"Don't sit there on your moral high horse pretending you've never meddled in our lives and never would."
"As if I ever had any power over you two! I'm so much younger than you and Benjamin—"
He snorted, summing up his opinion of her protest.
Her father held up a hand. They'd been over this same ground hundreds of times since his daughter was two. He would drive her home and check her house, make sure no one was hiding in the cellar, had planted a bomb, or left another few bars of unpleasant lyrics on her message machine. Come morning, Andrew, Benjamin, and Liddy would check in on her at various points during the day. That was the plan, by Robert Macintosh's decree. No one argued.
In the car, her father said, "And I expect this Clate Jackson's looking after you, too."
"I can look after myself, Pop."
"That wasn't my point."
She sighed. "I know it wasn't. I'm sorry. I just hate feeling this —" She searched for the right word. "This vulnerable."
"Some son of a bitch gets a bee in his bonnet about any of us, we're vulnerable. It's not because you're a woman, young, have two older brothers, and are stubborn and independent as the day is long that you're feeling vulnerable right now and hating it. It's because you've got some creep out there pestering you."
"Then you don't think it's Hannah?"
He shook his head, confident. She noticed the deepening lines at the corners of his eyes, the gray in his hair, but he was still a strong, vital man. "Even Andrew doesn't think this is Hannah's doing, and you know he's thought she was crazy ever since he was thirteen and she tried to feed him candied violets."
"They were good." Piper laughed, remembering. And laughing was a welcome release as her father turned into her driveway. "I'll be fine, Pop. Really."
"I know you will, kid. I think it's a testament to your spirit that you're even willing to spend the night alone." He glanced over at her. "If you are."
"Pop—"
"That wasn't a question, Piper. It doesn't need an answer."
Five years ago—even two years ago—she would have gone to great lengths to assure her father that Clate Jackson wasn't spending the night with her. She supposed it was progress that she could just let it be and let him think whatever it was he was thinking.
She and her father scoured her house and listened to her messages together, and when he left, he kissed her on her cheek. "Good night, Piper."
"Good nigh I, Pop."
"You get spooked, give a yell."
Under the circumstances, she felt an enormous twist of guilt that she hadn't mentioned Hannah's poison theory to him and her brothers. But she just couldn't. Best to test that second jug of water first. Or to let Hannah tell them herself, which doubtless wouldn't happen any time soon.
As it was, Piper felt her only option after her father left was to climb into her car, drive over to Hannah's, and check for poisoned water.
On her way out to her car, Paul Shepherd arrived with her bicycle. Grim-faced, he dragged it out of his trunk and set it out on her driveway. "Sally and I give Hannah our best and hope she has a speedy recovery. It's a good thing she's as ornery as she is, I suppose. If there's anything Sally or I can do—"
"Thanks, but the doctors think Hannah will be fine."
"That's a relief." He hesitated, averting his eyes. "Piper, I hate bringing this up now, but I think you should know. Stan Carlucci has suggested, privately, that Hannah could have passed out after drinking one of her experimental concoctions."
"You mean that she poisoned herself?"
"Basically, yes."
"Well, I asked her, and she didn't."
"She wouldn't admit she'd made a mistake, would she?"
His tone was mild, reasonable. Piper swallowed her fury. "Please tell Stan Carlucci that I appreciate his concern."
Paul winced at her sarcasm. "Piper, Stan means well. Truly. If Hannah accidentally overdosed on one of her teas, or drank the wrong one, it's no worse than other elderly people forgetting they've taken their medication for the day and doubling up. This sort of thing—well, as hard as it is on family members, it's to be expected."
"I don't go for the old-people-are-all-daffy theory."
His expression turned cool. "That wasn't a generalization."
"I'm sorry. It's been a difficult day."
He softened. "Forget it. Stan's willing to keep quiet for now, provided you or your father or one of your brothers—or her doctor—does a thorough check of her townhouse. He—none of us wants her or anyone else to get hurt. We all wish her nothing but the best, Piper. Hannah and Stan have their political differences, but that's not interfering with his judgment."
Piper nodded, feeling drawn and tired and in no mood to argue about Stan Carlucci. "I know he wouldn't want any harm to come to Hannah."
Looking relieved, Paul started back toward his car. "And Sally's happy to help in any way she can. You know she looks upon Hannah as a grandmother."
"Tell her thanks."
"I will."