Page 83 of All Along The Watchtower

“Railroad is such an aggressive term,” Ford drawled, but I didn’t miss the hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth.

“Sorry. Not sorry,” Peyton announced. “Is it working?”

I could fight them on it. I lived right next door, after all. But the idea of being alone in my place still left me a little unsettled. I didn’t expect that would be any better after finding out that Pop’s place had been searched. Maybe Chris was right, and it was a crime of opportunity. But in the wake of the murder and all the other vandalism that had happened around the island, it just didn’t feel right.

I blew out a long breath. “Fine. But when you see how much stuff Keeley comes with, I’m going to remind you that you brought this on yourselves.”

CHAPTER 38

FORD

The moving van pulled up to the curb at the front of the house, its diesel engine rumbling in the quiet neighborhood. It was here far sooner than I’d expected, but the company manager had expedited delivery as soon as the police were finished processing everything. My stomach clenched as I wondered exactly what we’d find inside. How much was damaged? How much was missing entirely? How much of Peyton’s childhood remained intact?

My daughter appeared beside me, bouncing nervously in her scuffed-up Chucks. “Is that it?”

“Yeah. Just remember what we talked about. Some stuff might be…” Gone? Destroyed? Ruined beyond repair? I’d warned her of all that, but I couldn’t make myself say it again, not when I saw that flicker of hope in her eyes. She’d already lost so much.

“Yeah, I know. But at least we got most of it back.” Her voice carried a forced brightness that had me clenching my fists against an outcome I couldn’t control.

I didn’t even know what “it” was, not really. Some furniture, which we desperately needed to fill the house with more than just the bare essentials we’d cobbled together. Books, clothes,and the precious pieces of the life Peyton had led before her mother’s sudden death. Pieces, too, of the woman I’d made a child with but hadn’t really known at all.

The timing was less than ideal. Bree was next door, packing the essentials to move in. Well, no. Just to stay for a while. I had to remind myself this wasn’t a permanent arrangement. Not yet, anyway. Bree wasn’t ready for that. I’d need to ease her into the idea slowly, like coaxing a skittish cat from beneath the porch. She was still learning to trust what was between us. To trust that I wouldn’t break my promise again, wouldn’t leave her behind like everyone else had. I’d give her as long as she needed. And in the meantime, I should probably hunt for a bigger house for the three of us. Something with a yard for Keeley and enough space that Peyton could really spread out and make it her own.

One step at a time.

The driver hopped down from the cab, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Donoghue?”

“That’s me.” I signed where indicated, accepting delivery.

“I’m afraid we don’t have a full crew, but you have the two of us to help,” the driver said, jerking his thumb toward his companion, who’d slid out of the passenger side of the truck. “Just let us know where you want us to put things.”

I had no idea what kind of state things had been in before the theft, and I didn’t expect boxes to have been properly sorted and labeled after. We’d be going through things long after these guys left. “Let’s get started.”

The driver rolled up the door on the back of the truck with a metallic rattle that echoed through the morning air. My heart sank at how little was inside. It barely filled half the space, leaving a stark emptiness. I spotted mostly cardboard boxes in various states of wear, but also at least a couple of dark wood bookcases, a bed with its frame partially dismantled, a weathered dresser with brass handles, and what looked like partof an overstuffed chair in faded blue peaking out from behind everything else.

Peyton clambered inside the truck bed with the energy only a teenager could muster this early in the day. I watched her carefully for drooping shoulders or other signs of disappointment or shock, knowing this represented all she had left of her old life. But she only pounced on the nearest box with determined focus, her fingers already working at the tape. Maybe there hadn’t actually been that much in storage to begin with? Or maybe she was just better at handling loss than I’d expected.

She paused with a box balanced against her hip. “What should we do with this stuff?”

“For now, probably pile the boxes along that empty wall in the living room until we get the furniture placed wherever it’s going to go. Then we can shift around boxes as needed.” I gestured toward the house, already mentally rearranging the space to accommodate everything.

Bree emerged from her cottage. “What’s all this?”

“The rest of Peyton’s stuff.” I watched her face carefully, knowing she’d understand the weight of what that meant.

We exchanged a long look, the kind that came from years of history and shared understanding. Bree knew about the theft and recovery, so she’d also be prepared to handle whatever the fallout from this was for Peyton. My kid might seem okay now, but seeing all her possessions like this could trigger something deeper.

“Then let’s get it inside.” Bree leapt in to help.

Between the five of us, we got the boxes unloaded in fifteen minutes, making quick work of the smaller items with everyone pitching in. Then came the furniture, which required more coordination and careful maneuvering through doorways. There were three bookcases. Solid wood pieces that spoke ofquality and permanence. One went to Peyton’s room, while the other two were tucked into a corner of the living room. Once we cleared away the boxes, they’d stand side by side along the back wall, creating a proper library feel. Turned out there was a loveseat hiding back there, upholstered in a soft blue fabric, as well as a patterned area rug that would pull the room together. After some finagling to move the sofa we’d gotten from Beachcomber Bargains, we got the rug down and the sofa and loveseat in place. The cushy reading chair, worn but still comfortable-looking, also went to Peyton’s room, where it would give her a cozy spot to curl up with a book. That left the bed and dresser, the two heaviest pieces we’d need to tackle.

“Do you want to swap these out for the ones in your room?” I wasn’t sure where they’d go otherwise. The third bedroom had been turned into my office, and there wasn’t room to shoehorn a bed in there between my desk and filing cabinets. Worse case, we could store it in the garage out at the lighthouse until such a time as we had a place for it.

Before she could answer, my phone rang, the vibration buzzing against my hip through my jeans pocket. I glanced at the screen, expecting it to be Mom or Mimi checking in. The sight of Dax Shepherd’s name kicked my pulse into high gear. Did he have some answers for me at last?

“Sorry, kiddo. I need to take this. Y’all figure out what you want to do with the bed and dresser.”

I stepped out to the backyard and answered. “Dax. Tell me you have news for me.”

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