Fifty-Two: Pierce

FIFTY-TWO

PIERCE

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The Most Dangerous Eighth Seed Ever

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T oday’s top headlines needed to be framed and hung high in the arena. Minus that last one, of course.

The home games were sold out, and our new merch was selling like hotcakes.

At home, life was finally becoming smoother, thanks to Nanny Rivers.

A real-life Mary Poppins, she was prompt, professional, and prone to burst into song at any moment.

She was also utterly impervious to my sarcasm.

The twins took to her enthusiasm and endless songs with ease. Olivia was still on the fence about her, but she seemed to accept her presence.

Yet, something was missing.

Well, someone.

Harlow’s laughter and playtime were still woven into our daily routines, and as much as I wanted to deny it, we weren’t the same without her.

I rolled over in bed and reached for Harlow.

My hand caught a handful of pillow feathers instead.

Screw this.

Sitting up, I grabbed my phone and called her.

“The number you’ve reached is no longer in service!” A robotic voice yelled. “ Please check the number you dialed and try again.”

Maybe she blocked me, too.

I pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt and searched for Miss Rivers.

“Good evening, Mr. Dawson.” She waved from the parlor. “Something wrong?”

“A lot of things are wrong.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She frowned. “Would you like me to sing a song to make it better?”

“Do you honestly think singing solves real-world problems?”

“I believe the world would have far less problems, if we all sang together more often.”

You’re lucky you’re good at your job.

“I need to leave and check on someone—I mean, something,” I said. “Can you stay here for an extra two hours?”

“Absolutely, sir.” She patted my shoulder. “But before you go, can I say something?”

“As long as it’s not in song .”

“Please just rememberrr,” she sang anyway. “If you ever have problemmms … A little music can solve ‘emmm!”

Jesus Christ .

I grabbed my coat and headed for the elevator.

I made it to Harlow’s place in twenty minutes flat.

Throwing on my hazard lights, I jumped out and approached the door.

A yellow note clung to the bricks.

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I rang the doorbell, and the door swung open within seconds.

“Well, hello there.” An older woman smiled. “May I help you with something, sir?”

“I’m looking for Harlow Hawthorne,” I said. “Is she here?”

“I don’t know anyone by that name. Are you sure you’re at the right place?”

“She lived here a few weeks ago.” I didn’t mention that I saw her when I drove by. “Surely you saw her before you came in.”

“I’m here to clean up.” She threw up gloved hands. “That’s all I was hired to do.”

“Can I come in and check for myself?”

“Would you let a stranger randomly walk inside and check your apartment?”

That’s fair . I pulled a business card from my pocket.

“Can you give this to whoever hired you and have them call me, please?”

She nodded, and I returned to my car.

I tried Harlow’s number again, hoping the ‘wrong number’ message was just a fluke, but the robotic voice served me the same words.