The Beautiful Daughters (5 page)

At the end of the alley between buildings, Adri climbed over the wide, metal gate at the entrance to the pasture, and leaped deftly over the nearly invisible wire of the electric fence that cackled just on the far side. She stood, arms crossed, and waited for her best friend to navigate the unfamiliar obstacle. It wasn't often that she had the upper hand in their relationship, and it was hard not to take a certain satisfied pleasure in watching Harper flounder out of her element.

But Harper hesitated only for a moment. Then in one fluid motion she raced up the rungs of the fence as if it were a ladder, paused with one hand and both feet on the very top, and launched herself, a free-form dancer sailing over the side and into the tall grass. She nicked the electric fence on her way down.

There was a spark, a sound a little like a whip being cracked, and Harper jerked as if she were being electrocuted.

“Hot damn!” Her legs went out from under her and she landed on her ass in the grass.

Adri couldn't help but laugh.

“Your fence almost killed me!” Harper pouted, rubbing the back of her calf where the fence had slapped her skin.

“It's three thousand volts. On a pulse. My fence did not almost kill you.”

“Whatever. I'm suing.”

Adri offered Harper her hands and hoisted her to a standing position. “Knock yourself out. You won't get much. You've seen the extent of our fortune and I'm going to let you in on a little secret: we're mortgaged to the hilt.”

Harper put her hands on her hips and did a slow survey of the land. The pasture was by far the prettiest corner of the farm. It was sparsely wooded and sloped toward the river, flooded by
a waving sea of prairie grasses that bowed to the breeze and sent pollen-like diamond dust to float in the warm autumn air. There was a certain magic here, in the dappled shade of the gnarled trees, their arthritic branches angling low to mingle with the creamy tufts that still clung to slender stalks of switchgrass.

Adri could see that Harper was enchanted by all of it, and she grabbed her friend by the elbow before she could fall too deeply in love. “Watch out for the cow pie.”

“Shit!”

“No pun intended,” Adri laughed.

“Oh, pun absolutely intended.”

They made their way past the few grazing cows—Jerseys, all caramel brown with eyes as wide and damp as a fawn's—and climbed carefully over a second fence, this one barbed wire, at the very edge of the Vogt property. The river was on the other side, and beyond that, the bluffs above Blackhawk. Because the river was serpentine, they couldn't see the long, white bridge that led into town, even though it was less than a mile away as the crow flies. But they could see the peak of the Galloway mansion poking through the treetops in the hills above the river. And as soon as Adri caught sight of the square turret of the tower, she knew that the mansion was exactly why she had led Harper through the pasture in the first place. If Harper wanted a fairy tale, she'd find it in the arched Palladian windows of the Galloways' Italian-style villa.

The corniced roofline stamped an orderly edge against a strip of blue sky, and even from such a distance, they could just make out the ornate corbels that propped up the projecting eaves. Adri had visited the mansion once a year for as long as she could remember, and her memory filled out the silhouette of the sweeping veranda, the high windows, the artful stonework that transported her to another era, another world.

“What is that place?” Harper asked, wonder in her voice.

“Piperhall.” Adri grinned. “That is your fantasy. Your happily-ever-after ending.”

“Is there a prince?” Harper's lip curled up hawkishly. “Because I think we should seduce him and split the spoils.”

“Be my guest.” Adri stripped a stalk of volunteer oats and began to husk the grain in her palm. “He goes to ATU.”

“Shut up. There really is a prince? And he graces our humble little halls of higher learning?”

“How do you think a small town like Blackhawk supports a college like ATU? The Galloways practically own the university. David's daddy probably bought him a diploma and the A's to go with it.”

“David Galloway?” Harper's mind was spinning. Adri could practically see the whirl of her daydreams. “Tall and blond? Kind of hunky? I think he's in my Western Civ class.”

“I don't know that I'd call him hunky,” Adri snorted. “But he's not blond. More like pale brunet.”

Harper threw back her head and laughed. “Pale brunet? What does that even mean? Spill. What do you know about this guy?”

It wasn't like Harper to care, but Adri could tell that she was genuinely interested. Maybe even more than interested. Harper had closed the space between them and was mere inches from Adri's face, searching as if she could find answers hidden in every nuance of expression. “I don't know.” Adri shrugged, taking a step back. As much as she adored Harper, she didn't much care for her habit of close talking. “It's mostly gossip and hearsay.”

“Ooh! I love gossip.”

Adri couldn't help but smile. Harper was an amazing gossip—to the point that Adri suspected her friend of making up rumors when there were none to spread around.

“Fine,” Adri sighed, giving in. But even as she feigned reluctance, she was eager to invite Harper into the mystery of her youth. The riddle that was the Galloway family. But she didn't know where to start. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

After a moment Adri said, “The Galloways are old money. Liam—that's David's dad—was the descendant of a lumber baron who made his fortune in Michigan and decided to settle as far away from his family as he could, or so the story goes.”

“Was?”

“He died a few months ago.” Adri raised a shoulder almost imperceptibly. “I saw him once a year, at the Piperhall summer picnic, but we never spoke. He was tall, gray-haired . . . kind of scary.”

“You find all men scary,” Harper teased.

Adri didn't justify the comment with a response. “The Galloways are new money, too. Biodiesel.”

“I don't think that's a thing.” Harper raised an eyebrow. “Old money and new money? It's all just money, Adri. Besides, I don't really care about where they got it. I want the juicy stuff: who they sleep with, what skeletons they have buried in the woods, why in the world their estate is called Piperhall.”

“It's the stuff legends are made of,” Adri said with a sly look. She started walking, and didn't bother to look back and see if Harper was following. “When the house was built over a hundred years ago, Lord Galloway—”

“He was a lord?” Harper interrupted from somewhere behind.

“Who knows? The stuff of legends, remember? Anyway, he had a little daughter—”

“Named Piper,” Harper cut in again.

Adri nodded. “Apparently he and his wife were so wrapped up in the construction of the mansion, they didn't pay any attention to the girl. She wandered off one day and was never found. Lord Galloway had wanted to call the estate Galloway Hall, but when Piper was lost, people kept calling it ‘Piper's Hall.' I suppose the name just evolved.”

“What happened to her?” Harper asked almost reverently.

“I'm guessing she fell into an old well. It happens. Or maybe she made it to the river and drowned.”

Harper was silent for a moment. “Sounds fictitious to me,” she eventually said.

“Isn't that the point? I told you, it's a legend.”

“Piperhall,” Harper mused. “I like it. It's musical somehow.”

Adri held her tongue.

There was a trail through the underbrush, a mostly overgrown footpath that had suffered neglect in the month that Adri had been away at college. Weaving through the trees, she felt a worming sense of disquiet at the realization that her feet had kept the dirt path clear in the years before she left. What did that say about her? About her interest in the Galloways? In Piperhall? Because now that she was leading Harper to the bridge, to the secret place where she gazed at the tower of their impenetrable mansion, she understood that her interest in the Galloways bordered on addiction. Adri stifled the unsettling thought.

They were a good mile or more from the farmhouse when Adri caught sight of her destination and stopped. The old train bridge was barely visible, poking through the trees as if stealing a peek at the two girls as they stood side by side, polar opposites in almost every way. It was really only half a bridge, because the other half had crumbled into the river long ago. There was a thin tendril of stone that connected one side to the other, but it was uncrossable. At least, Adri considered it so. An almost paralyzing fear of heights prevented her from ever finding out if the narrow walkway would support her weight. But she had managed to scale the footings at the base of the bridge on her side of the river, and had claimed a spot near the top as her own. Sitting with her back against the ancient rampart was an adrenaline rush parallel to none. And it was the perfect spot to sit and daydream about the mansion at the top of the hill—and the family inside it.

“Damn,” Harper said, the word leaking out in one long, slow exhalation. “You are completely obsessed, aren't you?”

Adri pushed a hard breath through her lips. “Whatever. It's a great spot.”

“A great spot for spying. I see what you're doing here. You can't pull one over on me. Great mansion, family fortune, handsome prince . . . You're angling for a shot at a dream.”

“That's absurd. You're being completely ridiculous.”

But, of course, Harper wasn't being ridiculous at all. She was slicing through it all to the very heart of the matter. Because a dream was exactly what Adri wanted. It was all that she'd wanted all her life.

Adri shouldn't have been surprised when, just over a week later, Harper poked her head around Adri's open dorm room door and gave her an elated, silent scream. She had her hand linked around none other than David Galloway's arm.

And just like that there were five of them.

Harper was sketchy on the details of how she befriended David, or more accurately, how she hijacked him long enough to make him fall just a little bit in love with her like all the rest of them were. But it didn't really matter.

That first day, sitting backward on Adri's desk chair, David was as cool as a crisp autumn day, reserved and dignified as a prince. Adri could hardly form a single coherent thought. Here he was. Her dream, her David. The small-town luminary, a prep-school demigod from a family so rich they owned a private jet just so that they could fly away from Blackhawk if they wanted to see a Broadway show or enjoy St. Lucia in the spring. It turned out the only reason he had stuck around northwest Iowa for college was because Liam had just passed away, and though he had acceptance letters from Dartmouth and Duke, and probably a handful of other schools, familial duty required he stay close to his mother and transfer out of the Midwest in his sophomore year. Of course, it didn't hurt that ATU was endowed by the Galloway family. Their name was featured on plaques that graced nearly every building of the stately, redbrick campus.

But David wasn't aloof for long. He was well-bred, almost frighteningly self-controlled, but it wasn't who he wanted to be. He'd launch himself onto Adri's bed after classes, tucking his
suntanned arms behind his head, and ask, “How are we going to get into trouble today, girls?” Harper always had an idea.

Not too shockingly, David never transferred. Adri liked to believe that was because of her. And Harper and William and Jackson. But she hoped it was mostly her.

Whenever Adri thought of David in the years after, she could never quite remember the cant of his eyes or the exact shade of his brown hair. Was it chestnut? Or umber? Were there dark blond streaks in the summer? Or did her imagination paint them in? Every once in a while Adri could pretend that she caught a whiff of his scent. Horses and leather, and maybe just a hint of Scotch if he'd been drinking a little, or an undertone of Clive Christian X if he'd been drinking a lot and wanted to cover it up. David had admitted to her once that his mother had spent more than 300 dollars on the bottle of cologne when they were in London one winter, simply because she wanted him to be singular—she wanted to be able to pick him out in a crowd, even if she was utterly blind. Which was stupid. Anyone could pick out David in a crowd. Deaf or blind.

But try as she might to conjure up the David she had known, the one she fell in love with all those years ago, the man with the quick smile and beautiful hands and the voice of a jazz singer, the picture that was burned in Adri's mind was a still life of David and Harper. Always Harper. Forever Harper.

Harper with her arms around David, his face turned toward the sky. His eyes open, surprised and wide. Her head bent over his like a lover. They were gorgeous together, cut from stone, a Renaissance masterpiece but for Harper's hair. It fell around them both, swirled up by the water. It was tangled and sticky, a dirty mass of clinging spiderwebs curling against her cheeks.

It was black with the stain of his blood.

“We could stop, you know.”

Adri didn't mean to gasp, but as she jerked her attention to her dad, she knew that her shock had unnerved him.

“Sorry,” Sam said. He ducked a little, tucking his chin into the curve of his collar before straightening and indicating a road off to the right. It was almost completely hidden by trees, but Adri found herself angling for a better view all the same. “I didn't mean to startle you,” Sam apologized. “I know this must be a lot to take in, but I thought you might like to go see how things are at Piperhall.”

No, Adri thought. Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow.

But that's not what she said.

She said yes.

5

T
he road to piperhall was a narrow, tree-lined drive that felt distinctly antebellum to adri. Branches of gnarled burr oaks tangled overhead, dappling the sun and creating an emerald cathedral that inspired an unexpected reverence. Passing beneath the hushed nave in a vehicle had always seemed wrong to her, and it wasn't until david had taken her riding that she realized her discomfort was because the estate belonged to a different era. An era of horses and carriages and skirts so wide they required sidesaddles and delicately crossed legs. Of course, adri didn't ride sidesaddle—no one who frequented the estate did—but that didn't stop adri from pretending that she had been transported to another time when she visited the sprawling grounds. Something she did with ever-increasing frequency when she fell madly, astonishingly, head over heels in love with david.

Not that she could remember a time when she hadn't been in love with him. Though their land was separated by the river and a couple of miles—the bluffs too sheer to navigate, even if she had dared to try—Adri had felt the pull of Piperhall, of David, even as a child.

“Victoria let her gardeners go,” Sam said, almost apologetically. “A couple of years ago. She hired a local landscaping company to come in once a week, but they can't keep up.”

Of course they couldn't keep up. Fourteen acres couldn't be tended in a day, even if the Galloways hadn't bothered to commission formal gardens. If rumor could be trusted, the formidable Liam Galloway had insisted that the extensive lawns be kept neat and trim, but Victoria had petitioned for a more organic approach to groundskeeping. She adored the natural prairie grasses. Liam wanted a manicured yard. It was no secret who had won that particular battle, as the pristine lawn around a small forest of trees was fairway short in spite of the unforgiving climate of northwest Iowa.

Or, it had been. Now the lawn was patchy and thin, bared down to the dirt in places and sprouting seed in others. The thin blades of grass that did exist were bushy and limp, hanging to the ground as if in surrender.

Even the gravel drive seemed unkempt, deeply grooved from tire tracks that hadn't been graded in a very long time.

As they neared the house, it struck Adri that Harper had been right all those years ago. Piperhall was a fairy tale tipped crooked, spun off its axis at a disconcerting angle that made Adri feel as if she'd had just a sip too much wine. And yet, as jarringly different as it was from the life she had left behind in Africa, the gorgeous, iconic Galloway estate was also her home.

“It's different,” she managed. What she meant was: It's the same. It's exactly the same.

The stables were the first thing that could be glimpsed through the trees, and Adri found herself craning, sitting forward in her seat for the tiniest glimpse of the long, low redbrick building that had become little more than fodder for late-night regrets. And yet, when she saw it, she fought the urge to close her eyes. The stable was a flint that sparked the tinderbox of emotions Adri had successfully buried for years.

“You okay?” Sam knew enough about his daughter to pull up in front of the stables instead of continuing on to the house. He let the engine idle, patient, waiting.

“Fine,” Adri said. She wiped her palms on her knees, but it
was a superfluous action. She wasn't sweating, she was cold. Ice cold.

“Are you sure? Because we can come back tomorrow. Or the next day. You don't have to do this right now.”

Adri ignored him. “Do you have the keys?”

He did. A fat key ring that jingled cheerfully. As far as Adri knew, the Galloways had never had a butler—gardeners, housekeepers, a cook, yes, but no one who lived on the estate full-time and who made sure that everything continued to function at optimal performance levels. And so, because they were in the middle of nowhere with little to no threat of burglars, and because there simply was no one to hold the keys, the entire set used to hang on a hook in the small, detached carriage house that had been constructed west of the mansion. Adri was happy that Sam held them now.

There were at least twenty keys. Some shiny and newly cut, others so old they were copper colored. There was even an antique skeleton key, though Adri had never discovered what it was for. Briefly, when she and David were first dating, she had fancifully entertained the notion that there was a hidden room somewhere. Perhaps a closet, shut tight with a rusty padlock and harboring secrets like weary prisoners in the dark. She loved the thought of finding such a door and peeking inside. She feared it, too.

“Thanks.” Adri took the large key ring from her father, and quickly fingered her way to the one that would fit the padlock on the wide double doors of the stable. They hadn't always locked it, there was no reason to, but she was grateful that the doors were sealed now. She couldn't bear the thought of rebellious local teenagers prowling the horse barn with questionable intent.

When the door swung open, it sighed a low breath of dust and musk, a scent so sweet and long forgotten that Adri grinned in spite of herself. For a moment it was just another September day and David was beside her, Harper and Jackson and Will just
behind. The stable echoed with the memory of their laughter and the breezy nicker of Amira, who was always happy to see them.

But the only sound in the dark stable was the muted stomp of curious hooves and the occasional snort of uncertainty. Adri could hear the horses shuffling around in their stalls, kicking up hay that held the sharp tang of old urine and ripened the stale air. The light switch was to her left, and though Adri's eyes were already adjusting to the dimness, she fumbled for it and clicked the dark away.

It seemed like nothing much had changed. Amira, Hasana, and Farah, the sisters, though they weren't really, still occupied the first three stalls on her right. The mares were all lean and lovely, but when Farah dipped her head over the gate and regarded the visitors, Adri could tell that she hadn't been groomed in ages. Her mane was matted and her coat flat and dingy. Though Adri wanted to go to them, to rub their foreheads and tickle their muzzles with her fingertips, her heart was beating fast. She was already turning away.

The tack room was on Adri's left, and then the wash stall. Adri didn't mean to rush down the aisle, but by the time she neared the fourth stall she was jogging.

It was empty.

Bard was gone. The big, black stallion that David had always favored was no longer strutting around his oversize stall, even though the gate still bore a plaque with his name.

“Victoria sold him,” Sam said. He had caught up with Adri and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Squeezed briefly and then let go. “Sheer black like that? He was worth a mint.”

Adri struggled to find words. Liam had purchased the horse when David turned sixteen. Bard was bought on auction, a promising colt with a pedigree that could be traced back to a series of Supreme Champion sires and dams in Egypt. His bloodlines guaranteed lucrative breeding options, but Liam hadn't gifted Bard to sire foals. He bought him to teach David a lesson.

“He called me a cheeky sonofabitch and said I needed to learn a thing or two about respect.” David had laughed when he shared the story with The Five. “He wouldn't buy me a car until I learned to ride the stallion.”

“How hard can it be?” Will had asked, reaching over the gate to tug at Bard's forelock. But the horse threw back his head and bared his teeth, whinnying so loudly that the stable echoed with the sound. He trotted a few circle eights in his stall just to show them the dark ripple of muscle and the arch in his long, aggressive neck.

“Pretty hard,” David said. He was the only person who hadn't leaped back from the stall, and he leaned with his arm lightly on the gate. Even so, Adri could see that his back was rigid, his shoulders tight and ready for action. “When you ride a stallion, you have to remember that he's in charge. You don't break a stallion, he breaks you. I figure my dad bought an expensive horse to raise me instead of doing it himself.”

“Didn't work very well.” Harper curled herself against David, her mouth just grazing the curve of his ear, and mock-­whispered, “You're still a cheeky sonofabitch.”

“Nah. I just know how to play the person in charge.” David winked at her.

Bard was calming down and Will dared to take a few steps back toward the stall in an attempt to reclaim some of his dignity. “I thought poets and playwrights were supposed to be dull and bookish.”

David laughed. “Bard isn't named for Shakespeare. His name is Arabic. They all are. Amira is the princess, Hasana, kind, and Farah means happiness.”

“What does Bard mean?” Jackson asked.

“Cold. Because he's a coldhearted snake.”

But he wasn't. Not really. Big and powerful and intimidating, yes. But not cold. Adri had ridden him once, only because she was so angry she was half hoping one of them would be killed. And when he ran beneath her, the stallion was so hot that it
hurt to grip him. Or maybe her legs just burned with the strain of holding on.

It was a harrowing memory. And yet, Adri stared at his empty stall, the molding hay piled in one corner and the scuff marks along the wide planks, and wished that she had saddled him up more than that one awful time.

“I'm sorry,” Sam said. “I should have told you. I guess I just figured you would've suspected as much.”

“I did,” Adri nodded. “I knew he'd be gone.”

“That doesn't make it any easier,” Sam finished. Then, turning, he motioned in the direction of the far corner stall. “If it helps . . .”

Mateo was the only bastard of the bunch, a gorgeous blue roan that Victoria had purchased because he was the most beautiful gelding she had ever seen. She didn't learn until after she brought him home that the classic roan gene does not appear in her husband's beloved Arabians, and the mottled, silvering effect that she adored was evidence of his disreputable heritage. Liam suspected there was quarter horse in Mateo's blood, or worse, Tennessee Walker. After that disheartening discovery, no one paid Mateo much mind. Until Adri started hanging around the estate.

“Hey.” Adri's mouth tilted in a half-smile and she crossed the aisle to take Mateo's face in her hands. His lips flapped at her fingers, and just as she wished that she had brought something for him, Sam handed her a sugar cube.

“I stuck some in my pocket before I left for the airport,” he said with an innocent shrug.

“Thanks.” Adri offered Mateo the sweet and he snatched it out of her hand instantly. The short whiskers on his muzzle prickled against her palm as he swallowed and searched for more. When Mateo realized there was none, he let out a short, deep whinny, then gave up and contented himself with nuzzling Adri's chest. It was almost as if he remembered her. But that was impossible. Five years had gone by since she had seen
him last, because her homecomings had never included a trip to Piperhall. Adri simply couldn't summon the courage. Now, Mateo was middle-aged, nothing like the young adult he had been when Adri first rode him. Back then, he had flowed like water, bubbled up and out and away even as she did everything in her power to control him. Mateo looked like he'd need coaxing to gallop now.

They had stayed on the estate many weekends, The Five, and, in the beginning at least, spent as much time on horseback as they did in the pool or hot tub. On warm days in the fall and spring, they'd do homework on the lawn and then ride before supper. Afterward, a swim to cool off or a dip in the hot tub to relax tired muscles. Early on, Adri had claimed Mateo as her own and no one contested her choice. David, of course, rode Bard and the other three took turns with the sisters. Will had a soft spot for Hasana, but only because she lived up to her name and was endearingly gentle-spirited.

Later, when the others grew tired of horseback riding, Harper began to throw small parties at the estate. Liam was long buried by then—a man who existed only in photographs and in the chill that crept down Adri's spine when she found herself alone in the grand, old mansion—and Victoria was retreating into herself, an odd but elegantly aging woman who deferred to her son as the head of the household even though David wasn't exactly the responsible sort. He had it in him, anyone could see that from a mile away, but in his college years he seemed eager to savor every last morsel of youth, and he lived hard and drove fast and drank altogether too much Scotch from his father's extensive collection of costly, dark bottles.

And so David and Harper threw parties of the Great Gatsby kind, and populated Piperhall with various groups of people who drifted the scant miles from ATU's campus in the heart of Blackhawk to gawk at the Galloway fortune. Harper liked theme parties, beach-styled luaus by the pool when it was hot, and elegant soirees that spilled from the dining room to the
loggia and were lit by candlelight when the stars came out. Once, there was even a 1920s-themed murder mystery, and Harper set it up so that she and David played the part of a chic, enviable couple, the hosts of the glitteringly ominous event.