Scene of the Brine

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  The shopping channel almost caught her. Could I sell my pickles and preserves there? she wondered briefly before deciding their poisoned reputation would continue to haunt her, what with the relentless and vastly reaching Internet and social networks. Continuing her search, late-night Saturday seemed to be high school movie night, as Sixteen Candles, Dead Poets Society, and Mr. Holland’s Opus popped up, none of them interesting her. Then she found The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, a movie she’d heard of but had never seen. It was just beginning, and she plumped her pillows and settled in to watch.

  An impossibly young Maggie Smith and the others in the cast offered great acting, and the plot was intriguing enough to pull Piper away from her own problems. With her mind finally relaxed, her tired self eventually followed suit, and Piper drifted off, waking late Sunday morning to the sound of an overly peppy commercial promoting, of course, a breakfast cereal.

  Piper rose on one elbow and clicked off the set, grateful to have grabbed a few hours of sleep but wishing it had been in less of a cricked-neck position. A hot shower helped, and she let it run extra long, feeling in no hurry to start a day that promised only gloom.

  Coffee worked its wonders as well, and as Piper sipped she heard distant church bells and realized she could make the last Mass at All Saints if she hurried. A few prayers couldn’t hurt, she figured, and she immediately downed the coffee, changing quickly into more appropriate Sunday morning church garb than the gray sweats she’d originally thrown on, though she skipped the dressier shoes and chose comfortable flats. Church in Albany might have called for heels. Cloverdale, not so much.

  Piper slipped into a back pew as the first hymn was winding down. Two more latecomers arrived after her, and she slid over to make room, exchanging smiles and passing over hymn books. The familiar rituals were soothing and Piper recognized a few faces here and there, including, to her surprise, Aunt Judy’s and Uncle Frank’s. They were early risers by nature and necessity, and she knew they usually caught the eight o’clock Mass, so they were the last two people she’d expected to encounter at this hour. Seeing her was apparently as startling for Aunt Judy, as her aunt double-blinked when she happened to turn. Piper waggled her fingers in silent greeting, then turned her attention back to the service.

  At one point, just after the sermon, members of the youth group were called forward. The teens had worked together to collect canned goods for the church food pantry and they were called up to have their efforts applauded by the congregation. Piper scanned the lineup with interest, picking out the kids who seemed the most enthusiastic and the few who were likely there from parental prodding. Because of the students and their ages, the movie titles she’d flipped through the night before came to mind, and as the little ceremony droned on a bit too long, her mind followed another route that took increasing twists and turns, so much so that by the end of the service, as the final hymn began, Piper squeezed past the others in her pew apologetically and hurried out the door. She pulled out her phone and turned it back on, wishing she’d thought to put Jen’s number into her cell phone contacts the night before.

  “Will,” she said as she stepped to one side outdoors. “I need to talk to Jen Fleming. Do you have a number where I can reach her?”

  Will, picking up Piper’s urgent tone, didn’t ask questions. “I have Matt’s cell but not hers. Here’s their home number.” He read off that number. “You might be able to catch Jen at the house.”

  “Great! I’ll explain later. Wish me luck.” Piper rang off and called the Flemings’ home, praying silently as she heard it ring. To her delight, Jen picked up.

  “Jen, it’s Piper. I’m in a bit of a hurry and don’t have time to explain. Can you confirm that Frances Billings had been the school librarian at Tedbury Academy? It would have been several years ago.”

  “Billings?” There was a pause. “No, that name doesn’t ring a bell at all.”

  Piper’s heart sank until Mrs. Tilley’s words from the night before came back to her. She was a Kingsley. “What about Kingsley?” Piper asked. “That would have been her maiden name. Frances Kingsley.”

  “Oh! There was a Frances Kingsley there ages ago. I only know because there are photos of past staff members—the more outstanding ones—hanging in the school library. I remember Frances because she looked very much like my mother at that age. I used to say ‘Hi, Mom’ sometimes when I passed her photo. I even asked my mother if they could have been related—they weren’t—but that’s why the name sticks with me.”

  “Excellent! Can you give me a time frame?”

  There was a pause, as Jen considered. “Late sixties through early seventies, I believe.”

  Piper would have whooped if she weren’t standing in a crowd of exiting parishioners by then. “Thank you, Jen! I promise, I’ll get back to you soon and explain everything.” She had spotted Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank strolling out of the church as they chatted with another couple. Piper caught Aunt Judy’s eye and waved her over with some urgency.

  “How nice to see you here, Piper! We don’t . . .” Aunt Judy began before Piper stopped her with an arm squeeze.

  “Aunt Judy, I’m sorry, but this is important. You said Frances Billings was going out to lunch with somebody today. Did she give any hint at all as to who that would be and when?”

  “Why, no,” Aunt Judy said, looking puzzled. “All she said was that she’d been invited out.” She glanced at her watch. “Since she said lunch, my guess would be right about now. It’s just past noon.”

  “Then I’d better get busy. I don’t suppose you reached Frances on her cell phone, did you?”

  “No,” Aunt Judy said, “I reached her through the hotel.” She pulled out her phone and made a few taps before handing it to Piper. “Maybe you can catch her there.”

  Piper took the phone and put through the call on the number Aunt Judy had brought up.

  “Cloverton? I want to speak with Frances Billings, please. Room . . .” She glanced at Aunt Judy, who held up her fingers, and said, “305.”

  “I’m sorry,” the Cloverton desk person said, “but Ms. Billings just left.”

  Piper grimaced. “Did she say where she was going? This is Piper Lamb. It’s very important that I find her.”

  “Why yes, she did,” the receptionist said. “Ms. Billings said she was meeting someone at a place she was unfamiliar with. She wondered if she needed to call a cab. I told her the White Swan was only two blocks away and she decided it was a nice enough day to walk.”

  “The White Swan? Thank you!”

  Piper handed the phone back to her aunt.

  “She’s lunching at the White Swan. I’m heading over.”

  “Who with? Is she in danger?” Aunt Judy asked. “Should the sheriff be involved?”

  Piper thought for a moment. Was she sure enough to bring in the sheriff? She could be wrong. But if Piper was right, Frances’s life could be at risk. That settled it.

  “I’ll call him on the way,” she said and turned to hurry off.

  “Who is it?” Aunt Judy called after Piper but several people had moved between them by then and Piper simply waved. Right or wrong, Aunt Judy would find out before very long.

  As she crept along in the long line of cars heading out of the church parking lot, Piper put in a call to the sheriff’s office. A young-sounding female answered and told Piper Sheriff Carlyle was not in the office.

  “Can you reach him?”

  “It’s his day off,” the voice told her firmly, then asked, as though suddenly remembering the protocol, “Is this an emergency?”

  Was it? Piper couldn’t say it definitely was. All she had was her theory. She explained her thoughts as best she could, inching forward at the same time toward the main road.

  The person on the other end sounded doubtful.

  “Please,” Piper begged, “just pass my information on to the sheriff o
r send someone to the White Swan. We can work it out once we’re there.” She’d reached the crossroad and set down the phone, her attention required for driving. She grabbed an opening in the traffic to turn, not knowing if her call would bring a deputy to the tearoom or not and feeling the urgency for getting there ratchet up.

  Winding through Cloverdale streets—once running a red light that had no traffic flowing against her—Piper, after one wrong turn, pulled up outside the White Swan. She scrambled out and hurried through the doorway to scan the patrons at the scattering of white-cloth covered tables.

  “May I help you?” a gray-haired hostess at the desk asked politely.

  “Frances Billings. She’s supposed to be here, but I don’t see her.”

  “Billings?”

  Piper gave the former librarian’s description. “I know she was coming here and I know I didn’t pass her on the route from the Cloverton. Was there a reservation?” Piper gave the other name a reservation might have been made under.

  The hostess studied her reservations list and shook her head. “Nothing under either of those names. I’m sorry.” She thought for a moment. “Now that I think of it, I did see a lady similar to your description approach us when I happened to look out the window during a slow period.”

  “But she didn’t come in?”

  “No, she didn’t. A car pulled up on the opposite side of the street and the driver appeared to call to her. After a moment, your friend, if that were she, climbed in on the passenger side and the car drove off.”

  “Did you see the driver?”

  “It was too far away, I’m afraid, and the car was in the shadows.”

  “What kind of car? Did you see a license plate?”

  The older woman shook her head and smiled. “All I can tell you is it was black and a sedan. Beyond that, I really don’t know one car from another. I hope you find your friend,” she added pleasantly.

  Piper thanked her and left the tearoom to stand outside and wonder what to do. No sheriff’s car had shown up and she wasn’t sure what to do about that, either. Had she been wrong, she asked herself? No, Frances Billings had been taken to another location for an ominous reason, of that Piper was increasingly sure. The problem was where and how could Piper find them.

  She pulled out her phone and looked up the number she wanted. She heard it ring twice before a woman answered—an older woman. Piper hesitated, surprised for a moment, then realized who it must be.

  “Gwen Smyth?” she asked.

  27

  Yes, this is Gwen,” Lydia Porter’s sister said cheerfully into the phone. “And who are you?”

  “This is Piper Lamb. I own the pickling shop?”

  “Yes, hi! How’re you doing? What can I do for you?”

  “I need to know where Lydia is right now.”

  “Lydia?” Gwen paused. “She’s gone out.”

  “Yes, but do you know where?”

  “I haven’t the faintest, sorry.” Gwen paused, possibly picking up on the urgency in Piper’s voice. “Want me to try Lydia’s cell? I can do it while you’re holding on.”

  “Yes, please do.” Piper waited, shifting her weight as Gwen apparently used her own cell phone to call her sister.

  After a few moments she heard, “No luck. It went to voice mail. Or the black hole, as I call it.”

  Unsurprised, Piper asked, “What kind of car does Lydia drive? Do you know the license number?”

  “License number? Good grief, no. I do know it’s a Lexus, though. And it’s black.”

  Piper heard Gwen speak to someone else.

  “Mallory doesn’t know the license number, either,” she said, coming back on the phone.

  “Mallory’s there?” Piper perked up. “Would you put her on?”

  Piper heard a muffled discussion, as though Gwen needed to persuade her niece to take the phone. After what seemed like hours, Mallory finally said, “Hello?”

  “Mallory, it’s Piper.”

  “Yes, I know. Hello, Piper.” Mallory sounded hesitant and Piper knew she needed to tread slowly. Frustrating though that was, it was her only hope of getting anything from Lydia’s daughter.

  “Mallory, I’m really hoping you can help me.”

  “Me? With what?”

  “Remember that person I told you about who once worked as librarian at your old school? Frances Billings?”

  There was an excruciatingly long pause, then Mallory said, “Yes, I remember.”

  “Did your mother mention her at all? Maybe yesterday? Or today?”

  Another pause dragged on until Mallory finally said, “Yes.”

  O . . . kay. “Can you tell me what she said?”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

  “Mallory, this is very important. Ms. Billings’s life could be at stake. I know you’ve always done what your mother wanted you to do, but I’m just as sure that you’re ready to think for yourself. Your mother may have made some very bad decisions and it’s time to put a stop to it all. Will you help me do that, please?”

  Piper waited for what seemed like an eternity. For a horrible moment she feared Mallory had put the phone down and walked away. Had Lydia irreparably broken her daughter down? Then she heard Mallory’s answer.

  “Yes.”

  It was a single word but Piper grabbed at it. “You’ll help?”

  “Yes. My mother was very upset. She said Ms. Billings had lied. That she’d hidden who she really was.”

  Exactly what Piper had expected!

  “Thank you, Mallory. Did your mother say she was going to see her?”

  “No, she didn’t say that.”

  “Your mother did go out today, though. I think she planned to see Ms. Billings. I don’t know where that would be. Do you have any idea where your mother would have gone with Ms. Billings?”

  Piper waited, assuming Mallory was thinking. What were the chances she would come up with something? If Lydia were planning murder, how likely was it that she’d mention to anyone where that would be? But it was all Piper had to go on.

  “Wait a minute,” Mallory said. “Mother was on her laptop this morning. I think she might have been checking a map.”

  Piper heard the phone clunk as Mallory dropped it. Piper caught herself holding her breath and quickly sucked in air. This was not the time to pass out. She waited, phone held tightly to her ear, and paced in circles, barely aware of patrons of the White Swan entering and leaving the tearoom only steps away. Finally she heard scrambling noises as Mallory picked up again.

  “She was checking directions to the Birch Café. That’s probably where she went. It’s in Bellingham on Birch Street near Tenth.”

  “Thank you, Mallory!”

  “You’re welcome, Piper.”

  Piper heard a new tone of confidence in Mallory’s voice and knew what it meant. She also knew what it might cost Mallory but that was something to think about later. Piper said good-bye and called her shop assistant next, instead of the sheriff’s office.

  “Amy,” she said, “is your father there?”

  “Dad? No, he’s off fishing.”

  “Can you reach him? I don’t think the person answering calls at his office is taking me seriously. You’re my only hope for getting through to your dad.” She explained what was going on. “I’m heading over to the Birch Café right now. I hope you can convince your father to have someone from the Bellingham police meet me there.”

  “Absolutely. Assuming I can get through to his cell. Sometimes service is sketchy where he goes.”

  “Try.” Piper thought a moment. “And if you can’t get your dad, call Ben Schaeffer.” An auxiliary police officer, Piper reasoned, was better than no one, and she might need any help she could get. “Also, pass on that Lydia Porter is driving a black Lexus but I don’t have the license number.”
>
  “Will do.”

  Piper was in her car by then. She ended the call to look up Tenth and Birch Streets in Bellingham on her phone app, then drove off, keeping the screen at hand for last-minute checks. She wound her way through Cloverdale, fighting an urge to hurry that would only put others at risk. Once she made it to the highway, she picked up speed, though traffic and limited passing opportunities continued to frustrate her.

  Piper’s mind moved faster than her car, running over all the possibilities as she drove—at times convinced she was right, at others worried that she could be very wrong—and that everything she had set in motion, including herself, could end up as one huge embarrassment. Bad as that might be, it was nothing compared to what the result would be if she was right—and too late. Piper pressed harder on her accelerator at the thought.

  Signs for Bellingham appeared and Piper watched anxiously for the turnoff, her eyes flicking often from road to clock. Twenty minutes had passed since she’d left the White Swan. How many had gone by since Frances Billings climbed into that black Lexus?

  The exit arrived and Piper took it, glancing at the small screen on her older-model phone for help but getting none. Why hadn’t she invested in a decent GPS? Or downloaded a newer app for her aged phone? One that spoke to you? Because, she answered herself, she always thought she had time to study the way to unknown places. Who knew she’d someday be making a life-or-death trip to an obscure café in the middle of Bellingham, a town she knew only for its hospital and shopping mall? Piper scanned signs at the end of the ramp and made a quick decision to turn right.

  Hating to do it, but unsure of what to do next, she pulled over to study her digital map. The Birch Café was tucked in the center of a horror of a maze of streets. Had Lydia chosen it for that reason? Piper did her best to memorize the complicated route, then pulled back onto the road. The first part of her drive, on main highways, was easy. It very quickly became mind-boggling.

  Pulling over twice more during the process, Piper feared Frances Billings’s only hope would be if Amy reached her sheriff father, who would then set the Bellingham police into motion. Barring that, would Ben Schaeffer be of help? Piper had no idea if Ben would be able to zero in on the Birch Café any faster than she was. The pile of unknowns began pressing down with crushing weight but Piper pushed on, aware that she might end up being the only hope of rescue.