8
Piper began to lose count of the number of people who stopped in to discuss Dirk Unger’s death. She looked forward longingly to Amy’s arrival, which would allow Piper to escape to her back room for a while to make pickles—always a stress-easing as well as productive activity for her. When Amy walked in, however, her first words kept Piper rooted to the spot.
“I’ve heard from Kendra, one of our kitchen staff. Daddy’s been questioning all the A La Carte people.”
“Really!”
Amy stowed her purse under the counter. “It was my day off so I didn’t know that awful man, Dirk Unger, had lunch at A La Carte yesterday.” She wrinkled her nose. “Despite his obviously low opinion of everything we fixed.”
“Does that mean your father thinks that’s where Unger was poisoned?” Piper’s hopes for Sugar escaping suspicion rose. On the other hand, this was the restaurant where Amy worked part time, and she needed the job.
“As usual, Daddy didn’t let me in on his official business, but it doesn’t sound that way. Kendra said he was most interested in knowing if Unger had taken food home with him.”
“And had he?”
“No. He never does, and he didn’t yesterday. Thank goodness! I mean, can you imagine if the poison could be traced to food from A La Carte’s kitchen?”
“It would certainly ruin the restaurant and put a lot of people out of jobs. The poison, though, could have been slipped in by anyone, like whoever Unger was dining with or someone stopping at his table.” The multiple possibilities ran through Piper’s head, though the images of all the evildoers had fuzzy blobs for faces.
“I know! How unfair would that be? But at least we seem to be off the hook.”
Piper agreed. “From your father’s questions, it sounds like Unger’s poison needed to be consumed fairly close to the time he became sick,” Piper said. “So it must have been ingested with his dinner or at least around dinnertime.” She still couldn’t see that implicating Sugar, though it didn’t definitely rule her out, either. Stranger things had been known to happen than a victim accepting food out of the blue from a person they’d hurt.
At that thought, Piper decided it was time for her to take a break. “I’m going to work on the carrots I have in the back.”
“Want any help?”
“Not on the carrots. If you’ll take care of things out here, that’ll give me the downtime I need right now. I’ve been dealing all morning with speculations on the poisoning. I’m most happy to turn that over to you for a while.”
“Fine with me. I’ll just play super dumb when the subject comes up.”
Piper smiled, knowing that act wouldn’t fool many, but she wished Amy luck and headed on back. Her project that day was spicy carrots and she looked forward to the peeling and chopping ahead. It was one of the first recipes she’d learned in Aunt Judy’s kitchen and making it always brought back the proud feeling she’d had as a ten-year-old after helping process several pounds of Uncle Frank’s organically grown vegetables (and snatching several tasty bites of the fresh carrots in the process).
Piper turned on her iPod, propped safely out of the way on an upper shelf, choosing a calming Gilbert and Sullivan song, “I’m Called Little Buttercup,” and hummed along as she pulled her carrots from the refrigerator and checked her supply of vinegar and spices. By the time she reached the chopping stage, her playlist had moved on to the operetta’s “We Sail the Ocean Blue,” and she found her knife strokes keeping time smartly with the music.
She had brought her vinegar, water, and spice mix to a boil and was ready to add her carrot sticks when she heard a commotion in the shop. Piper recognized Sugar Heywood’s voice and instantly stopped what she was doing and turned off her stove.
Amy leaned in through the dividing door. “Ms. Heywood wants to—” she began.
“Send her in,” Piper said, grabbing a towel to wipe her hands and turning off her music.
“Piper, I’m so sorry to bother you.” Sugar rushed past Amy, visibly upset. “I just didn’t know where to turn.”
“What’s happened?”
“It’s Zach. They’ve taken him in for questioning!”
“Zach? Why?”
“It’s that stupid poisoning of that stupid man, Dirk Unger. Just because Zach is a botany major and the poison came from some odd plant he might know about, they think he could have done it.”
Piper’s head was swirling. She hadn’t considered Zach at all. But Zach had been furious with Dirk Unger on behalf of his mother, she reminded herself, so Sheriff Carlyle’s reasoning might be understandable.
Sugar had been pacing, her words tumbling over each other, and Piper opened out two of her folding chairs and directed her friend to sit down and take a few deep breaths.
“First things first,” Piper said. “What poison are they talking about?”
“It a plant called bloodroot. I never heard of it before but it grows wild everywhere. Zach is always out walking, looking for any interesting plants. Everyone who knows him knows that. But he’s not looking for poisons! He’d never want to kill anybody, no matter what.”
“Bloodroot,” Piper said. “How did they come up with that?”
“Apparently they tested the food in Unger’s kitchen. They found it in his leftover salad.”
“Do you know how it works?”
Sugar shook her head helplessly.
“Hold on,” Amy said from the doorway. She was typing rapidly into her iPhone. “I’m pulling it up now.”
They waited as Amy did her search. “Here it is. Bloodroot. It’s an herb with thick roots and red juice. Grows mostly in woods. It has white flowers and all parts of it are poisonous.”
“What are the symptoms?”
“Let’s see. Just touching it causes rashes. But if you eat it, it causes violent vomiting, then cardiac arrest. Wow! Who knew something like that was around?”
A botany student might know, Piper thought. But who else? “How quickly does it act?” she asked.
Amy scrolled, mumbling incoherently as she read. “Ah! Here it is! One to two hours.”
Piper thought back to when they heard the sirens. What time was that? Seven thirty? Eight? She wasn’t sure.
“Zach was here last night when he brought your cake, Sugar. That was around five thirty. But I don’t think he hung around long. Did he come back home?”
“Not until late, maybe one in the morning. I was asleep, but I heard him come in. He said he was at his friend Justin’s, watching a movie.”
“Good. That’s an alibi.” As long as Justin can say Zach showed up there early. “Were you alone all evening?”
“Me? No. I wasn’t up to coming to your party, as upset as I was, but my next-door neighbor, Ginnie, stopped in after Zach took off with the cake. We ended up baking cupcakes for Ginnie’s grandkids who were coming over the next day.”
That covered Sugar’s alibi, Piper thought, assuming Ginnie concurred. Zach’s alibi, on the other hand, was still pending.
“Did you call a lawyer for Zach?”
Sugar looked up in surprise. “No. Should I have? I didn’t even think of it. I don’t even know of one.”
“I think Zach should have someone with him.”
“But he’s not guilty!”
“All the more reason. A lawyer will look after his rights. Scott Littleton’s office is right down the street. I can vouch for him.”
Sugar hesitated, then said. “You’re right. I should talk to Littleton. Maybe he can get this whole ridiculous thing straightened out and over with. Thank you, Piper. I knew you were the right person to come to.” Sugar had calmed considerably, now that she had a sense of direction.
“Piper’s had plenty of experience—” Amy started to say until Piper shot her a look. She had far too much experience with past murders. She sincerely hoped Sheriff C
arlyle would speedily arrest the proper culprit of this latest crime and let her stay happily out of it.
Sugar hurried out, having been pointed to Scott’s office. A customer walked in almost immediately after, and Amy waited on her, leaving Piper to return to her spicy carrots. She turned on her stove but left her iPod off. There was far too much to think about.
Could Zach have done anything so terrible? Piper didn’t know him well, but the few times she’d met him he’d always struck her as a levelheaded person, or as levelheaded as twenty-year-olds could generally be. He obviously was very protective of his mother and had been furious over Dirk Unger’s action after the Realtors’ dinner.
It seemed to Piper, though, that if Zach had been angry enough to kill Unger, he would have done it immediately, or very soon after—violently and person-to-person, rather than secretively by poison. Poison just didn’t seem like a young man’s weapon of choice. However, Zach was a student of plant life. Could that have offered a special intellectual satisfaction that made it appealing?
Piper shook her head. She was thinking much too far ahead. The sheriff was simply questioning Zach. Hopefully, Sugar’s son could verify his actions and whereabouts during the critical time. And that would be the end of it. Piper added the carrots to her simmering vinegar mixture, then left them to check on her jars in their water bath.
The jars of spicy carrots had been filled and sealed and were cooling when Piper heard an unfamiliar voice carrying from the front of the shop. In a moment, Amy appeared at the doorway.
“There’s a lady who would like to speak with you,” she said. From the pucker of Amy’s brow, Piper guessed it wasn’t a customer wanting pickling advice. A salesperson? A charity donation request?
“Who is it?” Piper asked.
Amy paused, glancing back to the front of the store, then whispered, “It’s Lydia Porter. Jeremy Porter’s mother!”
9
Piper took a moment to gather herself before stepping out to meet Lydia Porter. She glanced down at her apron, which had become spotted with spicy-carrot splashes, but let it stay. If evidence of Piper’s hard work offended Jeremy Porter’s mother, so be it. She could deal with it.
“Miss Lamb,” the silvery-coiffed, short but somehow still imposing woman said, holding out her hand. “Lydia Porter. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
In a blue Chanel-styled suit, heels, and a string of pearls, Lydia Porter appeared dressed more for an elegant lunch than a visit to Piper’s shop. Piper shook her hand, which wouldn’t have surprised her if it’d been white-gloved, and responded cordially. What was Lydia Porter doing there at a time like that? Mrs. Porter quickly illuminated her.
“I wanted to personally invite you to my tea. Somehow yours was not included in the invitations that were sent out. I’m here to rectify that unforgivable oversight.”
“You’re still holding the tea?” Piper asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes. I so want to get to know Cloverdale and its residents.”
And carefully cull the ones who don’t meet your standards? Piper badly wanted to stand up for Sugar Heywood but decided to hold off and listen. Amy had gone into the back room but left the dividing door open and was probably all ears herself.
“I understand from one of the ladies at the Cloverdale Women’s Club that you recently moved here from Albany?” Lydia asked.
“That’s right. Several months ago.”
“Albany is my family home as well,” Lydia said with a satisfied smile. “You may know of my uncle, Congressman Wardell Smyth?”
“Um . . .”
“An extremely effective representative for our state during the Roosevelt and Truman administrations. He was seriously considered to be Harry Truman’s vice president but then Alben Barkley, you know . . .” Lydia’s voice trailed off, hinting at possible political machinations that had insidiously blocked Congressman Smyth’s much-deserved political rise.
Piper nodded as sympathetically as she could manage, still puzzled as to what had brought about this personal invitation to Lydia’s tea.
“Your parents, I hear, are renowned archaeologists.” Lydia said, smiling.
Ah! That was it. Piper was tempted to respond that no, she had been raised by two high school dropout hippies whose commune, in addition to decrying anything governmental, still enthusiastically practiced free love—just to see the look on Lydia’s face. But in fairness to her parents, she nodded. “They’ve had some success in their field.”
“And are they in the area?”
“Sadly, no. They are currently on a dig on one of the Greek islands.”
“How disappointing. I would have loved to meet them as well.”
Would that affect Piper’s invitation? To find out and possibly put Lydia on the spot, Piper asked, “When is your tea?”
“This coming Sunday,” Lydia answered smoothly, apparently still willing to welcome a simple pickling shop proprietor. “I did put it off a few days,” she said, and Piper expected the reason to be Dirk Unger’s death until Lydia explained, “We’ve had to have a few renovations done on the house. Not too surprisingly, things took much longer than promised to get done.” She laughed deprecatingly. “One can never rely on guarantees from the working class, can one?”
“Actually, I’ve had very good experience, lately. Ralph Strawbridge installed my new front door two days ahead of his own deadline.”
“Yes, well . . .” Lydia glanced vaguely at Piper’s door but was clearly unimpressed.
Piper could contain herself no more. “I was sorry to hear about Mr. Unger’s death. That must be very upsetting to your family.”
“Oh, yes, terribly,” Lydia said, appearing quite unruffled. “Jeremy relied on Dirk quite a bit. But nobody is irreplaceable, of course. I’m sure the entire situation will be sorted out very soon.” Lydia turned toward Piper’s shelf of preserves. “While I’m here, I should pick up a jar of your lovely brandied cherries. Oh, there they are!” She plucked a jar from its spot and handed it to Piper to ring up, having smoothly changed the subject to something more “tasteful.” Piper, however, was not to be deterred.
“Sheriff Carlyle,” she said, carrying the cherries toward her cash register, “will certainly discover the truth of the matter—in time. As the people who knew Mr. Unger best, your family must have been able to provide him with good information about the man’s movements on the day he died.”
“Oh! Heavens!” Lydia laughed and flapped a hand. “Hardly. At least not Mallory or myself. Mallory, of course, is my daughter. You’ll get to meet her at the tea,” Lydia said, as though that were an added treat for Piper to look forward to. “Neither of us had much to do with Dirk Unger. He was Jeremy’s employee.” Her pinched lips as she said that confirmed Tammy Butterworth’s claim of battles with Jeremy over the man.
Piper was eager to pursue the topic more but her shop door opened at that moment, admitting Mrs. Tilley, whose face lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of Lydia Porter.
“Lydia, imagine finding you here! You poor, dear thing. What a terrible time you all must be going through. How are you holding up?”
Quite well, Piper thought, but Lydia Porter shook her head and sighed as Mrs. Tilley twittered away, full of sympathy for Lydia’s imagined distress. Amy emerged from the back at that point and caught Piper’s eye, rolling hers in exasperation. The two waited silently, Piper beginning to wish she could ease the pair out and onto the sidewalk as the exchange continued.
Finally Lydia Porter said, “Well, I must be going. There are one or two more stops I need to make concerning my tea.”
“I hope you found a replacement caterer as good as Sugar Heywood,” Piper said.
“Oh, Sugar couldn’t do it?” Mrs. Tilley piped up, apparently not up to speed on all the recent developments. “What a shame. She really is the best around.”
Lydia Porter’s eyes nar
rowed but she quickly regained her composure. “Actually, I’ve found someone in Bellingham who came with the highest references. I’m positive he . . .” She took Mrs. Tilley’s arm at that point and walked her out of the shop as she enthused over her new caterer, leaving Piper and Amy to stare wordlessly.
“My gosh!” Amy said as Ralph Strawbridge’s beautiful door closed behind the pair.
“She’s quite the unique individual, isn’t she?” Piper said.
“Unique? She’s awful! Sugar is lucky to be out of her reach.”
“I agree. I’m not sure Sugar is ready to see that, but she has worse things to think about.”
“You mean about Zach? That should be cleared up by now, though, don’t you think? I mean, Daddy must just be eliminating people, ’cause no way could a nice guy like Zach do anything so awful.”
“How well do you know Zach?” Piper asked. She had to admit that her own good opinion of Zach was based on fairly brief interactions along with anecdotes shared by his not-unbiased mother.
“Zach was a couple of years behind me in school, so we weren’t good buds or anything. But he dated the younger sister of one of my friends for a while and I used to see him at her house a lot.” Amy paused a moment, considering. “He was quiet but always friendly. He liked to talk about plants all the time, even then. Allie’s mom, I remember, would ask him to check her gardens for poison ivy ’cause she was sensitive to it but could never spot it herself.”
“Allie is the younger sister?”
“Uh-huh. A cute kid but kind of immature at the time—even for fifteen. She dumped Zach in a flash after they’d been going together for most of the year when someone on the football team took an interest in her.”
“How did Zach handle that?”
Amy grew somber. “Pretty hard, actually. I remember Jessica, Allie’s sister, telling me that Zach still came over to the house, asking to see Allie. When she wouldn’t talk to him, he’d stand on the sidewalk out front for hours, looking at the house and I guess hoping she’d come out. Jessica felt sorry for him but eventually her dad had to have a firm talk with him.” Amy winced. “I guess that sounds a little creepy, huh?”
Scene of the Brine Page 6
