as Piper planned to make the book she was writing about her uncle’s charitable organization the best it could be.
“It’s a shame the guy never got to use it himself.”
“It is. Mrs. James is devastated by his death. She broke down twice while we were on the phone.”
“It’s never easy when someone we love dies.”
Wayne’s words hung between them, the reminder of the loss they’d suffered making them both pause.
Finally, Piper cleared her throat. “Marcus would be so happy about the book.”
“He’d be even happier knowing that you were the one putting it together.”
“I just hope I do it justice. Miriam is putting an awful lot of money into this—”
“Has anyone ever told you you worry too much?”
“About a million times.”
“So stop worrying. The book will be great. I’ll see you Saturday.” He hung up and Piper leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. She should have asked Wayne about the antiques again. Three weeks ago he’d promised to go through Marcus’s paperwork, see if