“Yes. That’s right,” she said, remembering. “They had a New Year’s Eve wedding. The last day of 1964.”
“So she got engaged at some point between May and December.”
Kiersten nodded. “Correct.”
The librarian left the room and returned with a new box of microfilm. “Start here. Let me know what you find.”
The librarian left, and Kiersten resumed her search, flicking patiently through the black-and-white pages that filled the screen in front of her. Suddenly a headline leaped out at her. Her mouth dropped open as she read the words.
Dorothy Anderson Engaged to Wed Richard Davis.
The back of her neck prickled as she leaned closer to the screen, incredulous.
The sweet old man who’d given her coffee this afternoon ... the kindly eighty-something-year-old gentleman who’d offered to read the diaries for her ... Chip’s father and Trey’s grandfather.Hewas the monster who’d stolen his wife’s shoes so she couldn’t leave the house?Hewas the man who’d blamed his wife for having a miscarriage?Hewas the husband who’d threatened to kill his wife if she left him ...?
This couldn’t be the same man.
Or could it?
And if the monstrous husband in Dottie’s diary was alive and well and living at the end of the cul-de-sac with a wife named Margaret ... then what happened to Dottie?
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Piper
The doorbell chimed, and Piper heaved herself off the couch and into the foyer.
Brendan had just left for Andrews Air Force Base and a flight to Brussels with the secretary of state. Piper had told the girls they could order pizza for an early dinner. Must be the pizza guy.
She looked through the peephole in the front door.
A middle-aged man in a polo shirt and neatly pressed khaki pants stood on her porch. Clean shaven with wire-rimmed glasses and a slight paunch, he looked efficient and businesslike. He also had a canvas duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
But he was not holding a pizza.
Her forehead creased as she tried to figure out who he could be. Then she remembered.
The locksmith.
After the incident with the worms, she and Brendan had decided to have all the locks in the house rekeyed, just as a precaution. The locksmith was supposed to come tomorrow, but they’d promised to send someone sooner if they had a cancelation.
She opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Are you Piper?” the man asked, looking down at his phone. “At 1405 Beaverbrook Lane?”
“I am.”
“Great. I’m in the right place. I always double-check, just to make sure. Otherwise things can be ... you know ...” He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Awkward.”
“I understand,” she said. “Please, come in.”
He stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. “I’ve brought everything we need,” he said, tapping the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m Winston, by the way.”
“Hi, Winston. Nice to meet you.”
He unzipped his bag, then looked around. “Would you like to record it? Or do you prefer not to use cameras? I’m fine either way.”
She frowned. “I don’t think we need to record anything.”
