Night Scents (27 page)

She trailed off, and Piper gave her frail hand a gentle squeeze. "You get some rest. I'll take care of everything."

"And your man, Clate...fate..."

But she was asleep. Piper withdrew, finding her father, her brothers, Liddy, and—no surprise—Clate in the small waiting room. The damned firing squad. They knew something was up, every damned one of them. Poison. Hell's bells.

"She's asleep." It wasn't all they wanted to hear, but it was a start. She glanced at Clate, felt her heartbeat jump at how good-looking and sexy he was, even in ragged, expensive chinos and polo shirt. She felt stronger, surer, for having him there, and it surprised her that it wasn't a feeling she remotely wanted to fight. "You heard?"

"I stopped by the tavern for a drink, and Paul and Sally Shepherd told me."

"We were working there when we got the news," Benjamin explained.

Liddy stood beside her younger sister-in-law. She was an attractive, athletic woman, unintimidated by the protective urges of her husband and brother-in-law. "Thank God Hannah's going to be all right."

Piper nodded, numb. What did all right mean when you were eighty-seven?

"Piper." Her father's voice held that familiar note of paternal authority. "Clate tells us we need to hear you out on a few things."

Her first reaction was anger. Bastard. Traitor. How could he rat her out? But there was no treachery in Clate's return gaze, and she knew he'd acted out of decent enough motives, that he was being clear eyed and objective where conflicting emotions had her darting off in a thousand different directions at once.

"We can go up to the house," her father added gently.

"I'll stay here with Hannah," Liddy said. "She'll probably sleep through the night and be right as rain in the morning. The doctors are optimistic it was nothing serious."

Andrew grunted. "Damned lucky she didn't mow anyone down or drive herself into the bay and drown."

Before Piper could snap back at him, Benjamin and Liddy moved them toward the door. She'd ride with her brothers. Those were her instructions. "Hear her out" was a euphemism for "you're telling us everything." If Clate didn't know it, Piper did.

He smiled, unrepentant. "Have fun. I'll stay here with Liddy a while."

Oh, sure. Throw her to the lions and run. Yet as she left the hospital with her father and brothers, with Liddy and Clate looking after Hannah, she didn't feel nearly as alone as she had last night, knitting in front of her fire.

The Macintosh men were not happy with her.

Piper told herself this was to be expected. She'd been receiving threatening phone calls, digging for buried treasure, trying to explain inexplicable digging and cutting on Clate's property, and protecting Hannah, all under their noses, without saying a word.

Andrew's reaction was predictably the most extreme. He wanted his sister to move in with Benjamin and Liddy and stay away from her house until things settled down.

"I can't do that," Piper said, with limited patience. "I have a business to run. Besides, I make my own decisions about my life."

"Yeah, and look where they've led you."

If he had any idea of how far her relationship with her new neighbor had gone, he had the courtesy to keep his mouth shut.

She resisted the urge to tell him to go to blazes. "This is what I get for not moving to Wyoming when I turned eighteen."

"Piper," her father said, his tone reasonable, "if this were happening to one of us, you'd be here right now, listening, worrying—"

"Pissing us off," Andrew added with a small grin.

It was true. Sometimes, because she was the youngest and the only female and usually was the one on the hot seat, she forgot that she had interceded on her brothers' behalf countless times in the past. Meddled. Told them what she thought in no uncertain terms.

"If you didn't have the same protective streak we do," Benjamin said, "you wouldn't have taken on Hannah's latest cause."

Her father settled back in his old, overstuffed chair. He lived simply, in a small reproduction Cape Cod house off the water where he had raised his three children, Piper for the most part alone, with, they would argue, the help of her older brothers. A picture of her mother on her parents' wedding day stood on the mantel, as it always had. "Your grandfather never mentioned any Russian princess or treasure, Piper. Don't you think he would have known?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not saying I believe Hannah. I'm just doing as she asks. If there's no treasure, I won't find any. So far we've only checked under the wisteria."

Andrew pounced on her slip of the tongue. "We?"

"Clate's helped out on occasion, although he's as skeptical as you all are. I'm trying to keep an open mind."

Benjamin got to his feet, paced. Andrew had never sat down. "You think this crackpot who's calling you knows about the treasure?"

"I don't know. He just warned me off Clate's land. That's as specific as he's ever gotten."

"And of course you paid no attention," Andrew said sarcastically.

"I wasn't taking him seriously."

Benjamin groaned, exasperated. "Why the hell didn't you say something?"

"I was worried people would think it might be Hannah." She left it at that, letting them sort out what she meant.

They did. When realization dawned, Andrew bit off a curse, and Benjamin shook his head in amazement. "Because of this crazy spell to conjure up a man for you!"

"I know it's illogical and contradictory," Piper said.

Andrew grunted. "That won't matter with Hannah. Everyone knows how she hates to be proved wrong."

They batted around theories over a quick dinner. Then it was decided, after much argument, that Piper would go on about her business more or less as usual, with a few modifications for safety.

"If you didn't have the same protective streak we do," Benjamin said, "you wouldn't have taken on Hannah's latest cause."

Her father settled back in his old, overstuffed chair. He lived simply, in a small reproduction Cape Cod house off the water where he had raised his three children, Piper for the most part alone, with, they would argue, the help of her older brothers. A picture of her mother on her parents' wedding day stood on the mantel, as it always had. "Your grandfather never mentioned any Russian princess or treasure, Piper. Don't you think he would have known?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not saying I believe Hannah. I'm just doing as she asks. If there's no treasure, I won't find any. So far we've only checked under the wisteria."

Andrew pounced on her slip of the tongue. "We?"

"Clate's helped out on occasion, although he's as skeptical as you all are. I'm trying to keep an open mind."

Benjamin got to his feet, paced. Andrew had never sat down. "You think this crackpot who's calling you knows about the treasure?"

"I don't know. He just warned me off Clate's land. That's as specific as he's ever gotten."

"And of course you paid no attention," Andrew said sarcastically.

"I wasn't taking him seriously."

Benjamin groaned, exasperated. "Why the hell didn't you say something?"

"I was worried people would think it might be Hannah." She left it at that, letting them sort out what she meant.

They did. When realization dawned, Andrew bit off a curse, and Benjamin shook his head in amazement. "Because of this crazy spell to conjure up a man for you!"

"I know it's illogical and contradictory," Piper said.

Andrew grunted. "That won't matter with Hannah. Everyone knows how she hates to be proved wrong."

They batted around theories over a quick dinner. Then it was decided, after much argument, that Piper would go on about her business more or less as usual, with a few modifications for safety. Benjamin would return to the hospital to check on Hannah and pick up Liddy. If their aunt was released as expected in the morning, Liddy and Piper could pick her up.

"What?" Piper said, recalcitrant to the end. "You don't want Hannah and me alone together?"

Andrew got his keys out. "That about sums it up."

"Well, tough. You see why I don't tell you everything? Nobody around here knows how to mind their own damned business."

"Don't sit there on your moral high horse pretending you've never meddled in our lives and never would."

"As if I ever had any power over you two! I'm so much younger than you and Benjamin—"

He snorted, summing up his opinion of her protest.

Her father held up a hand. They'd been over this same ground hundreds of times since his daughter was two. He would drive her home and check her house, make sure no one was hiding in the cellar, had planted a bomb, or left another few bars of unpleasant lyrics on her message machine. Come morning, Andrew, Benjamin, and Liddy would check in on her at various points during the day. That was the plan, by Robert Macintosh's decree. No one argued.

In the car, her father said, "And I expect this Clate Jackson's looking after you, too."

"I can look after myself, Pop."

"That wasn't my point."

She sighed. "I know it wasn't. I'm sorry. I just hate feeling this —" She searched for the right word. "This vulnerable."

"Some son of a bitch gets a bee in his bonnet about any of us, we're vulnerable. It's not because you're a woman, young, have two older brothers, and are stubborn and independent as the day is long that you're feeling vulnerable right now and hating it. It's because you've got some creep out there pestering you."

"Then you don't think it's Hannah?"

He shook his head, confident. She noticed the deepening lines at the corners of his eyes, the gray in his hair, but he was still a strong, vital man. "Even Andrew doesn't think this is Hannah's doing, and you know he's thought she was crazy ever since he was thirteen and she tried to feed him candied violets."

"They were good." Piper laughed, remembering. And laughing was a welcome release as her father turned into her driveway. "I'll be fine, Pop. Really."

"I know you will, kid. I think it's a testament to your spirit that you're even willing to spend the night alone." He glanced over at her. "If you are."

"Pop—"

"That wasn't a question, Piper. It doesn't need an answer."

Five years ago—even two years ago—she would have gone to great lengths to assure her father that Clate Jackson wasn't spending the night with her. She supposed it was progress that she could just let it be and let him think whatever it was he was thinking.

She and her father scoured her house and listened to her messages together, and when he left, he kissed her on her cheek. "Good night, Piper."

"Good nigh I, Pop."

"You get spooked, give a yell."

Under the circumstances, she felt an enormous twist of guilt that she hadn't mentioned Hannah's poison theory to him and her brothers. But she just couldn't. Best to test that second jug of water first. Or to let Hannah tell them herself, which doubtless wouldn't happen any time soon.

As it was, Piper felt her only option after her father left was to climb into her car, drive over to Hannah's, and check for poisoned water.

On her way out to her car, Paul Shepherd arrived with her bicycle. Grim-faced, he dragged it out of his trunk and set it out on her driveway. "Sally and I give Hannah our best and hope she has a speedy recovery. It's a good thing she's as ornery as she is, I suppose. If there's anything Sally or I can do—"

"Thanks, but the doctors think Hannah will be fine."

"That's a relief." He hesitated, averting his eyes. "Piper, I hate bringing this up now, but I think you should know. Stan Carlucci has suggested, privately, that Hannah could have passed out after drinking one of her experimental concoctions."

"You mean that she poisoned herself?"

"Basically, yes."

"Well, I asked her, and she didn't."

"She wouldn't admit she'd made a mistake, would she?"

His tone was mild, reasonable. Piper swallowed her fury. "Please tell Stan Carlucci that I appreciate his concern."

Paul winced at her sarcasm. "Piper, Stan means well. Truly. If Hannah accidentally overdosed on one of her teas, or drank the wrong one, it's no worse than other elderly people forgetting they've taken their medication for the day and doubling up. This sort of thing—well, as hard as it is on family members, it's to be expected."

"I don't go for the old-people-are-all-daffy theory."

His expression turned cool. "That wasn't a generalization."

"I'm sorry. It's been a difficult day."

He softened. "Forget it. Stan's willing to keep quiet for now, provided you or your father or one of your brothers—or her doctor—does a thorough check of her townhouse. He—none of us wants her or anyone else to get hurt. We all wish her nothing but the best, Piper. Hannah and Stan have their political differences, but that's not interfering with his judgment."

Piper nodded, feeling drawn and tired and in no mood to argue about Stan Carlucci. "I know he wouldn't want any harm to come to Hannah."

Looking relieved, Paul started back toward his car. "And Sally's happy to help in any way she can. You know she looks upon Hannah as a grandmother."

"Tell her thanks."

"I will."

"And thank you, too, Paul. You've been walking a fine line in this thing, and I appreciate your neutrality. I know Frye's Cove isn't always easy on newcomers."

He laughed. "No, it isn't, but it certainly helps being married to a Frye, even if no one around here would ever admit it makes a difference. Now, don't go and tell Sally I said that. You know how discreet she is about using her family name." He winked as he pulled open the driver's door of his car. "I'll see you around."

"Sure. And thanks for bringing me my bike."

"Where would Piper Macintosh be without her bicycle?"

She watched him slide back into his car, then gave him a ten-minute head start before charging off to Hannah's housing complex, debating whether to limit her poison hunt to jugs of springwater or open it up to everything in her aunt's townhouse.

Chapter 13