Scene of the Brine

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Miss Lamb.” Lydia addressed Piper at her turn, smiling. “I’m delighted you could join us.”

  “Piper, please,” Piper said politely, adding something about her pleasure over being there, which she hoped sounded sincere.

  “I’m sure you and Mallory will have lots to talk about,” Lydia said, smoothly moving her along to her daughter, who gave Piper a weak smile and a limp handshake. What Lydia imagined they could have in common Piper had no idea, but she returned the smile, came up with more appropriate things to say, and got out of the way of the next guest.

  Funneled toward a beautiful extended mahogany dining table, she was in turn handed a delicate china cup of tea by yet another uniformed woman, asked if she preferred sugar or lemon, and waved on to choose any of an amazing selection of cookies, pastries, and tea sandwiches. Properly and efficiently dealt with, she was then left to her own devices to wander about, sip, or visit.

  She chose to explore for the moment, not having yet come across familiar faces and interested in investigating the rooms that had been made available. She crossed the hallway to a large living room, its walls painted a dusty red brightened with white trim. The room was filled with chatting women perched on new-looking Victorian-style sofas and chairs or standing about on the polished oak floor or oriental area rug. Piper wound her way through, admiring an occasional table or mirror that might have been genuine antiques, and came to a second, smaller sitting room, just as attractive and just as crowded.

  She strolled back into the hall and, heels clicking on the wood floor, followed it down to a library, which reminded her of the unpleasant experience Ralph Strawbridge had with Dirk Unger when he’d been asked to refurbish the built-in shelves there. From the looks of them, Jeremy Porter hadn’t found a replacement craftsman, as the shelves, though dotted with books and small statuary, looked dull and worn. That, and the darkness produced by too-heavy draperies, hadn’t inspired any guests to linger despite the scattering of chairs, and Piper was about to leave when a voice out of the gloom startled her.

  “Sad, isn’t it?”

  Piper peered more closely and saw a thin woman sitting in the shadows at the far end of the room. The woman stretched her hand toward a lamp beside her and switched it on. “Come, sit with me a moment.”

  Curious, Piper moved forward, noting as she did that the woman appeared to be in her late seventies. Her navy blue dress with a white lacy collar looked more funeral-appropriate than tea party, as did her subdued, slightly sad manner.

  “Frances Billings,” she said, holding out a thin, age-spotted hand.

  “How do you do,” Piper said, taking the hand and introducing herself.

  “I’m afraid I startled you, speaking out as I did,” Ms. Billings said. “It’s just that your expression seemed to mirror my own thoughts. You see, I used to own this place.”

  “Oh!” Piper scoured her memory but couldn’t find Frances Billings anywhere in it. Wouldn’t Aunt Judy have known and mentioned her?

  “I haven’t lived in it for many years,” Ms. Billings said, as though reading Piper’s mind. “Warmer climates, I find, are better for my health. But the house was in my family for many years. It was built by my grandfather in 1880.”

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Piper said.

  “Yes.” Frances Billings glanced around with wistful eyes. “And this was my favorite room when I was a child. But it requires much upkeep, as you can see. I had hoped to find these lovely shelves restored to their original glory, but the library seems to have been put on low priority. That, and the kitchen.”

  “I haven’t seen the kitchen but if this were my house, that would have been my first project.” Piper explained her love of pickling and preserving. “This library would have been a close second. The man who made a beautiful new door for my pickling shop was approached about refurbishing this room. Unfortunately for the Porters, they delegated Dirk Unger to oversee the project and Ralph couldn’t see himself answering to the man.”

  “Unger!” Ms. Billings shuddered. “Horrible man. If I’d known he would be as involved with the house as he was, I might have reconsidered selling, even with my limited choices.”

  “He seems to have been universally disliked. Except,” Piper corrected herself, “by Jeremy Porter.”

  “Yes, well, I noticed that Unger could be affable enough when it was to his advantage. And indispensable. Even Lydia, with her obvious distaste for the man, found him occasionally useful.” Ms. Billings waved toward the bookshelves. “Those books? They weren’t collected by the Porters. Dirk Unger had them carted in to fill these shelves, to make the room more library-like.”

  “So they didn’t come with the house?”

  “Oh, no. I had to sell my family’s fine books long ago, along with most of the furniture, though I managed to keep a few things for the memories. No, Dirk Unger, I was told, snapped these up for a song at some estate sale. Whatever he paid was too much. A lot of rubbish, in my opinion. But then I doubt Lydia looked too closely.”

  Piper got up to take a look. There were quite a few clothbound books that at first glance appeared old and impressive. Few of the titles or authors, however, were familiar. The newer ones appeared to be book club editions of celebrity tell-alls or flash-in-the-pan bestsellers. Sorting also seemed to have been according to size and color. Piper found Airport next to a book on photography, and several National Geographics lined up beside Know Your Digestive System. Her gaze stopped at a tome titled Healing Plants, and she slid the slim paperback out. A quick check of the index found no listing for bloodroot. She returned the book to its slot.

  “Definitely an odd mix,” Piper said, “which looks a lot more interesting from a distance than close up.”

  “Much like some people,” Ms. Billings said with a small smile. “Speaking of which, I suppose I should go back and do my duties as a guest.” The older woman struggled a bit to pull herself up, and Piper went over to lend a hand. “Thank you, dear. It was good talking to you. I’ll be fine now.” To prove it, she walked steadily out into the hallway.

  Piper watched from the doorway until the woman turned into the dining room, then headed back to the living room, where she ran into Mrs. Tilley.

  “Piper!” Mrs. Tilley cried, setting her cup carefully back into its delicate saucer. “Isn’t this the most elegant event you’ve ever been to?”

  Piper could see that Mrs. Tilley, whose cheeks were glowing and eyes shining, thought so. “There’s certainly a lot to admire,” she said.

  Mrs. Tilley’s head bobbed. “The house! The food! Although”—she lowered her voice—“I have to admit that Sugar Heywood’s pastries are better. What a shame she wasn’t available.”

  Yes, wasn’t it, Piper thought.

  Another woman, possibly late fifties and wearing a cream-colored silk suit, had strolled over to them, looking as pleased as Mrs. Tilley but in a more muted way. She took a sip of her tea and nodded approvingly. “Perfectly brewed,” she pronounced. “Leona Pennington,” she said to Piper, holding out a well-manicured hand. “I believe you’re Judy Lamb’s niece?”

  “Yes, Piper Lamb,” Piper said, shaking the hand. “And you’re the president of the Cloverdale Women’s Club, aren’t you?” She managed to smile as she said it, though her thoughts flew back to Leona’s cold treatment of Denise Standley a few months ago when the Standley family needed all the support they could get.

  “I didn’t realize you two hadn’t met,” Mrs. Tilley said. “You should come to one of our meetings, Piper. And Leona, you have to stop in at Piper’s shop. She puts up the most wonderful pickles and preserves.”

  “I have a very delicate stomach, I’m afraid,” Leona said. “But do come to our meetings with your aunt, Piper. We could use some young blood.” She laughed lightly, her gaze flicking toward Mrs. Tilley as though to indicate it was their companion and not herself who qualified as aged. Leona Penn
ington, in Piper’s opinion, wasn’t that far behind, and Piper didn’t much like her condescension toward sweet Mrs. Tilley. She was thinking that her own stomach might be too delicate to join any club that Leona Pennington ran, when a voice rang out from Piper’s left.

  “Aha! Ms. Lamb. How’s that article for the women’s club coming?”

  Piper turned to see Marguerite Lloyd, wearing a long-skirted outfit that afternoon, though she’d stayed with the no-fuss ponytail. Piper stifled a gulp.

  “Oh? What’s this about?” Leona immediately asked.

  “Piper, here, was out to my place getting info for your newsletter. You didn’t know about it?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at Piper.

  “It was a last-minute idea,” Piper quickly explained. “I thought club members would enjoy learning more about Marguerite’s gardening and landscaping business.”

  “Excellent!” Leona said. “Send it to me by Wednesday so I can edit it in time for our next newsletter. I’m delighted you’ll be joining us.”

  “Well, I—”

  “She should send it to me.” Emma Leahy came up behind Piper, startling her, and in more ways than one. “I’m in charge of the club’s newsletter and I handle all the editing. I doubt Piper’s stuff will need much but we’ll see.”

  Besides her interruption, seeing Emma in an actual dress had put Piper at a momentary loss for words. Did Emma Leahy have a life beyond gardening for which she possessed up-to-date, feminine clothing? The thought boggled Piper’s mind.

  “Of course,” Leona said, smiling smoothly at Emma, referring to her newsletter editorship.

  Marguerite continued to study Piper closely. “What were—?” she began, but Emma stepped in again.

  “I saw Judy out in the garden,” she said to Piper. “She was wondering if you were here.”

  “I’ll go find her,” Piper said and excused herself quickly to step away, letting out her breath once she’d exited the room. If her aunt was truly in the garden and Emma hadn’t simply thrown that out as a means of rescue, Piper was very glad. She felt in need of fresh air and a welcoming face.

  Piper found the door leading to the backyard and stepped out into mild air and brilliant sunshine. After a moment’s blinking, she scanned several strolling women, their tea dresses adding as much color to the garden area as the flowers, and in the midst of them was Aunt Judy. Piper headed on over.

  “Oh, there you are,” Aunt Judy said, catching sight of her from her spot next to Corinne Fortney. “You look very nice. I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

  “I am now,” Piper said, giving her aunt a quick peck on the cheek and a cheery greeting to Corinne. “I just broke away from Leona Pennington.”

  Aunt Judy gave Piper a knowing smile. “I’ve warned Corinne about Leona, since she plans to join the club. And maybe,” she added with a twinkle, “I can talk her into running for club president when Leona’s term expires.”

  Corinne laughed. “One step at a time, Judy, dear. Let me at least learn the way to the club’s meeting room before I try to take over its leadership.” She finished off the sugar-dusted cookie she’d been holding and licked her fingers.

  “I met an interesting woman in the library,” Piper said. “Frances Billings. She said she had owned this house.”

  “Frances is here?” Aunt Judy said, her eyes widening.

  “You know her?”

  “I knew her. She was somewhat older, though, and it’s been years. Frankly, I thought she might have died.”

  “She said her grandfather built the house.”

  Aunt Judy nodded. “He’d made his money in railroads, then chose Cloverdale to settle down in. I had the impression the fortune dwindled quite a bit during the next generation. It must have been sad for Frances to give up the house.”

  “She seemed to be soaking up old memories when I came across her but I don’t think she minded getting the place off her hands.”

  “I should find her and say hello,” Aunt Judy said, looking toward the house. “Do you remember her, Corinne? She was Frances Kingsley before she married.”

  “Only vaguely,” Corinne admitted. “But I’ll be glad to come along with you. Did you want to go back inside, Piper?”

  “I’ll catch up with you both later,” Piper said. She had spotted someone she wanted to speak with.

  She waved the two off, then stepped toward a rose garden, pretending interest in two blooming bushes that looked to have been planted decades ago. Lovely as they were, her concern was with the person seated on the stone bench nearby. After taking in the bushes from various distances and mumbling words that might have been taken for knowledgeable comments on the plants, she turned and smiled at her target.

  “Taking a break from all the hand shaking?” Piper asked.

  Mallory Porter fairly jumped, as though being addressed without her mother beside her was a startling event. “You’re that pickle woman, aren’t you?” she asked, then looked away, as though that settled things.

  Well, Piper thought as she drew a deep breath. This should be fun.

  17

  Yes, I have a pickling shop,” Piper said, smiling as if Mallory hadn’t just pronounced pickle as she might have said mealworm. “Not everyone’s into pickles, though, I get that. I’m not much into teas, to tell the truth. But I have enjoyed seeing this house. You must love living in it.”

  Mallory shrugged but was at least looking directly at Piper. “It’s big. Probably the biggest house in town.”

  “It definitely is,” Piper agreed. “And historic,” she said, but catching no sign of interest from Mallory on that point, quickly went back to big. “You could probably fit half the town in the house if you opened up the second floor.”

  “My bedroom and sitting room are huge. I’m decorating them both in lavender.” She coughed twice. “But my allergies are bad here.”

  “I’m sorry. Should you be out in the garden?”

  Mallory shook her head. “Not the flowers. It’s the house, because it’s so old. Dust and stuff. Mother says it will get better once she has the basement and attic thoroughly cleaned. She wanted the downstairs done first. For the tea, you know.”

  “Well, then, at least you can enjoy the garden. While it lasts, that is. I understand there are plans for replacing things eventually?”

  Mallory shrugged. “I guess so. That Lloyd woman, I suppose. Dirk didn’t like her but he won’t have anything to say about it anymore, will he?”

  “Mind if I sit?” Piper asked, and Mallory obligingly pulled her skirt out of the way. “Why didn’t Dirk like Marguerite Lloyd?”

  “Oh, it went way back.” Mallory dug into a pocket for a tissue and blew her nose. “Somewhere in Ohio. I heard him telling Jeremy about it. Jeremy thought it was pretty funny.”

  “Funny? Why?”

  “Because it made Dirk look dumb, which doesn’t—didn’t—happen much.” Mallory gave Piper a sly look. “Jeremy acted like Dirk was a good friend but I don’t think he really liked him that much.”

  Hmmm. “So what made Dirk look dumb?”

  “Well,” Mallory said, thinking, “Dirk was working for a big landscaping company out there, in the office. He and Marguerite butted heads too many times, so Dirk started watching for a way to get rid of her. He thought he spotted her ripping off the company. Something about ordering more plants and stuff than she needed for landscaping jobs. He figured she was selling the extras on the side.”

  “Was she?”

  “I don’t know. But Dirk went to the owner thinking he’d get her fired. But it turned out Marguerite and the owner were pretty tight.” Mallory leaned closer to Piper and whispered, “I think they were sleeping together.”

  “Uh-oh. So I guess his boss didn’t want to hear anything against Marguerite.”

  “That’s what Jeremy was laughing about. That Dirk put his foot i
n it. Dirk ended up being let go, eventually. That’s why he told Jeremy the story in the first place—to explain why a super-duper accountant like him lost that job.”

  “That must have been hard for him to admit,” Piper said.

  “But Dirk said he still came out on top.”

  “How?”

  Mallory sniffed noisily, then swiped at her nose. “Dirk fiddled with Marguerite’s orders. He canceled important plants, which caused holdups on Marguerite’s landscaping projects. And he substituted real expensive plants for the ones she ordered and made it look like it was her mistake, like, maybe the Latin names were close to each other and she’d mixed them up. But his parting shot—that’s what he called it when he was telling Jeremy—was cluing in the boss’s wife about what Marguerite and the boss were up to.”

  “Wow. Dirk Unger wasn’t someone to cross lightly, was he?”

  “Uh-uh. Could be why Jeremy never fired him, even though Mother was always pressing him to.” Mallory seemed to suddenly realize how that sounded. “But Dirk couldn’t hurt Jeremy like he did the boss in Ohio. Jeremy’s too smart for that.”

  Piper wanted to pursue that but Lydia’s voice suddenly sang out. “There you are!” She was closing in on them rapidly across the lawn. “I should have known you two would find each other. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to steal Mallory away.”

  Mallory obediently stood, her expression suddenly bland.

  “I hope you’re enjoying my little party,” Lydia said to Piper, to which Piper was about to reply when Mallory burst out with a series of loud coughs. That drew Lydia’s disapproving attention. “Really, dear, couldn’t you have taken something for that earlier? And sitting out here in the garden certainly couldn’t have helped.”

  “Mallory felt the garden was less of a problem than the house,” Piper said, coming to her companion’s defense. Even though Mallory didn’t seem upset, Piper found Lydia’s lack of sympathy for her daughter bothersome.

  “I feel better out here,” Mallory agreed, once she could speak. “I like the roses. I hope Marguerite Lloyd doesn’t dig them all up.”