Scene of the Brine (21 page)

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A
unt Judy came to the shop later that afternoon, and the sight of her lifted Piper's sagging spirits. She'd collected more gifts for Mrs. Tilley, along with a few more encouraging words of support. But when it came to her old customers trusting Piper's pickles and preserves enough to buy, well, that was apparently for someone else to do.

“For goodness' sake,” Aunt Judy said, exasperated, “you'd think people would at least realize that your pickling
equipment
is perfectly safe.”

Piper shook her head. “It wouldn't matter. There's a ghostly skull and crossbones hanging over my entire shop because of that one jar of poisoned cherries.”

Aunt Judy tsked worriedly but moved on to less distressing things. “I talked with Frances Billings,” she told Piper. “It turns out she's stayed in town because of a sudden attack of nostalgia. She's been visiting the few places from her childhood that are still around, like the grandstand in the park and the old Majestic theater, which used to be
the
place to go for all the big movies. Your Uncle Frank took me there on our first date. It's rather run-down, now, though I did hear there are plans to refurbish it for a community theater group. Won't that be nice?

“Anyway, that's what has kept her here. I offered to take her around tomorrow, then bring her to the farmhouse for dinner, but she said she'd had an unexpected invitation to lunch and at her age she wasn't up to doing too much in one day. Frances sounded a bit regretful that she had to pass on my offer.”

“Who wouldn't?” Piper asked, meaning it, but Aunt Judy laughed and waved that off.

“I meant that she wished she could do everything. I'm sure that lunch with whoever she's meeting will be very enjoyable.” She glanced at the Tilley gift basket. “Shall I take those with me? I won't see Joan tonight but I plan to stop at the hospital after church tomorrow.”

“Thanks, but I'll run these over. I'd like to visit Mrs. Tilley again.”

“You're not seeing Will tonight?”

Piper knew her aunt was thinking of it being a Saturday night and therefore an automatic date night. Perhaps like a movie at the Majestic with Uncle Frank had been.

“Will and I enjoyed a very nice dinner together last night. But he's gotten behind on some of the business side of his work, things like confirming standing orders for his trees and reaching out for new outlets that he needs to do this time of year.”

“Tree farmers must have to do like the rest of us farmers—fit in all kinds of work whenever they can. Give my love to Joan Tilley when you see her, and try”—Aunt Judy glanced around the overly quiet shop—“try not to worry about your shop too much.”

Piper thought she could say the same to her aunt, who looked as though Piper's troubles weighed just as heavily on her as they did on Piper, but she dredged up as positive a smile as she could. “I won't,” she said and waved a reasonably cheery good-bye.

. . .

E
mma Leahy caught Piper as she was heading down the hospital corridor to Mrs. Tilley's room.

“She's sleeping,” Emma said, beckoning Piper toward the patient lounge. “A few of her visitors this afternoon stayed a bit too long, so I'm glad to see her rest. More gifts for her?” she asked, nodding toward Piper's tote bag.

“They keep coming. A lot of people really care about her. How is she?”

“Much better. If all goes well, they'll be releasing her tomorrow.”

“I'm so glad.”

“Of course, she'll still need help. Hospitals don't keep you a minute longer than they have to, you know, and someone her age doesn't just bounce right back into taking care of herself. But I'll stick with her. Others will pitch in, too, I'm sure.”

“She has good friends,” Piper said. “Would you like me to start a sign-up sheet for shifts once she gets home?”

Emma considered that. “Let's see how it goes. There's some who make good nurses, then there's those who have good intentions, but . . .” She shrugged. “Then again, Joan might surprise us by perking up once she's back in familiar surroundings.”

“That'd be great. How about you, Emma? If Mrs. Tilley is out of the woods, maybe you should go on home and catch up on your own rest.” Piper had noticed dark shadows under Emma's eyes and wondered how many hours she'd been spending at the hospital.

Emma drew a weary breath. “You know, that doesn't sound like a bad idea.” She glanced hesitantly at Piper's bulging tote.

“I can stay until she wakes up,” Piper said. “I'll help her handle these.”

Emma brightened. “Would you? I know she'd be pleased to see a new face. If you're sure?”

“Go,” Piper said, grabbing Emma's jacket from the green, vinyl-covered sofa where it lay, handing it to her, and turning her by the shoulder toward the door. “Enjoy a hot meal and put your feet up.”

“You'll call if . . . ?”

“I'll call.” Piper patted the purse that held her phone. “Get a good night's sleep.”

“Thank you,” Emma said as Piper guided her, one hand on her back, into the corridor. Emma's pace quickened as an elevator door opened up ahead.

Piper smiled as the kindhearted woman hurried off, then slipped off her own jacket to make herself comfortable, figuring she'd check on Mrs. Tilley in half an hour or so. She picked up a well-thumbed magazine from one of the tables and sank onto the sofa—which gave off a soft whooshing noise—then flipped idly through the pages, finding little in the months-old celebrity gossip rag to catch her interest. Setting the publication aside, she pulled out her phone and checked for messages, then began browsing the Internet.

What does one do for a living when one's business venture goes bankrupt?
she wondered, trying to keep an unemotional and practical approach to the problem that faced her. Return to her old job at the state tax office in Albany? The thought was deeply depressing, first because she'd left that unfulfilling job with relief, but mostly because it meant leaving Cloverdale. How could she leave Will, Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank, and all the people she'd come to know and care about in Cloverdale?

Cloverdale, though, she reminded herself, was turning its back on her to some extent. Not those closest to her, of course, but the people on whom her livelihood depended. Memories of the looks on the faces of Mrs. Tilley's friends as Piper approached her hospital room that first visit still stung. If Emma hadn't been there to stand up for her, would accusations of
poisoner!
have been thrown at her? A grim thought and one she hastened to sweep away. Better to look ahead, rather than back. Except, ahead loomed debt and tough decisions.

Thankfully, before Piper could sink further into gloom, an excellent distraction appeared in the form of Gil Williams.

“I ran into Emma Leahy in the parking lot,” Gil said, holding a bouquet of spring flowers wrapped in a cone of green tissue paper. “She told me you took her place watching over Joan Tilley. Very considerate of you.”

“Poor Emma badly needed a break, though it was hard for her to admit it.”

“This was my first chance to come by,” Gil said. He glanced down the hall toward Mrs. Tilley's room. “It never occurred to me that our patient might not be ready for a visitor.”

“She'll probably be awake in a little while. If you don't mind waiting, I'd be very glad for the company.”

“Well, that's not something I hear every day!” Gil joked, then headed toward one of the vinyl-covered chairs opposite Piper. “I hope her room isn't packed with these,” he said as he laid his flowers on a nearby table. “I already added a book to your gift collection, and I didn't think a fruit basket, under the circumstances, would be entirely appropriate.”

Piper smiled. “I think you made a good choice.” Her smile faded. “I'm still appalled that someone—whoever it was—did that to her, of all people.”

Gil's face darkened. “As am I. I suspect poor Joan was simply collateral damage and that our killer is quite cold blooded.”

“If so, then that, to my mind, at least, eliminates the most obvious suspects: Zach and Stan Yeager.”

“Quite probably,” Gil said, nodding. Piper noted Gil's
probably
but said nothing since she knew she'd left the door open on those two, at least a crack. Human nature never being completely predictable, it was the realistic thing to do, though she'd never say so to Sugar.

“Excuse me.” A young nurse's aide in flower-printed scrubs appeared at the lounge doorway. “I'm looking for Emma Leahy. Mrs. Tilley was asking about her.”

“Oh, she's awake! Emma went home but we're here in her place,” Piper said. “Can we see Mrs. Tilley now?”

“Absolutely.” The aide glanced at the clock on the wall. “But keep it to half an hour, if you would.”

“Of course,” Gil said, pulling himself out of his chair and reaching for his flowers. “Will it tire Joan too much to stay longer?”

The young woman dimpled at that. “Not really. She's doing a lot better. Enough to know that her favorite show—one of those British comedies on PBS—will be on in half an hour. She'd hate to miss it.”

Gil and Piper grinned and jointly promised not to overstay their welcome.

Mrs. Tilley's face lit up when they appeared in her doorway and Piper was very happy to see the significant improvement in the older woman.

“Oh! Flowers for me?” Mrs. Tilley cried, reaching out for a sniff of Gil's bouquet. “There's a vase for them on the windowsill, if you wouldn't mind,” she said, handing it back. “People have been so kind,” she added as Piper explained about Emma's absence and then held up the latest batch of gifts she'd brought.

Gil took one of the visitor's chairs while Piper got started unwrapping each present for Mrs. Tilley to examine. Piper noted the return of color to her older friend's cheeks along with other improvements, though she agreed with Emma that Joan Tilley probably still had plenty of recovery ahead of her. She spoke much more heartily than she had at Piper's first visit and definitely smiled more, but the movements of her hands were slow and fairly weak.

“Well,” Mrs. Tilley said, once they'd opened the last package. “I believe I'll have enough reading material to last me a good while. And chocolates and perfumed soaps. I love it all!”

“Anything you'd like close at hand?” Piper asked before setting the latest haul to the side.

Mrs. Tilley shook her head. “I've been reading the book Gil sent and it's right here where I can reach it. Thank you so much, Gil. And for the flowers, too! And Piper, for the, the . . .” She struggled to remember exactly what Piper had sent her and Piper jumped in to help.

“The pickling cookbook.”

“That's right! I'm so sorry. My brain has been a bit addled lately, I'm afraid.”

“If I'd gone through what you did,” Gil said, “I'd probably have trouble remembering my own name.”

Mrs. Tilley laughed, saying, “There's been times . . . But Piper, thank you so much. I can't wait to try those new recipes. Hopefully it won't be long before I'm back in your shop for more jars and seasonings.”

Piper smiled but suppressed a wince as she wondered if her shop would still be open for business when Mrs. Tilley felt up to pickling again. Searching for a less painful subject, she grabbed at the first thing that popped into her head. “Did you know Frances Billings?” she asked. “The lady who owned the large house that the Porters bought? Aunt Judy said she's been staying a while in Cloverdale to revisit a few places she remembered from years ago.”

“Oh, yes, I knew Frances. Or rather, I knew
of
her. She was a bit older. And a Kingsley. In those days, that meant she traveled in a different sphere. But she was a lovely lady. I imagine she will have gone to see the War Memorial near the courthouse. Her grandfather, Herbert Kingsley, put that up, you know, at his own expense to remember our Cloverdale fallen soldiers. That was before the family fortune dwindled, of course.”

Mrs. Tilley glanced at the wall clock and Piper realized it was time for her television show. Gil, apparently, caught that, too, as he rose from his chair.

“We should get going and let you get some rest,” he said.

Mrs. Tilley twittered a polite protest, which Piper and Gil easily overrode, and they said their good-byes, making sure the television remote was near at hand. As they closed the door gently behind them, sounds of the show's theme song followed them and they smiled at each other.

“She looks much better, doesn't she?” the aide whom they'd spoken to before said as she came toward them in the hall.

“Much better,” Piper agreed. “Her friend, Emma, hated to leave her tonight, but I think I can assure her Mrs. Tilley will be fine.”

“Absolutely!” the young woman said. “And we'll keep a good eye on her, don't you worry.”