She slowed. Since it was the weekend, the parking lot was nearly empty. She glanced at the doorway to the offices and the loft; she’d expected to see police tape across it, but there was none. Maybe the cops had already gathered all their clues. Then something else caught her eye. Parked in the back of the lot was a large white van. Lauren squinted to get a closer look. The side of the van read Raisinette Productions.

The documentary?

Lauren wrenched the wheel and veered into the property before she lost her nerve. There was a woman leaning against the van, her head down, tapping on her cell phone. She had thick blond bangs and wore high-waisted pants and hipster sneakers. Lauren turned off the engine, got out, and started toward her.

“Hello?” Lauren said, and the woman looked up. She took a few steps closer. “I’m sorry, is this documentary still . . . happening?” It seemed like they’d put it on hold, all things considered.

The woman lowered her phone. “Hi, yeah, we’re just getting started. I’m just taking some shots around the campus today.”

“But . . . Piper.” It felt strange to say Piper’s name aloud.

“They wouldn’t let us into the hospital to see her.” The woman offered her hand. “I’m Kelsey. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I’m . . . a mom,” Lauren said, shaking. Maybe it was better not to give her name. “My son is in the nursery. Why wouldn’t they let you see Piper?”

“HIPAA rules. Visitation for someone in her condition is family only. Or something.”

“She has a son.” Lauren felt a twinge of regret. She’d thought about Piper’s son over the past two days. The kid was twelve, thirteen? Were there people in Piper’s world looking after him? “Do you know if he’s okay?”

“I haven’t met him yet, but I am sure he is in good hands. Piper always seemed really organized.” Then a conflicted expression crossed Kelsey’s face. It seemed like she wanted to say more but thought better of it.

“The parents haven’t been told anything. There’s a lot of confusion,” Lauren tried.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s really scary.” Kelsey smiled benignly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—”

“I like your hat,” Lauren interrupted, suddenly noticing the logo on the brim of the ball cap Kelsey was wearing. It was a familiar logo from Lauren’s game-design days. “Taco Builder, right?”

Kelsey touched her hat, then smiled. “Oh God, yeah. I wear this just to shade my face from the sun. That used to be my favorite game. I won a contest, actually in college—highest score. I was paid five hundred bucks.”

Lauren crossed her arms. “What if I told you I helped develop that game?”

“No shit!” Kelsey grinned and appraised Lauren closer. “You design any others?”