Aside from the Buchanan police, who were rarely seen in town, there was no higher authority in St. Hilaire than the Guild. Their decisions were law, and this time it looked like the law had won.
“Ah, quiet,” Clive Rice said, cupping his ear and turning to me. “Enjoy your piano, Mr. Hampton. It seems to be where it would choose to be.” Then he leaned in and whispered, “Also, we look forward to meeting with you as discussed in our letter.” He set his bowler hat back on his head and turned to leave.
The letter. That must have been what Laura had mentioned, although it would have been nice had she mentioned it was from the Guild.
“Wait,” Russ called. “Didn’t you say there were two reasons for the piano staying, sir?”
Clive Rice turned and looked back at us. “Well, yes. There is the matter of the cheating. But also, it’s quite simple, really. You see, the instrument wasn’t Mr. Hampton’s to wager. Good day.”
I watched as the Mackenzies followed the Guild members out the door with matching sneers. When the dog walked by, Russ held out his hand. The dog sniffed and then rubbed his waist-high head against Russ’s fingers. Only when Alex turned back and called the dog did it follow.
I waited until the door shut. “What the hell did that mean?” I asked Russ. “How did they know Alex and David cheated, and whose piano does he think it is, then?”
“They probably have some old ghost spying in Eaton Hall. But does it matter?” Russ glanced at the instrument, his eyes shining with hope. “You heard him; it’s where it wants to be. And…I believe that means we have a car.”
Every tense muscle in my body relaxed. “The Mustang. You have the Mustang,” I said, because I’d never once thought it would be mine, and I was so grateful to be the one to give it to Russ.
“The Mustang,” Russ repeated, seemingly in shock. His dark eyes were glassy; no doubt, his head was swirling with thoughts of Ian’s car.
“Hey, and there’s something else,” I said in a whisper. “Quiet, but you remember Anastasia Krylova?”
Russ blinked. “The piano girl?”
I laughed. What a strange simplistic way to sum up everything that went into making Annie Krylova. “Yeah. Well, she’s kind of here. And staying with us.”
“Here?” Russ snapped out of his car-fueled bliss.
I filled him in, excited to be sharing my good luck. But then Russ asked the same question Tristan had asked me, “What are you going to do?” and my shoulders stiffened as the tone of his voice sucked down the momentary joy of keeping both the piano and the car.
“Do?”
“Well, think. This can’t be random. I mean, come on, it’s the off-season. And you’ve been more-or-less obsessed with her.”
“Russ. She’s here. Ask your dad. That stupid old train broke down. She says she just walked into St. Hilaire. And she’s in my house. She…” I was about to tell Russ that she could see Tristan, but Russ cut me off.
“The train? I want to meet her,” Russ demanded.
“Yeah, sure,” I replied. “Not today. Tomorrow or…” This, the speaking in broken, uncertain sentences, wasn’t how we usually were with each other. Of course, I wanted Annie and Russ to meet; I’d just assumed it would feel happier and more celebratory than this. “Soon, promise. Just don’t say anything. About me, you know…”
Russ nodded, but the moment—the jubilant, triumphant moment of having beaten Sheridan and Mackenzie at their own game—had passed.
Chapter 17
Annie
As soon as the awful boys left, Laura let out a huge breath. “Well, that was interesting.”
I was not usually one for eavesdropping, but Laura had stopped me at the top of the stairs, where we listened to the whole conversation. “I am not even sure what just happened,” I said.
“Alex has always been a little unglued. The thing is, David Sheridan is actually a nice guy. I can’t believe he let Alex talk him into being a part of this,” Laura said.
“But Dec gets to keep the piano, correct?” If I had to count, I would guess that I have played thousands of pianos, none of which had belonged to me, but to concert halls and rental companies. The closest I came to having a relationship with one was the showy transparent grand in Dmitry’s New York loft. I could not imagine any piano had cared whether I played it or not.
But I felt an overwhelming sense of relief that this piano was going to stay where it was. In part, it was that I could not imagine the beautiful instrument being given to that horrid Alex Mackenzie. And in part it was something more. Some part of me that felt the words the Guild member had said. The piano was where it needed to be.
“I guess,” Laura said, running a bitten nail along the stair rail. “But I’m not sure it’s enough to get him to stay.”
I thought back to Dec’s comment at the waterfall about St. Hilaire not being a place you could stay in forever. “He is really planning to leave?”
Laura leaned over the edge of the stairs looking down into the music room and then gestured for me to follow. When we got to her room, she sat stiffly on the bed. In contrast to the well-lived-in look of the rest of the house, this room was as immaculate as a hotel. Even the books in the one bookcase were organized by color. It made me feel out of place, as if my long hair and patchwork bag of many colors were disturbing the organization of the space.
“It’s been hard for him since Mom and Dad died. He and Harriet…” Laura started and then seemed to think better of it. “Well, I think he blames himself. And St. Hilaire, for what happened to them.”
I felt a sudden pang of regret that I had never been at my parents’ house long enough to form a relationship with my younger brother. It would be nice to have someone to care about the way that Laura and Dec obviously cared about each other.
“What happened?”
“Dec and my parents were going to see some movie,” Laura said, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in the quilt. “Harriet was on spring break, so she and I were home. I had a math test the next day. They were supposed to be home by ten. Harriet went to bed, but I knew something was wrong, so I stayed up reading, waiting for the phone to ring or for someone to show up at the door.”
I rubbed my hand where only a shadow of the burn from the hot tea remained.
“The Buchanan police—they were around more often, then—said my parents’ car went into a ditch after they tried to avoid some bobcat that had been roaming around. They’d just come through the West Gate and were killed on impact. Dec was found a block away. Unconscious against a tree. No one knows how he got there.”