License to Dill

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Around eleven P.M.,” Piper added.

  “Still late to be out, don’t you think?” Crystal said.

  “It is,” Piper agreed, sliding a credit card slip toward Vicky for her signature. “All I can guess is that he was hoping for a traffic-free road in order to pedal away at top speed.”

  “Yeah. Maybe so. Those soccer guys must be desperate for any exercise. What a shame, though. Probably a drunk driver, huh?”

  Piper saw genuine sympathy in Crystal’s face and was relieved not to hear blame laid on Gerald Standley. As Vicky signed her slip, Piper asked, “Carlo’s serves beer. Did you see anyone overindulge last night and maybe leave close to eleven?”

  Crystal shook her head. “We hardly ever see anyone get drunk at Carlo’s. People come mainly for the food, and all that cheese and stuff probably keeps them sober. Besides, we close at ten on weekdays. So whoever it was didn’t come from our place.”

  Piper knew Crystal was thinking only of customers. But what about the owner? She was ready to ask what time Carl Ehlers had left, when Crystal added, “And I was out of there by ten after ten, thank goodness, and safe at home before this crazy drunk was out there on the road.”

  Piper had handed Vicky her bags and the two women were halfway to the door when Crystal suddenly turned back. She pulled a printed sheet from her purse. “Here, maybe you can use this. I picked it up at Mindy’s knitting shop.”

  Piper took the flyer and read it. It offered a $2.00 discount on tickets for the Harvest Shindig, featuring food, beer, and music by the Scalawags. She recognized the band that she and Gil had gone to hear at O’Hara’s, and whose bodhran player, Martin McDow, they’d spoken with.

  “It’s tonight,” Crystal explained, “so I can’t use it. I have to work.”

  “It’s fun,” Vicky added. “They hold it outdoors, with bonfires and all, in a field they rent at old Mr. Cavanaugh’s farm. You know where that is?”

  Piper did, having visited every farm in the area at one time or another with Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank. She handed the flyer back. “Thanks, but I can’t use it, either,” she said. “I’m going to the hospital tonight to see Frederico, the soccer player.”

  “That poor kid,” Crystal said, tucking the flyer back in her purse. “Let him know we’re all pulling for him.”

  Piper promised she would, saying a little prayer that Frederico would be conscious enough to hear that and, with further luck, be able to shed some light on who had run him down.

  St. Ambrose was a regional hospital that served several small towns in the area, including Cloverdale, which was about ten miles away. As Piper drove there, she was reminded of the scary time, several summers ago, when Uncle Frank had been taken to St. Ambrose after a fall from his tractor. The hospital staff, besides giving him excellent care, had been extremely calming to an upset and worried Aunt Judy and Piper, assuring them that Uncle Frank’s injuries were not major and that he would be fine soon.

  The facility had expanded since that time, and Piper found herself disoriented as she stepped into the much larger main lobby. A kindly, pink-jacketed volunteer at the information desk pointed her in the right direction, and eventually Piper was heading down the hall leading to the critical care unit. Up ahead she could see Miranda Standley as well as a few young men milling around who Piper guessed were Frederico’s Bianconeri teammates.

  Miranda spotted Piper and came to meet her.

  “How is he?” Piper asked after a long hug.

  Miranda shook her head. “About the same.” She led Piper to the window through which she could see Frederico. Piper barely recognized the young athlete with his head and right shoulder and arm swathed in bandages and dark bruises covering large areas of exposed skin. A multitude of tubes and wires connected him to drip bags and computerlike machines. Piper thought she’d prepared herself, but it was still a shock, and a soft groan escaped her.

  Miranda, who’d held on to Piper’s arm, rubbed at it. “It’s hard to see, isn’t it? I only get past it by telling myself it’s all helping him get better.”

  The nurse inside the room, who’d been recording various readings and checking drip bags, typed her notes on a nearby keyboard then headed toward the door. “You can come in for five minutes,” she told them. “Please use the hand sanitizer first.” She directed them to the dispenser on the wall.

  After carefully sanitizing, Piper and Miranda went in and stood at the bed, gazing down at the unconscious athlete. Miranda then took hold of the uninjured hand that lay on top of the sheet. “Frederico, it’s Miranda. Can you hear me?”

  Piper watched for any reaction and saw nothing beyond a draw of breath.

  “Frederico, Piper is here,” Miranda said. “You remember Piper, don’t you? We went to her pickling shop and talked about how she wants to help my father?”

  Mention of Miranda’s father made Piper wonder if Gerald had been to the hospital yet. She hadn’t seen him or Denise when she’d arrived.

  “Frederico,” Miranda said softly. “Please get better. I really want you to. I care about you,” she said, her voice catching.

  Miranda’s head suddenly jerked toward Piper. “I think I felt a squeeze! Frederico, did you do that? Did you hear me?”

  Both Piper and Miranda waited for a sign, but Miranda shook her head.

  “May I try?” Piper asked and changed places with Miranda, taking Frederico’s free hand in her own.

  “Frederico, it’s Piper. We need to know who was driving that car. Did you see who it was?”

  Piper waited for any movement—an eye flutter, a lip twitch. Nothing. Then she felt Frederico’s index finger tremble slightly. “Did you just answer?” she asked.

  The finger moved again, but oh so slightly. Was it voluntary or just a muscle spasm?

  “Frederico, do you know who was in the car?”

  Piper waited but nothing moved again. Frederico’s breathing seemed to have deepened, as though whatever awareness he might have had had slipped away for the time being. She looked up at Miranda, who shook her head.

  “I’ve tried a lot. It seems to come and go. I don’t know if he’s really hearing us or not.”

  “It might be too early.”

  “That’s what the doctors say. That I should be patient. It’s hard, though.” Piper patted Miranda’s arm and gave her back her place beside Frederico until the nurse returned and asked them to go.

  “How is he, Signorina Miranda?” one of Frederico’s teammates asked as they came back into the hall. His dark hair curled loosely around a face filled with worry.

  “I think he’s a little better,” Miranda said encouragingly, and the gloom on the athlete’s face cleared a degree. He went to share that hopeful opinion with the others, and Piper and Miranda found seats in a nearby waiting room.

  They ran through the details of the accident again, then Piper told about her visit to the only witness, Josiah Borkman. Miranda cheered a bit at the additional information Borkman had remembered regarding the noisy wheel bearings.

  “That’s good!” she said. “That might catch the awful person who did this to Frederico.” She glanced in the direction of the injured man’s room. “Though it won’t undo the damage.”

  Seeing Miranda look so unhappy, Piper changed the subject, coming up with anything distracting she could think of. She was in the middle of telling Miranda about Nate’s progress on his record demo when Denise Standley walked by. She caught sight of the two and joined them. Piper remembered how stressed and worn Denise had looked that day at the farm and thought she looked worse, despite having obviously taken pains to spruce up for the visit, with her hair curled around her face and makeup dabbed over the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Honey, have you had anything to eat?” Denise asked Miranda.

  When Miranda admitted she hadn’t, Denise insisted she come with her to the hospital cafet
eria, including Piper in the invitation.

  “Thanks, but I’d better get on home.” Piper gathered her things and walked with the two to the nurses’ station where they caught a down elevator. After a promise to check in with Miranda again, she got off at the main floor then headed toward the parking lot to find her car.

  As she buckled in, Piper reran her brief time with Frederico. Had he actually been responding, or did his finger movements have nothing whatsoever to do with her questions? She wanted to believe he’d heard her, that he was improving and had something to tell her. But if so, it looked like she would have to wait awhile.

  Piper put her car in gear and backed out of the parking space. Her thoughts continued to mill around Frederico and the multiple others affected by his injury as she wove her way out of the lot, reversing direction at one point to correct a wrong turn.

  As she paused at the exit to the highway, she was vaguely aware of a dark-colored car that had left its space soon after she had and followed her identical route out of the lot.

  That car had just pulled up behind her.

  26

  Traffic thinned the farther Piper drove from St. Ambrose, and overhead lights disappeared as she left the populated area of the hospital to pass through long stretches of farmland. Soon, the only illumination came from her own headlights and those of the single vehicle behind her, which seemed to be steadily keeping pace—a not unusual thing, but it caught her attention.

  Piper normally loved driving on the quiet roads surrounding Cloverdale, finding it relaxing, especially after the congestion she’d regularly dealt with in Albany. She wasn’t feeling particularly relaxed, though, at the moment. In light of the recent happenings, what Piper experienced as she glanced at the headlights reflected in her rearview mirror was a growing tension, and she found herself pressing harder on the gas.

  Her speed picked up, but the distance between her car and the one following didn’t broaden. They could have been connected by a giant rod, so steadily did they stay together.

  Piper began to breathe more rapidly. Was that car deliberately following her? What were the driver’s intentions? She had several miles to go to get back to brightly lit and well-populated Cloverdale. Until then, could she believe this was just another tailgater who happened to be going her way?

  She drove on, uneasy with her higher speed, especially on the sharp turns. Then the car behind suddenly closed the gap between them. The headlights filled her rearview mirror, temporarily blinding her, and she felt a jarring bump. He’d hit her!

  The bump wasn’t more than a tap, but it shouldn’t have happened at all! Piper fought down panic as she picked up speed. She had to get away. The distance grew between them briefly but then began to shrink. He was racing to hit her again. Piper’s tires squealed as she swung widely around the next turn, praying there were no oncoming cars. The demon car behind her dropped back. She doubted it would be for long.

  What could she do? Her mind raced, picturing the road before her. An intersection, she remembered, lay ahead. Piper slowed, which gave the chase car alarming moments to catch up, then, as she came to the small intersection, she pulled widely to the right and made a skidding, heart-stopping U-turn. The car behind, caught by surprise, sped on.

  Piper knew he would soon double back, and she scrambled to think of what to do next, how to keep from being slammed or forced into a crash as Frederico had been. Up ahead, off to the right through the trees, a flickering light caught her eye. Where was she? Then it came to her. The old Cavanaugh farm! The Harvest Shindig! It must be, mustn’t it?

  She heard the roar of the returning car and saw its headlights speeding toward her. Where was the turnoff for the farm? There must be a marker, a signal of some kind. Then she spotted it! A lantern hanging from a tree, with a hand-printed sign beneath. She’d breezed past it going the other way, so focused had she been on the menace behind her. She slowed just enough to make her turn, allowing the car behind to draw terrifyingly close, and swerved onto the dirt road, sending gravel and dust flying.

  She kept on, her eyes flicking between the road ahead and the view behind her. She saw headlights rush by the road entrance and heard a screech of brakes. The headlights reappeared as the car backed up, and she held her breath. There was a pause, and she watched, every muscle tensed, until the car moved on. Piper gasped in relief.

  She drove forward, seeing lights, then cars, and people. Blessed, beautiful people! Piper laughed with joy. She came to several rows of vehicles in a clearing and pulled into an end spot, then leaned her head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths until her heart rate slowed to normal. She opened her door and climbed out, teetering slightly. She was safe here and not in any hurry to get back on that road. Music drifted from the field, and Piper followed the sound along the path to a man standing near a gate that was decorated with more lanterns. An orange vest and a white canvas bag hanging at his waist identified him as a ticket taker.

  “Welcome to the Harvest Shindig!” he called as she approached. “Only twenty dollars for all the food you can eat and beer you can drink. A bargain at half the price!”

  Piper smiled at his joke and dug into her purse.

  “And for a pretty girl like you, two dollars off!” He held out a discount coupon similar to the one Crystal had offered her earlier.

  “Thanks,” Piper said, taking the coupon and handing him several bills.

  “Just follow the yellow brick road,” the man said, pressing a purple stamp onto the back of her hand. “Or the cow trail, to be honest.” He chuckled. “But watch your step.”

  Still edgy, Piper walked toward bonfires and wandering people sipping from tall paper cups and holding paper-wrapped hamburgers, hot dogs, or popcorn boxes. Food seemed like a good idea to calm her, so Piper turned toward the first stand she came to. She asked the white-aproned, bearded attendant for a chili dog, which was quickly and cheerfully slapped into her hands, then she headed toward the bandstand, where most of the crowd had gathered. Safety lay in numbers, and she felt a strong need for that. Moving forward with her gaze locked on the scene ahead, Piper suddenly felt a hand grip her shoulder. She yelped and spun around.

  “Piper! It is you!” Scott stared at Piper as though he had just discovered her leaving a tattoo and piercings parlor. Piper was nearly as astonished. An outdoor beer-and-burger fest was not where she’d expect to find her sushi-and-wine-loving former fiancé.

  “What are you doing—” they both said at once, then laughed nervously.

  “You first,” Piper said.

  “I came because I’m deathly sick of hanging around the hotel and was desperate for something—anything—different,” Scott said. “Now you. Why are you here? And by yourself?”

  Piper paused. Suddenly, the realization of what could have happened to her out there on the road overwhelmed her. “It was a sudden decision. I, I needed to get away. To hide. Someone was trying to kill me.”

  “What!”

  Piper nodded, fighting back tears that sprang embarrassingly to her eyes.

  Scott took her arm. “Over here,” he said, leading her to a nearby bench of baled hay. “Tell me.”

  Piper did, feeling relief at putting the horrific experience into words, even though Scott wouldn’t have been her first choice of listener. She poured out everything, from going to the hospital to see Frederico, to getting much too close to landing there herself in the same condition. Or worse.

  “But why?” Scott asked. “You make pickles. Why would anyone want to kill you?”

  Piper took a deep breath. “Well, I haven’t exactly been minding only my business. Even though I didn’t join up with Emma Leahy’s group, I’ve been doing my own investigation of Raffaele Conti’s murder. For Gerald Standley’s sake. Along with Miranda and Gil Williams and whoever else could help. I guess the wrong person noticed.”

  “You . . .” Scott stopped, obviousl
y processing that information. “Gil Williams? The old guy from the bookstore?”

  Piper nodded.

  “And that’s why you two were at O’Hara’s the other night?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Piper watched Scott’s face as he carried that forward.

  “So you’re not . . .”

  She shook her head, seeing the humor but not in much of a mood for laughing.

  Scott gave a quick store-this-away-till-later nod then returned to the matter at hand. “So, I don’t suppose you caught a license plate number?”

  “Uh-uh. And I can’t say what kind of car it was, either. All I saw were blinding headlights that came much too close.” Piper stopped, thinking.

  “What?” Scott prodded.

  “I just realized something. I kept thinking of the driver as he, just as Josiah Borkman did. But I really have no idea if it was a man or a woman at the wheel.”

  “Josiah Borkman?”

  “The witness to Frederico’s hit-and-run. I went out to Mr. Borkman’s studio to talk to him.”

  “Well, you have been busy. And all I’ve been doing is scouring the Internet for anything to do with the Bianconeri team members.”

  Piper shifted uneasily, aware that she’d urged Scott to continue with that time-consuming busywork to stay in good graces with Emma’s group, the supposed “pillars of the town.” “I’m sure it helped to at least eliminate several people,” she said weakly.

  “I did come across something interesting, as a matter of fact, though I didn’t recognize it as such until now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Besides running through the team, I also looked around the Internet for anything to do with Conti’s wife.”

  “And?”

  “And Francesca Conti, it seems, participated in sports car racing before her marriage to Raffaele. At an amateur level, but she was pretty good. I came across a couple of photos of her accepting trophies.”