License to Dill

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Amy brought out the warmed-up pizza on a plate, and Will thanked her, taking a huge bite and chewing as he mulled over what Piper had just shared.

  “There’s lots of conjecture there,” he said after a swallow. “But if you’re right, Carl is looking pretty suspicious.”

  “Plus,” Amy said, “he leaves his pizzeria late on Saturdays and could have been at the dill field when Raffaele Conti got stranded there.”

  “Don Tucker dropped that bit of information after we left Carlo’s,” Piper explained. “We’d been chatting with Crystal until Carl came out front and took over.”

  “Would Carl have overheard anything you wouldn’t want him to?” Will asked, his brow creasing.

  Piper shrugged. “Conti’s radio interview came up, but I’m sure Carl’s heard that talked about ad nauseam.”

  “It’s just”—Will shifted on his seat—“you don’t want to be tipping off the wrong people that you’re checking up on them.”

  Piper thought about Coach Tortorelli’s glare in her direction at the Mariachi, plus her questions to Miranda about Frederico’s visit to the Standley barn, which Miranda might have innocently passed on to the soccer player. Then there was Carl Ehlers’s tight smile and hurry to send them off. Amy looked like she wanted to bring up the anonymous text, but Piper shot her a look.

  “Nothing to worry about,” she assured Will.

  At that point, the shop door opened.

  “Erin!” Amy cried. “How are you?”

  Piper thought Amy’s tone sounded overly anxious, but then she knew what was behind it.

  “I’m fine,” Erin said, looking a bit puzzled. “I just got off work from Dr. Dickerson’s and thought I could walk with you when you head over to A La Carte.” She glanced at the clock. “You’ll be going soon, right?”

  “In about five minutes. That’d be great!”

  Will stood up. “I’m heading back myself and could give you both a lift.”

  “No,” Amy said. “A walk will give us time to catch up on things, right, Erin? We haven’t chatted in ages.”

  “I was here yesterday.”

  “Right! But that was different. I mean girl talk.”

  Piper knew exactly what Amy had in mind and hoped it went well. She liked Erin, too, and though she didn’t totally understand Erin’s feelings for Ben, they were her feelings, and Piper didn’t like to see them cause her heartache.

  Will, Amy, and Erin took off for their destinations, and Piper had a quiet moment—which lasted all of thirty seconds. That was when Emma Leahy walked in.

  “Don Tucker told me you’re suspicious of Carl Ehlers.” Emma was in her usual supercasual gardening clothes, and Piper wondered if she’d been to the Cloverton in them until Emma added, “I just got off the phone with him.”

  “I’m suspicious of several people. Carl’s just one more on the list.” Piper decided not to mention her latest information about Carl, Wendy Prizer, and Conti for the moment.

  “Well, Carl’s likelihood of being out and about at the time Raffaele was shot is something we should all keep in mind,” Emma said, moving around the shop and picking up the occasional item as she spoke. “He had a good reason to be furious with Raffaele after that radio interview.” She grabbed a spice jar to examine, then put it back. “Plus, my daughter, Joanie, reminded me that Raffaele had picked on Carl during that high school year. Kids don’t forget that when they grow up.”

  “They don’t. And it sounded much worse than being picked on. Raffaele was a real bully.” Piper told Emma about the incident in Schenkel’s ice cream and sandwich shop. “Carl took quite a beating, from what I was told, and also lost his bussing job.”

  “I didn’t know about that. I’ll definitely share that with the group tonight. Don won’t be there, though. He’s working.”

  “Yes, I ran into him on his way to the Cloverton. It sounded like he didn’t mind the changeable hours.”

  “Well, he lives alone, of course. I had hoped when Lois died that Robin, his daughter, might move back to Cloverdale.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Somewhere in Maryland. Baltimore, I think. She apparently has a very good job of some kind, so giving it up was not an option, which I can understand with my own Joanie having to move to Pittsburgh. Cloverdale is a great place to live for a lot of reasons, but it can’t offer the more specialized jobs that some of our young people are looking for.”

  Piper’s first thought was regret that Scott’s field of law made it possible for him to relocate so easily. There was always the chance he would change his mind about Cloverdale, though, if his one-man firm didn’t draw enough clients. She wondered how he was getting along with his research assignment for Emma’s little group and felt a twinge of guilt over her little prank, though it served him right for ignoring his promise to give her space. She wondered if she should stop in to see his new office to make up for it—unannounced and with a quick getaway plan—but then scrapped the idea.

  “I’ll take these cumin seeds and paprika,” Emma said, breaking into Piper’s thoughts. “Going to put up some pickled turnips. Have you ever done those?”

  “Yes!” Piper said, happy to be back on familiar and very pleasant ground. “Aunt Judy and I did a bunch at the farm once or twice.”

  “That might be where I got the recipe,” Emma said. “Or maybe I gave it to her. It’s been so long, I can’t remember. All I know is they’re delicious and great with pork.” She handed the jars to Piper, who rang the spices up and bagged them.

  Emma left, and Piper sank down on a stool, hoping to have a longer quiet time than the previous half-minute break. A lot had been happening, and she needed to pull her thoughts together. Visions of Wendy Prizer’s tai chi class came to her, along with the peace-filled expressions on many of the faces. What a great way that seemed to be to decompress. If customers gave her a hard time for having run out of Zanzibar cloves, she could head to the back and do a few minutes of the White Crane for patience. Or if—

  Piper’s phone rang, snapping her out of the virtual exercise. She reached for it with some reluctance.

  “Miss Lamb?” the familiar voice on the other end asked. “Sheriff Carlyle here. I understand you have something to tell me?”

  Piper tried not to sputter as she struggled for a response. “What, ah, what do you mean?”

  “I ran into Amy a few minutes ago. She’s worried about you. And don’t blame her for spilling the beans. I know when my daughter’s bothered by something, and I’m generally pretty good at getting information out of people. So tell me about this threat.”

  “It’s nothing, really. Just someone texting me to stop poking into things.”

  “Things like our recent murder?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose that’s what was meant.”

  “And you don’t know where it came from?”

  “An unknown number.”

  “Hmm. I’d like to come by and see that, if you don’t mind. You saved the text?”

  “Yes, and you’re welcome to check it out, Sheriff, but I don’t know what you can learn from it.”

  “Let me figure that out.”

  Sheriff Carlyle held Piper’s phone in his hand as he studied her worrying text. “Any thoughts as to who might have sent this?”

  Piper shook her head. “I’ve been talking to plenty of people about Raffaele Conti’s murder and asking questions, but I think I’ve been fairly discreet.”

  The sheriff exhaled loudly, and Piper pictured him doing a mental White Crane. “Who have you been talking to?”

  Piper listed the names and watched as he wrote them down in his notebook. “I’ve just been trying to help the Standleys,” she said. “They’re going through a lot because too many think Gerald did it. You don’t, do you, Sheriff?”

  “It’s an ongoing investigation, Piper, which I,” he emphasi
zed the last word, “am conducting. I’m not prepared to make statements as to who is or isn’t under suspicion.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll need your permission to examine your cell phone records,” the sheriff said. “Maybe we can trace that text.”

  “Do you think that’s likely?”

  “Likely? No. Possible, maybe.”

  “Good luck, then.”

  “Let me know if you get any more of these.” When Piper nodded, he added, “And stick to your pickling, would you please?” His voice suddenly softened. “I don’t want to hear about anything worse than a threatening text message in the future.”

  Sheriff Carlyle replaced his hat and strode out the door, not waiting for the assurance from Piper that he probably knew wasn’t going to come.

  “Piper, your dilly beans are done. Turn off the timer!” Emma Leahy was in Piper’s shop kitchen, waving her hands frantically.

  “I can’t. It won’t turn off!”

  “But the beans will disintegrate if you don’t stop that ringing. All two hundred gallons of them! The sheriff will take away your license. You have to turn it off now! Hurry! Hurry!”

  “I’m trying, I’m—” Piper sat up in her bed, blinked, realized where she was, and groggily reached for the cell phone that had been chiming away on her nightstand.

  “Piper?”

  Piper recognized the voice, despite the distress that distorted it. “Miranda, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

  “I’m at the hospital. Frederico was brought here. He’s hurt real bad.” Miranda’s voice choked. “Piper, someone tried to kill him.”

  24

  “How’s the boy doing?” Gil Williams had entered Piper’s Picklings holding his mug of morning coffee. He looked grim.

  Piper was sure her face didn’t look much better after losing several hours of sleep from worry and phone calls. “Not so well. He’s still unresponsive.”

  “Was he not wearing a bike helmet?”

  “He was. But from what I heard, it practically split from the impact against the rock. A witness said Frederico flew off his bike. He probably would have been killed if it weren’t for the helmet.”

  “Thank heavens at least for that.” Gil pulled out one of Piper’s stools and sat down, taking a sip from his mug. “What was he doing out on the highway so late, anyway?”

  “Exercising.” Piper took a seat on the stool beside the cash register on her side of the counter. She’d already had copious amounts of coffee and contented herself with a sip from a water bottle. “Miranda said Frederico’s an avid bike rider. With the soccer team so inactive, he borrowed a bike to keep in shape and work off excess energy.”

  “Was that the first time he did that?”

  Piper knew what Gil was thinking. They both had wondered at one time how Frederico could have made it to Gerald Standley’s farm if he’d been the one to shoot Raffaele Conti. Getting there by bicycle hadn’t occurred to either of them, but they couldn’t ignore the possibility now, though it wasn’t something Piper particularly wanted to think about. Picturing the friendly and cheerful Italian soccer player struggling for life was more than enough to deal with for the moment.

  “I don’t know if Frederico’s been on a bike around here before,” she answered. “But he might have misjudged our relatively quiet roads as perfectly safe. The car that was involved didn’t actually hit Frederico but somehow caused him to run off the road. The driver didn’t stop.”

  Gil shook his head in disgust. “I suppose with no fender damage or paint scrapes there’ll be no clue as to who it was.”

  Piper nodded. “Other than that the car was dark colored, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Probably covers three-quarters of the cars in the area.” Gil paused. “Gerald Standley—”

  “I know,” Piper said, grimacing. “Gerald Standley has a dark gray Camry.”

  “Not that I think it actually was Gerald,” Gil said. “But it’s common knowledge he didn’t like his daughter seeing the boy.”

  “He’d have to be crazy, though, to do something that extreme simply to break them up,” Piper protested. “Gerald has more sense than that.”

  “Agreed. But some people might think if Gerald murdered Raffaele Conti he was just as likely to murder a second person he didn’t want in his life.”

  “A big if in that reasoning. Hopefully the sheriff isn’t thinking that way.”

  “I’m sure Sheriff Carlyle is looking for solid evidence. It’s unfortunate for him, though possibly better for Frederico, that the car never touched the bike.”

  Piper exhaled deeply, still barely able to believe what had happened. “Who would have wanted to kill Frederico? What possible reason could there be?”

  Gil drained his mug and stood. “That,” he said, scraping the stool back into place, “is what we’ll have to find out.”

  A customer walked into the shop, and Gil bid Piper a polite good morning and left to return to his shop. Piper managed a welcoming, though tired, smile for the woman and helped her find what she wanted and rang it up, grateful that her customer seemed unaware of the latest incident and therefore shared no thoughts on either Frederico or Gerald Standley. That, Piper knew, wouldn’t last.

  As the morning wore on, Piper fielded plenty of off-the-wall speculation on the hit-and-run from customers and others, so during a lull she was particularly pleased to see a familiar blue Equinox pull up outside Piper’s Picklings.

  “I’ve just come from the hospital,” Aunt Judy said as she made her way into the shop.

  “How is Frederico?” Piper asked, though from the expression on her aunt’s face she expected the answer would not be good.

  “They’re seeing encouraging signs, but he’s still in very bad shape.” Aunt Judy sank onto a stool, looking wrung out. While always ready to jump in with aid and comfort to friends when needed, Aunt Judy’s natural empathy sometimes took its toll.

  “Broken bones?” Piper asked.

  “His right shoulder and arm, which took part of the hit. His skull, thank goodness, remained intact, but the doctors don’t know how much trauma his brain received. They say the next few hours will be critical.”

  Piper grimaced. “How is Miranda doing?”

  “She’s coping. Denise is with her.”

  “Not Gerald?”

  “Not when I was there.” Aunt Judy gave Piper a worried look. “He may have been, earlier. I don’t know.”

  “I hope he was. It could be taken the wrong way if he wasn’t.”

  “I’m not sure Gerald thinks that way—I mean, caring how things look to others. If he feels what he’s doing is right, that’s all there is to it. He may simply have thought coming to the hospital wasn’t necessary. But as I said, I don’t know for sure if he came or not.” Aunt Judy looked around. “You wouldn’t have a little coffee on hand, would you?”

  “Oh, of course! I should have offered.” Piper hurried to the back room, followed more slowly by her aunt. “All I’ve been able to think of this morning is Frederico.” She picked up the half-filled carafe that was keeping warm on its burner and poured out a mugful.

  “That’s all any of us can think of,” Aunt Judy said. “But eventually it catches up with us.” She took the mug from Piper gratefully, stirred in a generous spoonful of sugar, and took a long swallow. She sank into a nearby chair with a sigh.

  “Food?” Piper asked. “A sandwich? I can throw one together upstairs in a flash.”

  Aunt Judy waved the offer away. “This is all I need. I couldn’t bring myself to try that vending machine coffee at the hospital.”

  “Gil was here earlier,” Piper said as her aunt savored Piper’s brew and rested. “We discussed how Sheriff Carlyle would have a hard time tracking down the car and its driver, which would make rumors of it having been Gerald Standley fly. I’ve already heard
the beginnings of that this morning, though I tried my best to quell them.”

  “Gerald’s been having a rough time since the murder,” Aunt Judy said, setting her mug down for the moment. “Denise confided that many of his regular orders have been canceled. They’re still getting gawkers coming to the dill field, with some actually tramping through it to take pictures! But the worst thing is that too many people they thought were friends have been avoiding them. Denise used the word ‘shunned.’”

  “That’s terrible!”

  Aunt Judy nodded. “And I’m afraid this latest incident will only escalate things.”

  “I told the Standleys I would help,” Piper said, “but nothing I’ve done so far has made any difference.”

  Aunt Judy shook her head. “At least they know some of us are on their side.”

  Piper was silent for a bit. “What about the hit-and-run witness. I never got a name. Did you?”

  Aunt Judy brightened. “Yes, I did. Miranda told me. The man who saw it was Josiah Borkman.”

  “Josiah Borkman?” The name didn’t ring any bells for Piper. “Do you know him?”

  “I’ve met him. He’s”—Aunt Judy paused—“an unusual man. A wood-carver. His place is a few miles from where Frederico was hit.” Reading the look on Piper’s face she asked, “Were you thinking of going there?”

  “I’d like to get a few more details from him.”

  “Get Uncle Frank to go with you, why don’t you? I’d offer, but I’m bushed. And Frank would be better, anyway. He’d know how to approach him.”

  Piper was intrigued. “I’ll give Uncle Frank a call. Maybe we can set a visit up for when Amy comes in.”

  “Josiah’s studio is just up the road a piece. You’ll see the dirt driveway,” Uncle Frank said from Piper’s passenger seat. She had picked him up at the farm after Amy arrived to take over at the shop.

  “Studio?” When Aunt Judy mentioned wood carving, Piper had pictured Borkman sitting on his front porch whittling a stick of wood with his pocketknife.