Scene of the Brine (22 page)

Piper thanked her and put through a call to Emma as she and Gil made their way to the elevator. “All is well, Emma. I'm leaving now so Joan can watch her TV show in peace, which is a very good sign, wouldn't you agree? Relax and get a good night's sleep yourself.” She pressed
end
as the elevator doors opened and rode down with Gil to the first floor.

“I'm going to follow you home, if you don't mind,” Gil said as they stepped out into the hospital lobby.

“But . . .” Piper began, knowing that Gil, who didn't live above his shop as she did, would be driving much too far out of his way. Then she recalled the harrowing ride home she'd had several months ago from another visit to the hospital and realized he'd thought of it, too. That ride had also been late at night and Piper had been closing in on another murderer, as she could only hope she was now—though it didn't feel that way. She nodded, knowing that Gil's offer was a sensible precaution.

“Just try not to go too far over the speed limit,” Gil called as they parted. “My aging car, remember, will be driven by an ancient driver.”

Piper laughed and promised, then waited near the parking lot exit until she saw Gil's not-so-ancient white Buick pull up behind her. She waved, grateful for the worry-free trip home she would have—worry-free, that was, of immediate danger. Her multitude of other worries still lingered closely, just waiting for a quiet moment to tiptoe out.

. . .

W
hen Piper got home, she noticed the message light on her shop phone blinking and clicked it, expecting to hear a question from one of her customers. To her surprise, it was a message from Jen Fleming, wife of Will's friend, Matt, asking Piper to call her back, which she did immediately.

“I hope you don't mind me calling your shop,” Jen said. “Matt's out, and I didn't know the best way to reach you, so I just looked up your shop number.”

“That's fine,” Piper said, curious to know what Jen wanted to talk to her about. “As a matter of fact, your name came up just the other night, in connection with Tedbury Academy.”

“That's a coincidence because that's kind of what I'm calling about,” Jen said. “When you mentioned Lydia Porter during our dinner with Matt and Will, it got me thinking about why she decided to leave the academy board, so when I lunched with one of my old co-workers today, I brought the subject up.” Jen paused. “And I learned something you might want to know.”

Piper was all ears but had to wait as Jen suddenly excused herself to tend to her ten-month-old, who'd started fussing.

“Sorry about that,” Jen apologized, back on the line. “As I said, I'm on my own right now, and Dylan's teething.”

“No problem. You were saying about Lydia Porter?”

“Right. Well, there'd been rumors flying around about why Lydia left, particularly since she wasn't that well liked. I learned a long time ago not to pay much attention to such talk. But my co-worker, one of the school secretaries and someone I've always considered very reliable, told me about a phone call she happened to partially overhear shortly before Lydia resigned.”

Jen paused as Piper heard distant cries from her son. They stopped, and Jen went on. “My friend said she didn't know who Lydia was talking to at the time, but that she definitely sounded tense. She remembered hearing Lydia loudly demand, ‘How could you possibly have found out about that?' Then, ‘You got it from someone who was here at the school, didn't you?' which caught my friend's attention. Then Lydia asked, ‘Who have you told this to?' in a tone that my friend said was enough to chill anyone's blood. Lydia seemed to realize at that point that her door was slightly open and slammed it shut, so my secretary friend didn't hear anything more.”

“Your friend had no idea who Lydia was speaking to?”

“Right. But she said when Lydia came out a few minutes later, her lips were pinched nearly white. And it was a very short time after that, like, within a couple of days, that she announced her resignation from the board, saying she'd decided to take her son up on his request to move closer to him. That family was so important, and blah, blah, blah.”

“But most people didn't believe that?”

“Not really. Lydia was giving up a position of power that she obviously relished. To do what?”

“To interfere in a lot of people's lives in Cloverdale, for one,” Piper said. “Including her son's.”

“That sounds like her, but still a greatly reduced position, wouldn't you say? She loved wielding the power she had as head of the board. I guess I just thought you might like to know that Lydia's reasons for moving to Cloverdale might not be as pure as she pretends.”

“Thanks, Jen. I've already seen sides of Lydia Porter that I don't like very much. I'll keep an eye out for—”

The sounds of Dylan's wails stopped her as Jen said, “I'm sorry, Piper. I'd better go.” Jen hung up, leaving Piper with one more thing to mull over, among the dozen or so others already milling about in her head.

26

P
iper, not surprisingly, had a restless time that night, though she tried everything she could think of to turn off her brain and sink into sleep: counting sheep, warm milk, flipping through a car magazine that had inexplicably shown up in her mailbox—though that last effort was worse than nothing as her thoughts continually left the glossy pages to wander back to her concerns.

In desperation, she turned to television and flipped through the channels, finding a glut of old movies. Piper skipped past a few westerns as well as a 1950s sci-fi filled with cardboard scenery and bad acting.

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 or 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.