Scene of the Brine (8 page)

Piper didn't expect names from Aunt Judy, who tended to believe the best about everyone until proven indisputably wrong, but she waited as Uncle Frank mulled over her question.

“What about that greenhouse lady?” he finally said.

“Who?”

“Oh, Frank,” Aunt Judy said, “she couldn't possibly—”

“Judy, I'm just saying there might be something going on there. I saw them—her and Unger—arguing pretty heatedly the other day. “

“But—”

“Arguing where?” Piper asked, interested. “And are you talking about Marguerite Lloyd?”

“That's her. Couldn't think of her name. It was, oh, let me think, about a week ago. The day I stopped at TopValuFood to pick up that laundry soap for you, Judy. I was walking back to where I parked my truck at the far end of the lot, when I heard their voices. Loud. They were over in the next row, so I didn't hear all of what they were saying. I could see them all right and Ms. Lloyd was fit to be tied, that was pretty clear.”

“How about Unger?” Piper asked.

“Well, now that I think of it, it was pretty one-sided. Guess you can't call it an argument, then, can you? The Unger fellow was mostly taking it in, and when he did answer her it was much quieter. But whatever he said to her wasn't calming. She screeched and stalked away. He stayed where he was, looking smug.”

“Smug?” Aunt Judy said. “That would infuriate anyone, especially if they were mad to begin with.”

Piper agreed, but the attitude sounded typical of Unger. “So you didn't catch what it was about?”

Uncle Frank shook his head. “Only something about him poking his nose into her business.”

“Her greenhouse business?”

“Marguerite does landscape design as well,” Uncle Frank said. “Maybe it was that. Could she have been hired to do Jeremy Porter's place?”

“Possibly,” Piper said. “And you're right, it bears looking into. But,” she assured her aunt, “I'll be as discreet as possible. Promise.”

“I know you will, dear.” Aunt Judy's brow puckered. “And I want Zach to be cleared as much as you do. I just don't want it to be anyone I know.”

“It'll have to be someone,” her husband pointed out, patting her hand. “Look at it this way: If it's a person you know, wouldn't you rather find out instead of going along thinking they're something they're not?”

“I suppose,” Aunt Judy said doubtfully, and perhaps to cheer her up, Uncle Frank reached for her platter of sweet, spicy chicken and forked a second helping onto his plate. It seemed to work, as Aunt Judy smiled.

Piper decided they'd had enough talk of murder for the night and asked Aunt Judy about how Jack's visit to the vet had gone. But as her aunt answered in some detail, Piper made a mental note to look into “the greenhouse lady's” business very soon.

11

P
iper was just ringing up her first customer of the day—Mrs. Hendrickson, who'd developed a fondness for Piper's tea jelly and had stopped in for two more jars—when she saw Scott's red Volvo pull up outside.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hendrickson,” Piper said, handing the bagged jars over. She watched the purple-jacketed woman pause at the door to trace a finger lightly over Ralph Strawbridge's carvings as Piper had seen so many people do.
Would that wear down the bas-relief in time,
she wondered,
like stalagmites that became rounded and polished from the touch of countless tourists?
She'd have to run that by Ralph. But for the moment she was more concerned with what Scott might be carrying in a large, oddly shaped brown bag.

“Morning!” Scott called, as he maneuvered himself through the door. He was obviously on his way to his office, dressed once more in a dark suit and tie, though different ones from the day before.

“Good morning. What in the world do you have there?”

“You're not going to believe this,” he said, holding on to his package, which didn't appear at all heavy. “Remember back in Albany when we were looking through that antique shop? It was that Saturday afternoon when we'd gone to get your ring resized?”

“Ye-es,” Piper said slowly, remembering that period early in their engagement when she'd thought everything was going so wonderfully.
What,
she wondered,
had Scott done with the ring that she'd returned to him?

“Well, do you also remember the painted cat you fell in love with but that I talked you out of getting because I thought it was silly?”

Piper didn't have to think hard on that. She quickly flashed on the seated cat made out of papier-mâché. It had been decorated whimsically in rainbow colors, and she'd loved it at once but had eventually agreed with Scott that it was impractical. Would she have given up so easily now? Highly doubtful, but the question was moot as Scott slid a near-identical creation out of his bag.

“Voilà!”

Piper gasped. “Where did you find it?”

“An antique shop over on Maple Street. Do you know it?”

Piper did. The shop had previously been owned by Alan Rosemont, the amateur bagpiper whose body had ended up in her pickle barrel. That had happened a few weeks before Scott moved into Cloverdale and she'd never mentioned it, or the rest of the story, to him.

“I haven't been there since the new owner took over,” she said.

“You should check it out. Great stuff. Anyway, I spotted this and instantly thought of you. Do you still like it?”

Piper loved it but she hesitated to say so. “You bought it for me?”

“Of course!” Scott said, laughing. “I don't think it would exactly fit in at my law office, do you? Seriously, I always felt a little bad about talking you out of the other one. I shouldn't have done that.”

He held the cat out to her, but Piper shrank back. “Scott, I can't accept such a gift from you. Though it was very thoughtful. I'm sure it was much too expensive.”

“Not at all! Please take it. No strings attached, I promise! Even if the shop would take this little fellow back, I don't want to. He needs a good home.” He gave the colorful cat a comically mournful look. “He was fading away in a dark corner in that shop, with nobody to love him.”

Piper felt her lips twitch. “Well, I suppose I could find a space for
her
—I'm sure it's a her—as long as she stays quiet.”

“Oh, silence is guaranteed.”

Piper reached for the cat. “Thank you, Scott. But no more gifts, okay?”

“I thought you could call him Dill-bert,” he said. “But since he's a she . . .”

“Dill-lilah, maybe?” Piper said, grinning.

“Or Jelly-an?”

Piper groaned. “Isn't it time for you to open up your office?”

“Probably, just in case somebody calls. No early appointments but Zach Heywood should stop in a little later.” He grew somber. “I need to explain a few things to him, like the seriousness of his situation.”

“He doesn't seem to quite get it, does he? But what twenty-year-old really believes anything bad could happen to them? That happens only in the movies or to somebody else.”

Scott nodded. “Well, I'll do my best to get through. He's a smart kid, and a good one, I think.” He glanced at Piper's clock. “Enjoy, um, whatever you decide to call her,” he said, gesturing toward the cat. His smile reappeared.

“I will, Scott. And thank you.” Piper watched as he hopped back into his sporty car and took off. Scott might be causing complications in her life but he was a very good lawyer and he obviously cared about his client. She was glad she'd sent Zach Heywood to him.

Piper looked at the pretty painted cat he'd left with her and sighed, unsure if she'd done the right thing by accepting the piece but at the same time smiling inanely over owning it.

. . .

H
e got it, you know, because Will gave you those flowers,” Amy said after hearing the tale behind Piper's gift. She grinned wickedly. “Now we'll see how Will tops papier-mâché.”

“There won't be any competition. Will probably won't even notice the thing.” Piper had moved the cat around experimentally to several different places in the shop, ending up at an area near the window, but began to have second thoughts about the spot. Perhaps tucked slightly behind the canning and pickling jars would be better?

To end a discussion that was making her a tad uneasy, Piper asked Amy if she knew anything about Marguerite Lloyd, landscaper and source of Will's bouquet.

“Not much. Why?”

“It's just a stab in the dark, but Uncle Frank overheard her having a heated argument with Dirk Unger. I'm scrambling around for anyone other than Zach who might have had a grudge against the man.”

“I can't imagine what Unger would have had to do with a flower lady. Maybe it had something to do with the Porters?”

“That was our guess and one of the things I hope to find out from Tammy Butterworth.”

. . .

A
s Amy started cutting up the asparagus Piper had brought back from the farm, Piper called the cell phone number printed on Tammy's business card and asked if she could meet with her for a few minutes.

“Sure thing. How about now?” Tammy suggested. “I'm cleaning the Harpers' place. I can talk and work at the same time.

“Won't the Harpers mind?” Piper asked.

The infectious laugh that Piper remembered bubbled through the phone. “They're down in Florida. They rented the place out while they were gone for the winter but they're heading back soon and want it spruced up. There's people in and out doing repairs, too. You might as well join the crowd.”

With Amy around to watch the shop, Piper took off in her hatchback, driving through town for about ten minutes before pulling up to the redbrick ranch home that Tammy had directed her to. A black van with “Reyes Heating and Air Conditioning” lettered on its side occupied much of the driveway, its opened doors and miscellaneous equipment blocking the way, so Piper parked on the street and followed the curved walkway to the front door.

She rang the bell but got no response. Assuming the vacuuming noises she heard inside were the reason, she opened the unlocked door and spotted Tammy, her back to her, bobbing her head in time to whatever was coming through her earbuds as she energetically pushed a vacuum cleaner over a thick beige rug.

“Hello!” Piper yelled from the doorway, then stepped in and eased over to the woman's line of vision.

“Hey!” Tammy said, reacting not with a start as Piper had feared, but with a delighted smile. She pulled out her earbuds and shouted over the noise of her vacuum. “You found it. Great! Give me one minute to finish here, okay?”

Piper nodded and backed out of the way. She watched as Tammy worked, sliding aside hassocks and lifting floor lamps with a balletic grace that brought visions of
Swan Lake
to mind despite Tammy's decidedly round figure. The ongoing smile on the woman's face hinted at real joy in her task, something Piper could say she experienced during her pickling efforts but hardly ever while cleaning.

“There!” Tammy said, finally cutting off the noise. She snatched up the cord and began winding it around the holder. “So, what can I help you with?”

“It's about Dirk Unger's murder,” Piper said. “I'm wondering if it might have something to do with his past and if you could tell me anything about that?”

Sudden loud pounding overhead pulled both heads upward.

“They're working on the air-conditioning in the attic,” Tammy cried over the din. “Let's go to the kitchen.” She led the way through a polished wood–filled dining room to the other end of the house. As they reached the bright white-and-black tiled room, she said, “I haven't been in here, yet, so I'll just get on with my work while we talk, all right?”

“Sure,” Piper said, watching Tammy pull cleaning supplies out of the white-painted cupboards. She automatically asked if she could help, as she would have if it were Aunt Judy's kitchen. Her offer, however, prompted genial laughter.

“No, dear,” Tammy said with a look that said Piper might be the expert on pickling but Tammy Butterworth was the professional on setting houses straight. “Dirk Unger's past,” she said, mulling over Piper's question as she filled a small bucket with hot, soapy water. “Let's see. He's worked with Jeremy for years but I think he started out some place in Ohio. Couldn't tell you exactly where, though.”

“Was he ever married?”

“Married?” Tammy squeezed a sponge into the bucket and began swiping at the black-speckled granite countertop. “Good question. I have no idea. I can't picture anyone falling in love with him, can you?”

“No,” Piper admitted. “Or him caring enough about someone else. What about before he and the Porters moved to Cloverdale? Did he make any enemies, anyone who might have followed him here?”

“To kill him, you mean? Probably a whole lot of people hated him. Dirk did Jeremy's dirty work for him—firing people, stuff like that. He was good at it. Enjoyed it, most likely.” She rubbed at a particularly sticky spot on the counter.

“Does anyone stand out?”

Tammy paused, shaking her head. “Sorry, sweetie. They probably all hated him equally. A bunch could probably have filled a bus and ridden over as a group to do away with him.” She cackled brightly. “I didn't see anything like that around, did you?”

Piper shook her head. This wasn't getting her anywhere. She decided to move on, as did Tammy, who, finished with her countertop, grabbed a bottle of stainless steel polish. “Someone,” Piper said, “overheard Unger in an argument with Marguerite Lloyd a few days before he died.”

“The woman with the landscaping business?” Tammy asked.

“Yes. Do you know if she was hired to work on the Porter property?”

Piper's hopes sagged as Tammy once more shook her head.

“Nope.” Tammy poured polish liberally onto a cloth and smoothed it over the refrigerator door. “Lydia balked at Jeremy getting the yard dug up this year, though he wanted to. She didn't want the mess during her big tea. But,” she added, rubbing at the door, “I think she wanted to keep Marguerite Lloyd in her good graces for the future, so Lydia passed her name on to the Fortneys. The wife apparently wants to do something special with their lot.”

The name Fortney rang a bell with Piper but she couldn't immediately think why. “How did Lydia know the Fortneys?”

“Oh, Lydia's been busy getting to know everyone in Cloverdale—and everything about them.” Piper thought back to how Lydia knew about Piper's parents' occupation and was sure that was true.

“Now,” Tammy said, pausing thoughtfully, her rag limp in her hand. “That might be the reason for the problem between Lloyd and Dirk.”

“What would?”