Page 83 of Murder on the Page

“Why don’t you ask her?” Stella said. “She’s volunteering at Alta Barlow Hospital today.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because I donate my time there, too. I usually greet people and steer them to the elevator or the proper floor. It’s not easy walking into a hospital. Nearly everyone’s pulse rate spikes. Having a guide makes them feel comfortable.”

“What does Piper do there?” I asked.

“She plays with children who are in the waiting room when the grown-ups need to visit or have checkups. You know, she never had children of her own. I think it makes her feel needed.”

“That’s so nice of both of you,” Lillian said. “I should get involved.”

“Let me tell you about the opportunities.” Stella and Lillian moved to the side to chat.

“I’ll go see Piper and ask her about Saturday morning and why she lied,” I whispered to Tegan.

“Tell Zach. Let him do it.”

“I’d rather it was a friendly visit.”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

“But the shop—”

“Chloe can handle it for an hour.”

I gawked at her. “You sure? Look around. It’s a full house. I think we need to cull the crowd.”

At one thirty, when the throng thinned to two customers, Tegan grabbed her purse and offered to drive.

The Alta Barlow Hospital reception area was bright and white. Fresh flowers adorned the counter. I asked the cheery receptionist where I might find the children’s playroom, and she directed us to the right.

The playroom was filled with paraphernalia appropriate for children of all ages: books, chalkboard easels fitted with pastel chalk, stuffed animals, and a desk with art supplies, where some projects were already in progress. A janitor in a uniform was emptying a trash can by the watercooler. Piper, clad in jeans, a plaid blouse, and red canvas Keds, was perched on a tot-sized chair, reading a book to a trio of children, who were sitting, cross-legged, on an interlocking, foam, multicolored play mat. One boy, who I pegged at around five years of age, was plucking something off his striped T-shirt. The girl beside him—his sister I was pretty sure because their coloring was identical—was fiddling with one of her braids. The other boy was opening and closing the Velcro straps on his shoes.

Piper glanced in our direction, probably expecting a parent to be entering with a child, and blinked. “What are you two doing here?”

“We’d like to chat with you for a sec,” I said.

She pursed her lips, then closed the book she was reading—an A to Z Mystery titledDetective Camp.“Children, go finish up your art. I’ll be over to help in a few minutes.”

They scrambled to their feet and raced to the art table. The boy in the striped shirt pushed the girl out of the way. She squealed that she’d “tell Mom,” which meant I’d correctly assumed she was his sibling. The other boy plopped into a chair and scooped a project toward him.

Piper rose, smoothed the front of her blouse, and moved to the watercooler, where she poured herself a mini cup of water. “Want some?”

We both declined.

“What’s up?” she asked after taking a sip.

“When I talked to you yesterday,” I began, “you said you were home Saturday morning.”

“That’s right.”

“Alone.”

“Yes.” She brushed her dark hair over her shoulders. “Look, I know it doesn’t provide me with an alibi, which apparently I might need because I’m getting the feeling you suspect me of murder—”

“No,” I protested.

“Yes.” She threw me a peeved look. “But I was grading papers. I have those to show for my time.”

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