License to Dill (16 page)

A
s students from the next class began to arrive, Piper left Wendy, then sat in her car in the community center's parking lot, thinking. A stomach growl interrupted her thoughts, reminding her it was well past her lunchtime, which also decided her on her next move. With a little luck it might produce more than take-out food to share with Amy. She put her car in gear and turned it toward Carlo's Pizzeria.

The dozen or so plain wooden tables at Carlo's were empty, and the sole person at the front counter—a stocky woman of about forty whose pinned-up, frizzy blond hair had slipped in several places from its cap—looked bored. She brightened considerably at Piper's entrance. “Hi! Takeout or eat in?”

“Takeout,” Piper said and glanced at the large overhead menu. “How about a thin crust medium pizza with the works?”

“You got it.” The woman, whose name tag identified her as Crystal, sent the order to the kitchen, then took the credit card Piper held out. As she handed Piper a receipt to sign, she said, “It'll be a few minutes. Most people call ahead so it's ready when they come.”

Piper had particularly not called on her cell phone, hoping for the chance to chat with someone like Crystal. “That's okay. I don't mind waiting.” She glanced around. “Things are quiet today.”

Crystal sighed and leaned down to rest her forearms on the counter. “We were busier earlier, but it hasn't been close to what it used to be. Ever since that soccer guy went on the radio.”

“Oh, the one who said Carlo's wasn't authentically Italian, um, among other things.”

“Yeah. It was the other things that hurt the worst. Business dropped like a rock. It's a damned shame, 'cause there's no truth to that dumb remark. Our kitchen has always passed inspection. But what can you do? Take out ads that say, ‘We don't have bugs'? We really don't, by the way,” she assured Piper.

“Carl must be pretty upset, huh?”

“Upset? He turned purple when he first heard about it! I thought he was going to run out and kill the man.” Crystal covered her mouth. “Oops! I forgot. That's the guy who was shot in the dill field, isn't it?”

Piper nodded.

“Well, I didn't mean
really
murder him, of course. It's just what you say when you'd like to do that but you actually wouldn't, you know? Besides, Carl got over it. By Sunday he was more his old self. I suppose he's assumed people will forget all about it, especially with the man found dead, and all.”

Yes, Piper thought, a murder in the area can definitely divert public attention. It was interesting that Carl apparently calmed down after Conti's murder, though there could be more than one way to interpret that. Was Carl's reaction simply relief that an old enemy was gone? Or was it satisfaction over having finally gotten revenge?

The door opened and Don Tucker walked in, dressed in his hotel uniform of navy blazer, tie, and gray slacks.

“Afternoon, ladies. Crystal, may I have a large Coke to go?”

“Sure thing, Don.”

“You must be heading to work,” Piper said.

“Right. My hours change all the time, which works for me. And since it's such a nice day, I'm walking. Seeing you turn in here made me think a cold drink would be good to take along.”

“Here you are.” Crystal handed him the plastic-lidded cup. “Your pizza,” she said to Piper, “has just two minutes to go.”

“Late lunch, huh?” Don said, reaching for his wallet. “On second thought, Crystal, give me a couple of those cheese sticks.” He grinned. “Just smelling what's coming from the kitchen has made me hungry.”

As Don was pulling out his cash, Piper asked Crystal, “How late are you open on Saturdays?”

“We close at twelve.”

“I was here last Saturday after the soccer match, and Carl was here, too. Closing up at twelve must make for a pretty late drive home for Carl, huh? I mean, because there's usually so much for the owner to do after closing up. I find that with my own shop.”

Crystal had opened her mouth to answer when Carl Ehlers walked out from the kitchen area. “Afternoon, folks! Crystal, you can take your break. I'll take over for now.”

“But—” Crystal began, looking surprised, but stepped back without further comment and disappeared through an “Employees Only” door.

“These cheese sticks yours?” Carl asked Don and began to ring the order up, saying, “Great weather we've been having, eh?”

As Don agreed that it was and added a comment about the forecast, Piper wondered how long Carl had been nearby and within earshot and if her question to Crystal was what had drawn him out of the kitchen.

A young man with a white cap and apron appeared with a flat, white, delicious-smelling box. “Medium with the works?”

“That's me,” Piper said, holding up her receipt. “Crystal already rang it up.”

“Good, good,” Carl said, nodding and smiling, though his smile struck Piper as somewhat forced. “Enjoy, and have a good day, both of you.” Was he a bit eager for them to go?

“See you, Carl,” Don said as he held the door for Piper. She smiled her thanks as she walked out, then turned toward where she'd left her car. Don turned the same way, which surprised Piper since the Cloverton was in the opposite direction.

“What you mentioned back there jogged my memory,” he said as he walked beside her.

They'd reached Piper's car, and she paused, keys in one hand and the pizza box balanced in the other. “What was that?”

“That thing about Carl probably driving home late on Saturdays. I'd almost forgotten that there were a few nights, or early mornings, actually, when I did see Carl locking up the pizzeria about one in the morning as I'd be heading home from the hotel. Once in a while I do the late shift, though it's not my favorite.”

“Did you see him last Saturday?”

“'Fraid not. Didn't work that shift then. But I'm saying it's very possible Carl could have been driving home around the time Conti would have been stopped with his flat tire near the dill field. I say that reluctantly, 'cause I've always had a good opinion of Carl. He's worked hard to get to the point of owning his own business.”

“Which was hurt badly by Conti's remarks on the radio.”

Don Tucker nodded. “As I said, I'm sorry to say it. But we can't exactly pick and choose our suspects, can we? Well, your pizza's getting cold, and I have a job to get to.” Don bid her good day and turned to head toward the hotel.

Piper set her pizza box on the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, the aroma of pepperoni, oregano, and onion filling the small space by the time she'd buckled up and turned her ignition key. She was eager to get back to the pickling shop, but not only because her pizza was cooling. The trail toward finding Conti's murderer, she felt, had just grown warmer.

“M
r. Ehlers?” Amy asked, chewing over the possibility of the pizza restaurant owner as killer while at the same time enjoying his pizza. “I don't know. I still can't picture him doing something as violent as that. He always seemed so, so . . .” She searched for the right word.

“So harmless?” Piper offered.

“Right.”

“But Martin McDow described a Carl Ehlers who'd been pushed to the limits and went ballistic.”

“As a teenager.”

“True. But is it a stretch to believe that the adult Carl, having been pushed once again by an old nemesis, held his reaction in check for a while but snapped when he saw an opportunity—Raffaele Conti alone on a dark, empty road?”

Amy considered that a few moments. “Maybe not. But Conti was shot. Would Carl have had a gun with him?”

“I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised if he kept one with him for protection, particularly if he were leaving his pizzeria late at night carrying the day's receipts.”

Amy nodded, then took a bite of the dill pickle Piper had added to their lunch treat. It crunched crisply, having been, of course, perfectly prepared by the two of them.

Piper's shop bell jingled and Amy jumped up. “I'll get it,” she said, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. As Amy dealt with the customer, Piper continued working at her own slice of pie, thinking that Carl really did make a very good pizza, no matter what Raffaele Conti thought of it. Conti, though, may have said what he had on the radio simply from meanness, which Piper had been gradually learning seemed an ingrained part of his character. What a shame, she thought, since the man had a lot going for him—athletic talent, charm, good looks, certainly enough intelligence to handle a sports team. Why did he feel the need to regularly hurt those around him?

He'd been an outstanding soccer player during his single year at Cloverdale High, but had alienated most of his fellow teammates. He had dozens of girls falling at his feet but went after the one who was in a steady relationship with a fellow soccer player—then nearly date-raped her. He'd married a beautiful woman but continued to chase after other women, and he'd gathered a team of young athletes eager to begin a professional career but tricked at least one into signing a bad contract. Maybe the real question was how the man managed to survive as long as he had instead of who finally shot him in the dill field.

Except, Gerald Standley needed to be cleared of all suspicion. With a crowd of people besides Gerald who would have loved to see Conti dead, the difficulty was narrowing it down to only one. Had Carl Ehlers just moved up a notch on the list?

Piper's cell phone signaled the arrival of a text. She wiped her hands on her napkin and pulled the phone from her pocket, wondering if the message might be from Will. He wasn't big on texting but had occasionally resorted to it. A glance at the display erased that thought, as she saw an unfamiliar number. Thinking it must be spam, Piper nonetheless opened the message out of simple curiosity. Instead of a pitch for worry-free banking or low insurance rates, though, she found:

“Keep your nose out of other people's business or you WILL regret it.”

Piper blinked, unable to believe what she'd just read. After rereading the message for perhaps the fourth time it sank in. She'd been threatened!

The number that had sent the message offered no clue to its origin. A disposable cell phone? Most likely. Whoever had sent it, however, somehow knew Piper's cell number. He or she was also aware of what she'd been doing lately. Piper glanced around uneasily, having a sudden urge to pull her shades and lock her door.

Who, she wondered, was watching her?

“Y
ou should tell my dad about that text message.” Amy was wrapping up the last leftover slice of pizza to put away as Piper flattened the box for recycling. She'd shown Amy the threatening text after first dialing the number from the shop phone. Not surprisingly, no one picked up.

“I don't know what Sheriff Carlyle could do about it,” Piper said, “but maybe you're right. I'm sure he'll second the warning to keep my nose out of the investigation.”

“Are you going to?” Amy looked at Piper with genuine concern.

“Amy, do you remember how you felt when Nate was looked at with such suspicion for a crime he didn't commit?”

“I do, and it was awful!”

“Well, that's how Miranda is feeling right now about her father, as well as Denise Standley and Gerald himself. I promised all of them I'd do what I could. I'm not going back on that because of one anonymous text. And don't worry. I think I've learned something since Nate's situation about being careful.”

Amy still looked concerned but stopped her protesting.

Piper's shop phone rang, and she hesitated. Despite her assurances to Amy, the text message had shaken her a bit. Was this call going to be a second threat? She shook herself and grabbed the receiver.

“Hi!” Will's cheerful voice came through the line like a refreshing breeze.

“Hi, yourself, hermit.”

Will chuckled. “I've left my hut and climbed blinkingly into the sunlight. Finished the loan application and just dropped it off at the bank.”

“Congratulations! Come on by and we'll crack open a jar of pickled radishes to celebrate.” Piper heard a soft cough and grinned.

“Let's hold the celebration until the loan is approved. But I'm glad to stop by. In about five seconds, as a matter of fact.”

Piper looked up and saw Will's green van had pulled up to the curb outside her window. She laughed and went to the door as he climbed out of the van, pocketing his cell phone.

“I can't stay long,” Will said, giving her a quick hug. “Working on that application meant neglecting things at the tree farm that I have to catch up on.”

“So you don't have time for a pickled radish?” Seeing Will's face at first pucker then quickly shift into polite neutral made Piper burst out laughing. “Never mind. I do have an extra slice of Carlo's pizza, though, which I could heat up in a second if you're interested.”

Will's face lit up at that. “I did skip lunch.”

“I'll warm it up,” Amy volunteered, already heading to the back room.

“Thanks, Amy,” Piper said. “And I'll update you about what's happened since we last talked.”

“Which wasn't all that long ago.”

“I've been busy.” Piper told him about having learned where Raffaele Conti had been before ending up dead in the dill field, leaving out Wendy Prizer's name. She then explained about the added motive for Carl Ehlers to want to exact revenge on Conti.

“Carl had just restarted his relationship with this woman after possibly years of pining after her. Then Conti blows into town and proceeds to mess up Carl's life a second time.”

Amy brought out the warmed-up pizza on a plate, and Will thanked her, taking a huge bite and chewing as he mulled over what Piper had just shared.

“There's lots of conjecture there,” he said after a swallow. “But if you're right, Carl is looking pretty suspicious.”

“Plus,” Amy said, “he leaves his pizzeria late on Saturdays and could have been at the dill field when Raffaele Conti got stranded there.”

“Don Tucker dropped that bit of information after we left Carlo's,” Piper explained. “We'd been chatting with Crystal until Carl came out front and took over.”

“Would Carl have overheard anything you wouldn't want him to?” Will asked, his brow creasing.

Piper shrugged. “Conti's radio interview came up, but I'm sure Carl's heard that talked about ad nauseam.”

“It's just”—Will shifted on his seat—“you don't want to be tipping off the wrong people that you're checking up on them.”

Piper thought about Coach Tortorelli's glare in her direction at the Mariachi, plus her questions to Miranda about Frederico's visit to the Standley barn, which Miranda might have innocently passed on to the soccer player. Then there was Carl Ehlers's tight smile and hurry to send them off. Amy looked like she wanted to bring up the anonymous text, but Piper shot her a look.

“Nothing to worry about,” she assured Will.

At that point, the shop door opened.

“Erin!” Amy cried. “How are you?”

Piper thought Amy's tone sounded overly anxious, but then she knew what was behind it.

“I'm fine,” Erin said, looking a bit puzzled. “I just got off work from Dr. Dickerson's and thought I could walk with you when you head over to A La Carte.” She glanced at the clock. “You'll be going soon, right?”

“In about five minutes. That'd be great!”

Will stood up. “I'm heading back myself and could give you both a lift.”

“No,” Amy said. “A walk will give us time to catch up on things, right, Erin? We haven't chatted in ages.”

“I was here yesterday.”

“Right! But that was different. I mean girl talk.”

Piper knew exactly what Amy had in mind and hoped it went well. She liked Erin, too, and though she didn't totally understand Erin's feelings for Ben, they were
her
feelings, and Piper didn't like to see them cause her heartache.

Will, Amy, and Erin took off for their destinations, and Piper had a quiet moment—which lasted all of thirty seconds. That was when Emma Leahy walked in.

“Don Tucker told me you're suspicious of Carl Ehlers.” Emma was in her usual supercasual gardening clothes, and Piper wondered if she'd been to the Cloverton in them until Emma added, “I just got off the phone with him.”

“I'm suspicious of several people. Carl's just one more on the list.” Piper decided not to mention her latest information about Carl, Wendy Prizer, and Conti for the moment.

“Well, Carl's likelihood of being out and about at the time Raffaele was shot is something we should all keep in mind,” Emma said, moving around the shop and picking up the occasional item as she spoke. “He had a good reason to be furious with Raffaele after that radio interview.” She grabbed a spice jar to examine, then put it back. “Plus, my daughter, Joanie, reminded me that Raffaele had picked on Carl during that high school year. Kids don't forget that when they grow up.”

“They don't. And it sounded much worse than being picked on. Raffaele was a real bully.” Piper told Emma about the incident in Schenkel's ice cream and sandwich shop. “Carl took quite a beating, from what I was told, and also lost his bussing job.”

“I didn't know about that. I'll definitely share that with the group tonight. Don won't be there, though. He's working.”

“Yes, I ran into him on his way to the Cloverton. It sounded like he didn't mind the changeable hours.”

“Well, he lives alone, of course. I had hoped when Lois died that Robin, his daughter, might move back to Cloverdale.”

“Where is she?”

“Somewhere in Maryland. Baltimore, I think. She apparently has a very good job of some kind, so giving it up was not an option, which I can understand with my own Joanie having to move to Pittsburgh. Cloverdale is a great place to live for a lot of reasons, but it can't offer the more specialized jobs that some of our young people are looking for.”

Piper's first thought was regret that Scott's field of law made it possible for him to relocate so easily. There was always the chance he would change his mind about Cloverdale, though, if his one-man firm didn't draw enough clients. She wondered how he was getting along with his research assignment for Emma's little group and felt a twinge of guilt over her little prank, though it served him right for ignoring his promise to give her space. She wondered if she should stop in to see his new office to make up for it—unannounced and with a quick getaway plan—but then scrapped the idea.

“I'll take these cumin seeds and paprika,” Emma said, breaking into Piper's thoughts. “Going to put up some pickled turnips. Have you ever done those?”

“Yes!” Piper said, happy to be back on familiar and very pleasant ground. “Aunt Judy and I did a bunch at the farm once or twice.”

“That might be where I got the recipe,” Emma said. “Or maybe I gave it to her. It's been so long, I can't remember. All I know is they're delicious and great with pork.” She handed the jars to Piper, who rang the spices up and bagged them.

Emma left, and Piper sank down on a stool, hoping to have a longer quiet time than the previous half-minute break. A lot had been happening, and she needed to pull her thoughts together. Visions of Wendy Prizer's tai chi class came to her, along with the peace-filled expressions on many of the faces. What a great way that seemed to be to decompress. If customers gave her a hard time for having run out of Zanzibar cloves, she could head to the back and do a few minutes of the White Crane for patience. Or if—

Piper's phone rang, snapping her out of the virtual exercise. She reached for it with some reluctance.

“Miss Lamb?” the familiar voice on the other end asked. “Sheriff Carlyle here. I understand you have something to tell me?”

Piper tried not to sputter as she struggled for a response. “What, ah, what do you mean?”

“I ran into Amy a few minutes ago. She's worried about you. And don't blame her for spilling the beans. I know when my daughter's bothered by something, and I'm generally pretty good at getting information out of people. So tell me about this threat.”

“It's nothing, really. Just someone texting me to stop poking into things.”

“Things like our recent murder?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that's what was meant.”

“And you don't know where it came from?”

“An unknown number.”

“Hmm. I'd like to come by and see that, if you don't mind. You saved the text?”

“Yes, and you're welcome to check it out, Sheriff, but I don't know what you can learn from it.”

“Let me figure that out.”

S
heriff Carlyle held Piper's phone in his hand as he studied her worrying text. “Any thoughts as to who might have sent this?”

Piper shook her head. “I've been talking to plenty of people about Raffaele Conti's murder and asking questions, but I think I've been fairly discreet.”

The sheriff exhaled loudly, and Piper pictured him doing a mental White Crane. “Who have you been talking to?”

Piper listed the names and watched as he wrote them down in his notebook. “I've just been trying to help the Standleys,” she said. “They're going through a lot because too many think Gerald did it. You don't, do you, Sheriff?”

“It's an ongoing investigation, Piper, which
I
,” he emphasized the last word, “am conducting. I'm not prepared to make statements as to who is or isn't under suspicion.”

“But—”

“I'll need your permission to examine your cell phone records,” the sheriff said. “Maybe we can trace that text.”

“Do you think that's likely?”

“Likely? No. Possible, maybe.”

“Good luck, then.”

“Let me know if you get any more of these.” When Piper nodded, he added, “And stick to your pickling, would you please?” His voice suddenly softened. “I don't want to hear about anything worse than a threatening text message in the future.”

Sheriff Carlyle replaced his hat and strode out the door, not waiting for the assurance from Piper that he probably knew wasn't going to come.