Scene of the Brine

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Piper sighed and pulled out a stool to get to work, opening up her laptop and her charged-sale records. She’d been at it for possibly ten unhappy minutes when rescue appeared in the form of Tammy Butterworth. Anyone at all would have been a welcome reprieve, but Tammy, with her unfailing cheeriness, was like being handed a glass of ice water while dragging through the desert. Piper hopped off her stool and managed to keep from wrapping her arms around the woman.

  “How did the radish pickling go?” she asked once Tammy had breezed through the door.

  “Great! At least, so far. We’ll see how they taste later on.” Tammy’s megawatt smile dimmed a few units. “I heard about your problem, the tainted cherries and all. I wanted to say don’t worry too much. Sure, you’ll lose business for a while”—her glance swept the quiet shop—“but I think you’ll find people have short memories. That’s been my experience, anyway.” Her grin turned slightly wicked at that, making Piper smile while wondering what this model cleaning lady’s experience might have involved.

  “Thanks, Tammy. How did you hear?”

  “From Lydia Porter. I was polishing silver in the kitchen when she and Jeremy came in looking for coffee. Jeremy wanted toast, too, but couldn’t find any jam to go with it. I know he really likes jam, so I said I wouldn’t mind running over here to get him some, that yours was the best in town. That’s when Lydia reared up and said in effect no way, then explained why. I stood up for you, which didn’t go over well. Lydia doesn’t like being crossed, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Piper said. “I hope you didn’t put your job at risk.”

  Tammy shook her head. “That’s one thing Jeremy insists on—keeping me on the job. I moved to Cloverdale at his request, if you remember.”

  Piper nodded. “So that’s worked out for you, huh? I mean, you picked up enough other cleaning jobs to make it worthwhile?”

  “Oh, sure,” Tammy flapped a hand. “No problem there. Word spreads fast in my line of work, especially in a small town.” She chuckled softly. “Just like it’s going to spread about Lydia’s sister.”

  “You met her?”

  “In a way. I had finished up at the house and was loading up my car when she came by. She asked me if that was the Porters’ house, and I said yes but warned her they weren’t good for soliciting. I really thought that’s what she had in mind. But she said, ‘That’s okay. I’m family.’ Of course, I didn’t rush off after hearing that.”

  Piper smiled. Neither would she. “Who answered the door?”

  “Lydia herself. I’m betting she spotted who was heading up the walk and rushed to pull the woman in and out of sight. All I heard was the stranger cry, ‘Sis!’ before she was hustled inside.”

  “Well, I guess her claim of being family was true. Her name’s Gwen Smyth, by the way. She stopped in here, looking for directions.”

  “And in a few other places, too, from what I’m hearing. If Lydia hoped to keep her out of view, that ship has sailed.”

  “She might be a perfectly nice, respectable person, of course.”

  Tammy grinned. “Could anyone be respectable enough for Lydia?”

  Piper thought about Lydia’s immediate hints to Mrs. Tilley and other Cloverdale Women’s Club members concerning her impressive ancestry and her not-so-casual mention to Piper of a high-ranking congressman-uncle. No, no sister below a Nancy Reagan was going to be good enough for Lydia, and Nancy herself might have had a struggle, considering her Hollywood background. Gwen Smyth, from what Piper had seen, was a goner.

  “Well,” Tammy said, giving a brisk tap to Piper’s counter, “I’ve got to be going. Don’t forget: Keep that chin up!”

  “Will do. Thanks, Tammy.”

  Tammy took off, leaving Piper in a much better mood than before. So much so that she had a sudden inspiration. She put aside her depressing sales search and locked up her shop, painfully aware that closing for a few minutes wasn’t going to make a whit of difference to her day’s sales. She trotted down to the office supply store a couple of blocks away, where she bought a large sheet of posterboard and a set of markers, among other things, and carried them back to the shop.

  She got to work, and within minutes Piper was taping the finished sign in her front window:

  “Get well soon, Joan Tilley!

  Sign our card and leave any gifts here

  We will deliver them daily”

  Piper set a large wicker basket beneath the sign, then stepped outside to judge the placement of both. She then went inside and waited.

  Nothing happened for the first hour. Then one by one, people dribbled in.

  “How is Joan?” the first woman—unknown to Piper—asked. “I can’t get over to the hospital, but I’d love to sign the card and send my best wishes.”

  “Joan is very weak but getting better.” Piper slid forward the super-size card she’d made on the office supply store’s card stock, decorating it with ribbons and glitter. She was quite proud of it.

  The second person—Patsy Morris—arrived a few minutes later. “I saw your sign and wrapped up this little book of inspirational quotes that I thought Joan might like to read when she’s feeling better. Do you think that’s okay?”

  “It’s perfect,” Piper said, and waved toward the basket into which she’d previously set a pickling cookbook, to prime the pump, so to speak.

  Two more ladies came in a few minutes after that to sign the card. “That’s a great idea,” one said, nodding toward Piper’s sign. “Getting to the hospital is such a long drive.” She scribbled her name and a greeting on Piper’s card.

  “We should take up a collection from the group for something nice,” the second woman said to her companion. “All right if we bring it by tomorrow?” she asked Piper.

  “Absolutely. Mrs. Tilley would really appreciate that.”

  “That’s so nice of you to do this!” the second woman said, adding her name to the card.

  Piper smiled modestly. “Not at all. Please spread the word.”

  The two promised to do so and left—of course without buying anything, but that didn’t concern Piper. Just getting people into her shop in a positive way was enough at that point, and Mrs. Tilley, she was sure, would be thrilled with all the remembrances.

  Piper’s handmade card and basket slowly filled with signatures and small gifts or promises of gifts to come. One or two drop-ins broached the subject of Piper’s tainted brandied cherries but did so delicately and with obvious sympathy for her as well as Mrs. Tilley. No one showed up with any of Piper’s pickles or preserves asking for a refund—which Piper would have agreed to. She suspected, though, that none of those jars were being opened, either, if they still actually remained in cupboards.

  Talk of Lydia Porter’s sister, whose appearance in Cloverdale was surprising in more ways than one, began cropping up. Apparently, Gwen Smyth had spent a good amount of time wandering about Cloverdale before finally arriving at her destination. If Lydia had hoped to keep her sister’s visit private, those hopes were definitely quashed. Had that been Gwen’s intention, Piper wondered? It did seem an odd way to start a visit.

  “She came into Niki’s while we were having lunch,” one customer told Piper. “Frankly, we wondered if she’d be able to pay. Imagine our shock when we learned who she was!”

  Another of Piper’s customers, Nancy Phillips, mentioned having chatted briefly with Gwen at the park off the town square. “I was walking Oliver, my little Yorkie, and she came over to pet him. She seemed perfectly nice, but”—Nancy lowered her voice—“I think she might have been drinking. In the afternoon,” she added.

  Gil Williams stopped in and seemed to be one of the very few who hadn’t encountered Gwen Smyth. He did, however, approve of Piper’s Tilley Project, as he called it.

  “I’ve been hearing about the gift collection from my own customers and brought
something she might enjoy.” He held out a paperback copy of Carolyn Hart’s latest mystery. “I happen to know Joan is a fan.”

  “Who isn’t?” Piper asked with a smile. “Like me to wrap it for you?”

  “Would you mind? All I had were my shop bags.”

  Piper found a sheet of pretty paper and began cutting it to size. She was taping it over the book when Ralph Strawbridge came in looking very much like he had something to tell.

  “News of Zach?” Piper asked hopefully.

  “No, I’m afraid not. We still don’t know where he could be.”

  “Then what?” Piper’s fingers had halted midtaping. Gil had straightened up in concerned anticipation.

  “It’s the Realtor,” Ralph said. “Stan Yeager. Now he’s missing.”

  23

  Stan!” Piper cried, shocked. “Missing? Are you sure?”

  “Nobody knows where he is.” Ralph ran a hand through his gray-speckled hair. “As you know, I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Stan’s comings and goings as much as I can. When I walked over to his office today, I saw it was locked up. I checked with the woman who works for him part time. She said she hadn’t heard anything from him in two days and couldn’t get in when she showed up this morning. I went to his house. There was no answer when I knocked and no car in the driveway. I talked to his neighbors, but nobody knows a thing.”

  “But that’s crazy,” Piper said.

  “Also worrying,” Gil put in.

  “Sugar is convinced it confirms his guilt,” Ralph said. “She doesn’t, of course, feel the same about Zach’s disappearance.”

  “Have you told the sheriff?” Gil asked.

  “I did. I don’t know what he thinks of it, though. As far as I’m aware, we were the only ones suspicious of Stan.”

  “But the sheriff should be, too,” Piper protested, while at the same time feeling her loyalties waver. She wanted Zach to be exonerated, but she didn’t particularly want it to be by Stan Yeager. However, Stan’s going off like that was very odd.

  At that point Scott came in. Taking in the three serious faces, he asked, “You heard?”

  “About Yeager? I already notified the sheriff,” Ralph said.

  “What effect do you think this will have on Zach Heywood’s situation?” Gil asked.

  Scott shook his head. “Hard to say. It certainly complicates things. We need to find Zach. He should know about this.”

  “Sugar and I are trying our best,” Ralph said. He turned to Piper. “Do you think Yeager might be your cherry preserves poisoner?”

  The shop door opened, and one of Piper’s customers, Mrs. Anderson, came in, a small parcel in her hands. She paused to look at the others inquiringly, then said, “I’ll just drop this in your basket, Piper. It’s for Joan Tilley.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” Piper said. “I’ll see that she gets it.” The woman smiled and left.

  Scott stared after her, then at the gift basket in bewilderment. “Joan Tilley?” he asked Piper.

  “You didn’t know?” Though surprised, Piper wasn’t sure if she should be gratified that there was something major going on in her life that Scott didn’t know about. “Of course, you’ve been focused on Zach, as you should be. But something’s happened that’s probably connected.” She explained about the poisoned jar of brandied cherries that had landed Mrs. Tilley in the hospital.

  “Holy . . . !” Scott swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “To do what? The sheriff doesn’t seem to be blaming me. It probably helps that his daughter takes a large part in my pickle production.”

  “But . . . your shop? Your business?”

  “In trouble, yes, but I’ll handle it, one way or another. I’ve thought about who could have tampered with my jar and left it on the shelf. Unfortunately, the list includes everyone we’ve been looking at along with probably half the town.”

  “Was Stan Yeager in recently?” Ralph asked.

  “He was, and that surprised me. He isn’t normally a customer.”

  Ralph nodded, as did the other two men, taking in all the possible implications of that.

  Piper’s phone rang and she excused herself.

  “I just heard,” Will said as Piper picked up. “Tomas and I have been busy all day in the fields. What can I do?”

  Piper smiled. No Why didn’t you call me, just a simple offer of help. “Thanks, Will. Can I get back to you in a bit? Got a few people here right now.”

  “You’re still getting customers? Great!”

  “Well . . .”

  “I’ve got to run, Piper,” Scott called out. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Wait, was that Scott?” Will asked.

  “Um, yes.”

  “And he’s coming back later?”

  Piper sighed. Simple, it seemed, just flew out the window.

  . . .

  As Piper was ready to close up, Aunt Judy walked in. “I decided calling wasn’t enough. I wanted to see you in person.” She took Piper by the shoulders and looked at her searchingly. “How are you holding up?”

  At sight of her aunt’s loving, sympathetic face, all the emotions Piper had been holding in rushed to the surface, and to her chagrin she began tearing up. Aunt Judy pulled her close and hugged.

  “Uncle Frank and I will help you out in any way we can,” she murmured. “You can get through this.”

  “I intend to,” Piper said, sniffing. “But not by imposing on people I love if I can help it.”

  “There’s no shame in accepting help. We all need it from time to time.” Aunt Judy patted Piper’s back, then let go as a woman entered the shop to drop a small package in the wicker basket. Piper turned to grab a tissue and Aunt Judy stepped forward and thanked the woman. After the woman left, Aunt Judy said, “I heard about your gift collection for Joan Tilley. A perfectly lovely thought. Would you like me to take it to the hospital? I’ll be going there tonight.”

  “Would you?” Piper blew her nose. “I was going to drop them off before meeting Will at the Elm Street Café, which meant a lot of extra driving. I’d love to grab a few minutes of downtime before dinner.”

  “It looks like a lot of small things in the basket that shouldn’t be any trouble at all.”

  “Let me load them into something easier to carry,” Piper said, and trotted up to her apartment for a tote bag.

  As she helped Piper pack up the gifts, Aunt Judy said, “I’m so glad Will’s taking you out for a nice evening.”

  Piper smiled, feeling much the same. After Will’s initial spark of jealousy at hearing Scott’s voice in the background, he’d returned to his usual terrific self when they’d talked later. She was looking forward to spending time with him.

  “Think you can handle all this in one bag,” she asked, “or should I divide the load in two?”

  Aunt Judy tested the weight. “This is fine. I haven’t lived most of my life on a farm without developing a few muscles,” she said with a grin. “By the way, did you know Frances Billings is still in town? I thought she’d gone back to Florida, but she’s still at the Cloverton. I should give her a call and see if she’d like to get together.”

  Piper remembered the older woman she’d spoken with at Lydia Porter’s tea. Considering she was essentially saying final good-byes to her childhood home, Frances Billings had been remarkably upbeat. “Why is she still in town?” she asked.

  “I don’t really know. Maybe catching up with an old friend or two? I know she doesn’t have family here anymore.”

  “She and I met, if you remember, in the Porters’ library.” Piper smiled at the memory. “She wasn’t impressed with the books that had been stocked in it.”

  “Well, she used to be a librarian. I’m sure that gives her strong opinions on the subject.”

  “Was she? She didn’t mention that.”<
br />
  “It was at a private school, I believe, in Albany. She told me the name. What was it? Treyburn?” Aunt Judy waved a hand. “Something like that, not that it matters. Her family’s fortune, you know, had declined, so Frances needed to support herself. That may have been where she met her husband,” Aunt Judy said, then shook her head. “I’m really not too clear on that, either,” she said, and laughed at herself.

  “I’m sure Frances would love to meet with you,” Piper said. “And give my best to Mrs. Tilley tonight. I hope you’ll find her doing much better.”

  “I do, too.” Aunt Judy took the handmade card filled with signatures and greetings and slipped it into the tote bag. “All these good wishes can’t fail to help.”

  They hugged good-bye, and Piper finished closing up shop, which didn’t take long with no sales whatsoever to total up. It can only get better, she told herself, and went upstairs to get ready for her date.

  . . .

  Will had suggested the Elm Street Café, a quiet, out-of-the-way place, which was exactly what Piper needed. They slid onto vinyl-cushioned seats at a booth that had paper place mats on a bare wood table, then studied a menu full of comfort foods. After giving a grandfatherly waiter their order, Piper updated Will on the status of her shop and how she’d been distracting herself from the lack of business with her Tilley Project.

  “It’s a good indication that your old customers are taking to it. If they blamed you for the poisoned cherry preserves, they wouldn’t come near your shop.”

  “I think so, too, and that’s encouraging. A few even sounded sympathetic to my plight. Nobody was buying, though.”

  “Give it time.”

  Piper nodded but didn’t mention that her funds for running a shop that brought in no income wouldn’t last long, not to mention the astronomical cost if she had to replace all of her stock. The troubled look in Will’s eyes, which he couldn’t quite hide, told her he knew.