Would taking one of Scott’s sushi rolls be read as a signal of some kind by one or both of the men? Oh, what the heck, she decided. She was going to have one, and they could fight it out if they wanted. Piper chose a delicious-looking tuna roll and thanked Scott, passing the container back to him.
“I’d love to try one,” Aunt Judy said, which surprised Piper. Uncle Frank passed, which didn’t surprise her, and Scott grabbed one for himself, glancing back at Piper with a grin that could have been taken to mean so many different things that Piper didn’t want to even think about it.
The crowd cheered as the Cloverdale goalie blocked a kick, and Piper turned her attention back to the game. However, it soon wandered back to Raffaele Conti. The television crew had moved on, and he was strolling along the sideline, watching the players but also talking animatedly to those around him. Piper leaned toward Aunt Judy and pointed him out, giving his name.
“Gil told me he lived here years ago as an exchange student,” she said. “Do you remember him?”
Aunt Judy stared for several moments. “Why, yes. Yes, I do!” She nudged her husband. “You remember Raffaele, don’t you? Back when Gerald was in high school? That’s him!”
Uncle Frank looked over at Conti, recognition gradually dawning. He nodded. “Hasn’t changed much.”
“No,” Aunt Judy agreed. “Except for the touch of gray in his hair, which only adds distinction. He was always a good-looking boy.”
“I’ve seen him around at my hotel,” Scott said. “The whole team’s staying at the Cloverton.”
“Are they?” Aunt Judy said, looking at Scott with interest. “I hope they haven’t been rowdy.”
“No, not at all. In fact, I shared a table with a couple of the players at breakfast. Practiced a bit of my Italian, though I have to admit my Spanish is a lot better.”
Piper heard Will cough, but when she glanced at him he seemed absorbed by the game.
“Very friendly guys,” Scott went on. “And one of them, Frederico, I think his name was, seemed quite taken by that girl who came into your shop the other day, Piper.”
“Miranda?”
“Right. Apparently there was some kind of welcoming party. Frederico had a lot of questions about her, which I couldn’t answer, of course, except to say that she’s the daughter of one of the coaches. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Piper nodded. Miranda was indeed the daughter of the Cloverdale assistant coach, Gerald Standley. Did Miranda return Frederico’s interest? Piper wondered, and if so, how would her father feel about that? Probably a nonissue, she decided, since the team would be moving on in a few days.
She glanced back at the sideline. A bigger issue, she thought, might be the fact that Raffaele Conti was now speaking with Gerald Standley’s wife, Denise, and from the look of it, in a rather flirtatious way. If Aunt Judy thought Conti hadn’t changed much over the years, Piper guessed she would say the same about Denise Standley, who had a decidedly youthful appearance with her slim figure and pretty face.
Denise Standley didn’t appear to be flirting back and instead leaned away from Conti. She took a step back as though ready to leave, but Conti moved forward, taking her elbow as he continued talking.
Where was Gerald? Was he seeing this? Piper glanced around, but before she could find him, Scott pushed his box of sushi her way once more.
“Another spicy tuna?”
The Cloverdale team scored a goal and the spectators rose en masse with a roar. By the time things settled down, Raffaele Conti had joined his team’s coach beside their sidelined members, and Denise Standley stood with her husband, Gerald, near their team bench.
Miranda Standley appeared in a line of girls in gold and black cheerleading outfits, all shaking pom-poms. They led the crowd in a rousing cheer full of rhythmic claps and stamps, and Piper smiled and relaxed.
All, she felt sure, was fine. At least, she added, for the moment.
5
The Cloverdale All-Stars lost, the game ending with a heartbreaking, last-minute score of 4 to 3. But during the postgame analysis exchanged during the walk to the parking lot and beyond, the team’s supporters agreed that Cloverdale had made an excellent showing, had identified the weaknesses of the Bianconeri team, and would come back with a strong win the following night.
In that optimistic mood, Piper and her friends belted out several rounds of the fight song over foaming mugs of beer at O’Hara’s, enough so that when she opened up her shop on Saturday morning, Piper found that the tune had taken up residence in her brain. In an effort to dislodge it, she clicked on her radio, hoping for something a little less rousing to sip her coffee to.
Instead of music, however, a lively male voice flowed out of the speaker. Piper recognized it as belonging to Chet Morgan, host of a morning talk show that originated in Rochester but which often covered local events in nearby towns, including Cloverdale. She was about to switch the station when her phone rang, so she went to answer the call.
“Good morning, dear!” Aunt Judy, a lifelong morning person, cheerily greeted her. “I just wanted to let you know I picked up your cold pack last night. You left it under your seat.” Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank had declined the invitations to join everyone at O’Hara’s after the game, pleading fatigue, and had lingered at their seats to chat with a friend as the others left.
“Ah! I forgot all about that cold pack! Thanks, Aunt Judy. I remember taking it out of my tote to get at the food and never thought about it again.”
“I can drop it off later today if you’ll need it soon,” Aunt Judy offered.
“No need. I have another. If you’re coming to tonight’s game, use it for your own bag of nibbles.”
“I will. Will you be there, too?”
“Definitely! I can’t miss seeing if Cloverdale will even the score with that band of marauders.”
Aunt Judy laughed. “You make the Bianconeri team sound like a bunch of pirates.”
“They were called worse last night at O’Hara’s. All in good spirit, of course.”
“Of course. Well, I’ll let you go. See you tonight!”
Piper hung up, smiling as she thought of the good time of the night before. Much to her surprise she had enjoyed a sport she’d previously lacked enthusiasm for, even when playing it herself. It was amazing what a difference good players could make, such as the semiprofessional Bianconeri facing the college-level Cloverdale All-Stars.
Of course, some of her interest had come from the people on the sidelines. After the drama she’d witnessed between the team manager, Raffaele Conti, and Gerald Standley during the Italian team’s arrival, and then learning of the history between the two men, she couldn’t help but keep a curious eye on the two, who never came within twenty feet of each other.
Then later, as she and Will were driving out of the parking lot, Piper caught sight of Gerald’s daughter, Miranda, chatting with one of the Bianconeri team members. She’d wondered if that was the “Frederico” that Scott had mentioned, the one who’d expressed a strong interest in the pretty young woman after meeting her at the welcoming party. All Piper could say for sure was that the Italian player was very attractive with his dark curls and athletic build, and that Miranda didn’t appear to be in much of a hurry to move on.
Chet Morgan’s voice coming from her radio snapped Piper back to the present, and she stepped over to change to her favorite semiclassical station. As she reached for the dial, though, she heard Morgan welcome his guest for that morning—Raffaele Conti. Piper raised the volume instead.
After a brief description of the ongoing tournament, Morgan began his interview. “Mr. Conti—”
“Raffaele, please,” Conti interrupted. “And let me say, too, how delighted I am to be here, Chet.” Conti’s accent was slight but enough to add a definite spice to his speech.
“Raffaele, then,” Morgan responded cheerfully. �
��Congratulations, first of all, on your team’s win last night.”
“Thank you! It was a close fight, but I am happy we managed to persevere.” Instead of stopping there as Piper expected, he then added, “But I’m not surprised.”
“You’re not?”
“We are Bianconeri. Italians! Our young players have football, or as you call it here, soccer, in their blood.”
“So you feel the Cloverdale team had no chance against your team?”
“Well . . .” Conti laughed deprecatingly. “Cloverdale has very good players, very good.” His tone seemed to suggest otherwise to Piper, which Morgan apparently picked up on, too, as he wisely decided to move on.
He asked Conti about the makeup of his team, and Conti discussed several of his players in glowing terms. When he mentioned Frederico Esposito, Piper thought he might be the player she’d seen Miranda talking to. Conti called Frederico his top player. They then discussed the Bianconeri team’s upcoming schedule, after which Morgan touched on Conti’s background.
“I understand this isn’t your first time in our area, that you actually spent some time here as a youth?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right.” Conti said.
“And that you played soccer while you were here?”
“I did. Of course, it wasn’t anything like playing back in my hometown in Italy, but it was very interesting. I like to think I brought something to that high school team.”
“I’m sure you did. I did a bit of checking in our archives, and it looked like you were the star player for Cloverdale High School back then.”
“Well . . .” A noncommittal chuckle.
“How does it feel to be back now? Have you run into old friends?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Many. It’s been good, very good.”
Piper had seen Conti talking with only Denise Standley during the game, and she appeared uncomfortable and anxious to move on.
“And the town, has it changed much?”
At that, Conti laughed broadly. “In some ways, of course, yes. But after all these years, it still needs to work on its pizza! Our first day in Cloverdale, we go to Carlo’s for the pizza pie. Sounds Italian, right? Well, Carlo, it turns out, has never been anywhere near my country, and what he brings us was, well, it was disappointing, yes, but the worst thing was . . .” Conti cleared his throat. “Let’s just say that maybe the health inspector should drop in to take a look around?” Conti chuckled.
“Last night, to celebrate our win, we go outside of town to a place called La Trattoria, where we hope to find real pizza along with clean tables—which we did! And who owns it? A German named Burkhart! But I think his mother must have been Italian.” Conti laughed heartily, but Piper didn’t hear Morgan joining in. Instead he hurriedly thanked Conti for his time and sent the show to commercial.
Piper’s eyebrows had arched with Conti’s first comments and remained that way through most of the broadcast. Conti surely hadn’t won any friends with that interview. She could see why he might want to put down Cloverdale’s team—possibly to stir more ticket sales by riling up the local team’s supporters. But then to bash one of its restaurants? Piper didn’t know if Carlo’s pizza was authentic or not, but the place had seemed perfectly clean when Will took her there once. She hoped Carlo, and most of Cloverdale for that matter, hadn’t been listening.
The phone rang, and Piper turned the radio down.
“Miss Lamb? You had a question about one of our spices?” It was one of Piper’s suppliers; she’d left an inquiry with them the day before. She spent the next few minutes discussing the sources of their ginger along with the price. By the time she’d finished, the Chet Morgan show had ended, and Piper switched to the soothing music she’d sought earlier.
Piper was in her back room, getting a batch of white pearl onions ready to pickle along with Gerald Standley’s fresh dill, when she heard her front door open. Wiping her hands on a towel, she went out to find Emma Leahy, who looked highly indignant.
“Did you hear Chet Morgan’s show?” Emma asked. Her short salt-and-pepper hair looked to have been raked through with impatience.
“I did, at least most of it. Did it get any worse after they went to commercial?”
“That horrible Italian! Suggesting Carlo’s had health code violations? Outrageous! Maybe one of Conti’s people called him during the commercial. Who knows? But he spent the rest of the interview trying to fix what he’d said about our pizzeria. To my mind he only made things worse. The man doesn’t seem capable of saying anything good without it being some kind of put-down.”
“That’s how he sounded when he talked about the Cloverdale team,” Piper agreed.
Emma Leahy was about Aunt Judy’s age, so Piper asked if she remembered Conti from his time at the high school.
“I didn’t at first. But then Joanie, my oldest, reminded me who he was when we spoke on the phone. Joanie lives in Pittsburgh now,” she explained. “She was at the school the year he was there, but she was pretty heavily involved in the drama club and didn’t mingle with the sports crowd all that much. Luckily for her, I’d say now, looking back. She’s a sensible girl, but who knows if at that age she might have been overly impressed by the boy.” She paused. “Like Denise Standley was.”
“Denise?”
Emma nodded. “She was young then, of course, and I’m sure Raffaele Conti must have seemed very exciting to her, you know, coming from another country and all, not to mention his good looks and all the attention he was getting as a soccer star. But she and Gerald had been an item for some time. Joanie said Gerald was crushed when that Italian stole her away. Obviously, they got back together, eventually, but it must have been hard for a while.”
“I’m sure it was.” Gerald Standley’s attitude toward Raffaele Conti suddenly made a lot more sense to Piper. A rivalry over a major spot on the team could be intense but short-lived. But stealing away the love of one’s life? That would be much more difficult to forget, Piper guessed, much less forgive.
Emma stepped over to Piper’s spice section, saying, “As long as I’m here . . .” and began browsing, eventually picking out a jar of cumin and one of turmeric. “I always seem to find something I need when I’m here,” she said. “Your spices are so much better than the supermarket’s.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Piper said as she rang them up. “I go to some trouble to find the best for the price.”
After Emma took off, Piper returned to her dilled-onion project. She had peeled about half of the onions when Amy showed up for her shift.
“Hey, I thought I was going to do that,” Amy protested cheerfully. She took off her light sweater and tossed it in a corner, replacing it with a clean apron.
“These lovely white things were calling to me,” Piper said. “Along with the aromatic dill heads over there.”
Amy laughed. “That’s what you always say. If it’s not pearl onions, it’s cucumbers, or apples, or cranberries, or whatever you happen to have! How you manage to sleep at night I’ll never know, what with all the ‘calling’ that must be going on in here.” She got busy measuring the vinegar, sugar, salt, and water that Piper would soon simmer her onions in.
“That was a fun time last night, wasn’t it?” Amy said as she worked.
“It was.”
“And interesting, watching Will watching Scott as he watched you,” Amy said with a grin.
Piper rolled her eyes. “I wish the suggestion to head over to O’Hara’s hadn’t been spread quite so broadly.”
“He would have found us anyway,” Amy said. She stirred her vinegar solution and set the large pot on the burner to heat. “And, you know, O’Hara’s is a public place, just like the stadium. It was funny how he wormed his way to sit right in front of you at the game.”
“Hilarious,” Piper deadpanned. Figuring it was time to change the subject, she told Amy
about Raffaele Conti’s radio interview.
“Wow, that’s a shame that he dissed Carlo’s.”
“I know. I hope the poor guy didn’t hear it.”
“He didn’t need to be listening. He’ll learn about it, eventually. He isn’t Italian, by the way. Mr. Conti was right about that. His name is actually Carl. Carl Ehlers. And no Italian mother either, as far as I know. But I never saw anything that hinted at a health code violation, and believe me I’m aware of such things. Mr. Ehlers bought the pizzeria a couple of years ago, and he makes a good pizza. But the impression I got from friends who’ve worked there is that he might be struggling financially.”
“Well, I’ve heard there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but I’m not sure it applies to restaurants,” Piper said as she scooped her onion peelings into the waste bin. She got an idea. “Why don’t we all go there after tonight’s game?”
Amy shook her head regretfully. “I’m working at A La Carte tonight, remember? Nate, too. But I can suggest it to Erin and Megan.”
“Do that. I think Will would go for it.” Was there a way to keep Scott out of the picture? Piper wondered. Carl Ehlers might appreciate one more patron at his pizzeria, but Piper wouldn’t mind a bit if Scott instead decided to follow Raffaele Conti’s recommendation and head out of town for “authentic” pizza.
From Scott’s actions of the evening before, however, Piper suspected the chances of that were slim.
6
Piper’s circle of companions at the game was smaller than the night before. Uncle Frank and Aunt Judy sat beside Will and her, and Erin and Megan had taken seats directly behind. But Amy and Nate were on restaurant duty, and so far there had been no sign of Scott, though Piper wasn’t holding her breath that she’d escape so easily. And Ben, instead of sitting with Erin, had donned his auxiliary officer uniform and was busy helping out Amy’s father, Sheriff Carlyle.
“The sheriff asked him to pitch in on the traffic control,” Erin explained. “But Ben said he’ll also be walking about during the game, you know, just looking out for any problems.”
License to Dill Page 4
