Piper knew how seriously Ben, a desk-bound insurance agent by day, took his volunteer activity, enough to give up enjoying the game next to Erin. Becoming an auxiliary officer gave Ben no official powers, but acting as an extra pair of legs and eyes for the sheriff helped stretch that department’s limited manpower. Sheriff Carlyle obviously thought highly of the young man’s drive and financial stability and had, Piper thought, once considered him excellent son-in-law material. Amy, however, quickly made clear her own thoughts on the matter as she happily settled into a relationship with her struggling musician.
“We’re saving Ben a place,” Erin said, patting the space between Megan and herself, “in case he can take a break.”
“Sandwich, anyone?” Aunt Judy asked the group.
Piper declined, having had time for dinner before being picked up by Will. Erin and Megan shook their heads.
“I’ll take one,” Will said, and chose a roast beef sandwich from Aunt Judy’s bountiful cache. Aware of Will’s strong leanings toward familiar foods, Piper wasn’t surprised, but she was also working to expand Will’s tastes a bit. She’d brought along a jar of the apple and red onion marmalade that she’d cooked up recently to spread on slices of crusty bread along with a bit of cheese. Will had already gamely, though tentatively, tried it and admitted he liked it. So there was hope for the man, though Piper doubted he’d ever give anything like sushi a try—especially after the production Scott made of it the night before.
The crowd settled down, and Piper was reaching into her tote for an apple cider drink when the teams trotted onto the field to enthusiastic cheers. Lacking the welcoming ceremony of the night before, there was a feel of “getting down to business,” with the Cloverdale All-Stars and their fans clearly aching to redeem themselves after the previous night’s loss.
Gerald Standley took his place on the sideline beside the team’s head coach, both of the men wearing grim, determined looks, but Piper didn’t see Denise Standley. She might be simply sitting in the stands with friends, Piper knew, but it still was surprising not to see her beside her husband as she’d been during the first game. Knowing now what she did about the history between Denise and Raffaele Conti, Piper hoped there wasn’t a personal reason for the glower on Gerald Standley’s face.
“Oh, there’s Ben,” Erin cried, and Piper followed her gaze to see Ben strolling at the base of the stands, thumbs looped over his auxiliary officer belt as he scanned the crowd with an intense “Dirty Harry” squint. Then he spotted Erin, and a little-boy grin lit up his face. Ben waved, then glanced around with an air of embarrassment before resuming his authoritative attitude.
Piper suddenly caught sight of Scott wandering along the same walkway and scanning the crowd. Piper had dressed in grays and browns that evening, hoping to be much less conspicuous than she’d been the night before. She knew she’d agreed to remain friends with the man, but at the time she’d assumed that meant sharing an occasional pleasant greeting as they passed on the street, not spending one evening after another in his company. She held her breath as Scott passed in front of their section and let it out as he continued on by, her camouflage apparently working. Then she saw him walk over to Ben.
No, no, no, she silently mouthed. But Ben became the helpful (though unofficial) policeman as he raised an arm to point in her direction. Piper’s hands shot up to her face as though to shade her eyes. She saw through her fingers, though, that she’d been too late, as Scott retraced his steps and trotted up the aisle toward her.
“Hey, there!” he cried. “We meet again!”
“Hello, Scott!” Aunt Judy responded cheerily. “I wondered if you weren’t coming! The game’s already started.”
Piper was going to have a serious talk with Aunt Judy about her hospitable attitude toward Piper’s ex-fiancé.
“I had to hustle,” Scott answered her aunt, “since the time with my Realtor ran a bit late.”
Piper, who’d noticed Scott once again had his backpack with him, managed a weak smile in greeting. Will grunted, having just ripped a huge chunk from his sandwich with his teeth.
“Mind if I squeeze in?” Scott asked Erin, already swinging down his backpack and easing into the row behind Piper. Erin, ever polite, slid toward Megan to make room, though she looked somewhat distressed to lose the space she’d hoped Ben would fill.
“Realtor?” Aunt Judy said over her shoulder. “How exciting. Living quarters or office space?”
“Office. And,” he added, “I looked at a nice little place right down the block from your shop, Piper.”
Will choked on his food, and Aunt Judy helpfully pounded on his back.
“You did?” Piper asked, once Will had settled down.
“Right next to an orthopedist’s office. Good location, huh? Get patched up by the doc for your accidental fall, then come next door and talk to me about suing. One-stop shopping.” Scott laughed heartily.
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on much business of that kind,” Aunt Judy said, though Piper saw Uncle Frank’s lip curl upward just a bit at the comment.
“Just joking,” Scott assured her. “I don’t intend to be an ambulance chaser. Though in a town this size, I know I’ll need to be open to handling a broad range of cases. No specializing.”
The crowd roared, and everyone’s attention snapped forward. Cloverdale had blocked a Bianconeri attempt at a goal.
“That number twelve on the Italian team is pretty good,” Megan said. She then grinned. “But our goalie is better.”
“Number twelve,” Scott said. “That’s Frederico, the guy I was talking to at the hotel.”
Piper searched the field for number twelve to see if she would recognize him as the player she’d seen chatting with Miranda Standley.
Megan saved her the trouble, saying, “Frederico! That’s who was with Miranda this afternoon. I ran into them near the Italian ice stand in the park. She said she was showing him the town.” Megan clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oops, I forgot. She asked me not to say anything. She didn’t want that to get back to her dad.”
“Why on earth not?” Aunt Judy asked. “What could be more innocent or thoughtful than spending a little time in the afternoon with a visitor, especially when the poor young man is so far from home?”
“I don’t know,” Megan admitted. “But she seemed to think her dad wouldn’t like it. Maybe because he’s on the rival team?”
“That seems rather extreme,” Scott said, but Piper thought she could imagine Gerald Standley’s feelings, which might stem from his experience with Raffaele Conti. Unfair, of course, to Frederico. She wondered how much Miranda knew of her father’s old grievance.
Thinking about Raffaele Conti, Piper scanned the field, looking for him. With no television crew to pull him away that night, she quickly spotted him pacing behind the Bianconeri players’ bench. As she watched, he went up to the team’s coach and appeared to argue with him. Piper figured a team manager had authority over the coach but wondered if that included overriding strategy during a game, since that’s what Conti seemed to be attempting as he gestured toward the field. The coach was shaking his head and his body language telegraphed anger. Eventually he walked away from Conti, still shaking his head.
Will noticed Piper watching the two and leaned closer. “That Conti fellow,” he said, “has been stirring up more than one pot since he got here.”
“You mean from his comments on the radio this morning?”
“That, yes, but the interview also clued in a few of his old classmates who hadn’t been aware that Raffaele Conti was in town. Female classmates. They apparently were fairly swooning over him in the hotel lobby this afternoon. You’d think Elvis had returned, from what I was told.”
When Piper grinned at the image, Will added, “That might not have been a big deal if Conti handled it better, but he ate it up and flirted right back pretty outrageously. This didn�
�t go down well with one or two of the husbands, as you can guess.”
Piper was about to ask which husbands in particular when an open box of candy with Scott’s hand on it was suddenly wriggled between her and Will. “Piper,” he said, “look what I got! I stumbled upon an amazing candy shop today when Stan Yeager and I were out office shopping and remembered how much you liked peanut butter meltaways. So I ran in and picked up a box. Help yourself.”
Piper saw that the box came from Charlotte’s Chocolates and Confections, a shop Piper hadn’t yet visited because of its prickly owner, who’d given her trouble since day one. Which was a shame, since by all accounts Charlotte Hosch made totally wonderful fudge and candies. Looking into the box of meltaways, Piper groaned internally. The chocolate-covered, velvety-smooth candies were indeed her favorite sweet indulgence. Though she noticed Will staring ahead stiffly, there was no way Piper could turn down Scott’s offer, insidious though she recognized it to be.
She reached into the box with a restrained “thank you,” then tried not to moan as the candy touched her taste buds.
Scott grinned, then held the candy out to the others—Erin, Megan, and Aunt Judy each happily taking one. He popped a piece into his own mouth. “Hey, not bad. Maybe even better than that place we used to go to in Albany. Piper, remember when—”
A sudden roar from the crowd thankfully drowned Scott out, and Piper looked onto the field to see the Cloverdale team celebrating a goal.
“Woo-hoo!” Megan crowed, pumping a fist, and Piper kicked herself for missing the big moment. She became determined to pay more attention to the game and less to the temptations around her.
The teams regrouped on the field, and Piper noticed Conti once more berating his coach. He then walked over to one of his players and had a long discussion. A glance toward the Bianconeri coach showed him to be pointedly ignoring Conti while calling out encouragements to his team.
The game progressed, and Bianconeri scored a goal, eliciting groans from the Cloverdale crowd. As consolation, more food was shared within Piper’s group. Piper, summoning up her willpower, turned down a second meltaway from Scott but accepted a homemade brownie from Aunt Judy to make up for it.
For the rest of the first half and much of the second, the ball traveled up and down the field with little result. Goals were attempted but blocked, and the clock ticked closer to the end of the match.
“What happens if it’s tied?” Erin asked. “Will they go to overtime?”
Several voices around her answered at once, explaining the ten-minute, sudden-death overtime procedure.
“Too bad it can’t just end in a draw,” Aunt Judy said. “With no one coming out the loser.”
Piper doubted Raffaele Conti would be satisfied without a clear win. A glance his way, though, showed him looking surprisingly calm as he stood near his team.
“Ooh-ooh, we have the ball,” Megan cried. “Go, go, go!”
The Cloverdale players passed and maneuvered expertly down the field, moving steadily toward their goal. Then they were surrounded by Bianconeri players, who struggled to take the ball back. Piper lost sight of who had what for several moments in the crush of players. Suddenly a whistle blew and all play stopped. The referee ran over and players spread apart, all except one black-and-white-uniformed player who writhed on the field, clutching his leg.
“Who is it? Is it number twelve? Frederico?” Megan asked.
“No,” Scott said. “I see Frederico. He’s okay.”
The group could hear the cries of pain all the way from the field, and Aunt Judy pressed her hand to her lips in worry. They watched in silence as trainers, coaches, and assistants came to examine the injured player, then a stretcher was brought to carry the young man to the side.
“Oh, that poor boy,” Aunt Judy cried. “What will happen now?”
“Bianconeri gets a penalty kick. He’s claimed a foul,” Uncle Frank answered.
“No, I meant with the boy! Did he break something? He sounds in terrible pain.”
“Let’s wait and see. There’s people looking after him,” Uncle Frank said. “Right now we’re in danger of losing the game.”
“Frank!” Aunt Judy said disapprovingly, but the attention of all had refocused on the penalty kicker.
“No, no, no,” Megan pleaded softly, and Piper held her breath as the black-and-white-uniformed player ran toward the ball. He kicked hard, the Cloverdale goalie dove toward it, and . . . missed!
“They scored!” Scott said.
“We lost,” Will muttered, and Piper heard the groans and felt the deflation of an entire stadium of spectators.
Raffaele Conti, however, was jubilant, as was his entire team. A glance toward the injured Bianconeri player showed even him to be celebrating, having miraculously risen from his stretcher to bounce on one foot. Was the leg he held up, his left one, the one he’d injured? Piper asked herself. She seemed to remember it was his right. Or was she mistaken?
That, however, was the same question a lot of others around Piper were asking.
“That guy took a dive!” she heard someone say in disgust.
“The ref must be blind,” another cried. “Our guys never touched him!”
“It’s actually fairly common in Italian football to fake fouls,” Scott said, leaning toward Piper.
“They’re not in Italy now,” Will said over his shoulder. “It’s a crummy way to win.”
“It happens everywhere,” Scott insisted. “All kinds of fouls. The saying is ‘if the ref didn’t see it, it didn’t happen.’ Or in this case, I suppose it’d be ‘if I scream loud enough, the ref has to believe it.’”
Piper didn’t comment, but she was surprised to see Bianconeri resort to such tactics, assuming it was true. They were a good team, and the matches were exhibition. Apparently Raffaele Conti hated to lose, no matter what. The Cloverdale coach, she saw, was walking over to shake hands. Gerald Standley, however, could be seen rapidly striding the other way.
The group headed to Carlo’s for pizza, as planned. Scott managed to tag along once again, counting, Piper was sure, on everyone’s good manners, especially in front of Aunt Judy. It worked this time, but Piper resolved it would be the last time. She would definitely have a private talk with her relatives and friends on the subject and, if needed, a second serious talk with Scott.
The mood, when the group arrived, was much less lively than it had been the night before, though the owner, Carlo, or rather Carl, was definitely pleased to see them.
“Welcome!” The middle-aged, fair-haired but balding, clearly non-Italian “Carlo” greeted them, his smile just a bit strained and overeager. Piper could understand why. The place, unlike the last time she’d been there, was more than half empty. She didn’t know if that was due to Conti’s remarks on the radio or just a general disinclination of disgruntled spectators to celebrate after the questionable ending to the game. Either way, Carlo’s business was obviously affected, and as a fellow Cloverdale businessperson, she empathized.
Once they were seated, she and her group did their best to be as upbeat as possible over their pizza and beers, but it was an effort as the conversation kept returning to the probably faked foul that clinched the game for Bianconeri.
Eventually Uncle Frank gave up, though he’d given it a decent amount of time. “Got a few things to do tomorrow,” he claimed, rising and pulling bills from his wallet to leave behind. Aunt Judy gave quick hugs and pats as she eased her way out.
Erin, disappointed that Ben hadn’t been able to join them, was next, and Megan soon followed. That left Scott sitting with Piper and Will, a situation that Will tolerated for about thirty seconds before downing the last of his beer. “Ready?” he asked Piper, who nodded.
“Well,” Scott said with a downturned mouth as they rose, “I guess I’ll just go back to my lonely hotel room.”
“Maybe th
ere’ll be a few Bianconeri players in the hotel bar to talk to,” Will said, pulling out his car keys.
Piper, who would have felt sympathy for anyone else, had none for her ex-fiancé. He was perfectly able to find his own entertainment. “Good night, Scott,” she said. “Good luck with your office shopping.”
The next afternoon, Piper took advantage of her Sunday closing to do a bit of inventory, working at it in a leisurely way. When the phone rang, she almost didn’t answer, thinking it might be a customer query that she could deal with on Monday. But a glance at the caller ID revealed Amy’s name.
“Are you sitting down?” Amy asked when Piper picked up.
“Why?” Piper, who’d been standing to check her supply of canning jars, didn’t immediately reach for a chair. Though she was surprised to hear from her assistant that day, Amy’s tone wasn’t warning of deeply upsetting news, such as anything happening to Aunt Judy or Uncle Frank. It did sound serious, though.
“My dad was called out early this morning.”
“Oh?” Piper decided to ease over to one of her tall stools after all. Anything involving the sheriff was bound to be bad.
“It’s Raffaele Conti.” Amy paused. “He’s dead.”
Piper sucked in her breath. “What happened?” she asked, hoping it would be of natural causes—perhaps a sudden heart attack, or even a car accident, both terrible, of course, but still natural.
“I don’t know many details,” Amy said. “But Conti was found in Gerald Standley’s dill field.”
“The dill field!”
“Right in the middle of it,” Amy said. She then blew away the last of Piper’s hopes. “He was shot.”
7
Piper paced through her empty and shuttered store for several minutes after Amy’s call, thinking over what she’d heard: Raffaele Conti, shot, and in Gerald Standley’s dill field! It was all too much to deal with on her own. She needed help, so she grabbed her purse and keys and headed out to her aunt and uncle’s farm.
License to Dill Page 5
