License to Dill (3 page)

Will frowned. “Well, I suppose that's his right.”

Piper nodded.

“Think you'll run into him much?”

Piper had thought hard about that. Will had become special to her, but she didn't want to make promises that implied a certain level of commitment. She just wasn't ready for that. “Scott and I parted as friends,” she said. “I won't be searching him out, but I expect us to remain on good terms.”

Will was silent for a long while then nodded. “Okay. If I had my druthers, Scott Littleton would take off again for Timbuktu, or better yet, Mars. But I can deal with him setting up a law office in Cloverdale. I'll even wish him success that will snow him under with enough work that he barely has a minute to drive anyone around in his shiny, retractable-top Volvo C70.”

Piper grinned and reached her hand across the table. Will covered it with both of his, where she was more than happy to leave it—at least until she needed it to eat.

T
he next morning, Piper made an early shopping trip to TopValuFood before opening up Piper's Picklings. She quickly found and paid for milk, bread, a few frozen items, and, of course, chocolate, and was loading the bags into the trunk of her car when she saw a large bus drive by with “Bianconeri” painted on its side.

“That must be the Italian soccer team,” Mrs. Peterson said as she climbed from her own car nearby. “I'll bet they're heading for the high school.”

Piper nodded, then checked her watch. She had a few minutes to spare. After hearing Gerald Standley and the others talk so excitedly about this visit, she was curious to see the Italian team in person. She hopped into her driver's seat and started up.

As she pulled into the high school's parking lot nearest the soccer fields, Piper saw she wasn't the only one eager to meet the visiting team. The school itself was not in session—she'd overheard mention of professional days for the teachers—but plenty of students had given up their morning sleep-in to welcome (and ogle) the Italian team. Gerald Standley stood at the forefront as part of a small group of official greeters. Piper guessed the group was made up of the coaches and school administrators. She wouldn't have thought it possible, but Standley looked even more excited than he had the day before.

She watched from the edge of the crowd as the occupants of the bus moved about, gathering gear, then one by one stepped out to noisy welcomes. Hands were shaken, shoulders clapped, and greetings in Italian and English traded as they passed through the crowd.

Miranda Standley, along with several other young women, stood ready to hand each player a goody bag from a large basket, and quickly became surrounded by the athletic and highly attractive young men.

The last to exit the bus were two older men. Piper assumed the first, dressed in a matching black-and-white team warm-up, was the coach, and he waved, speaking exuberantly in Italian and English as he made his way out.

The second man paused on the last step and looked about him, an odd smile, almost a smirk on his handsome face. He was dressed in casual but not athletic clothing—a polo shirt, slacks, and a light jacket—although he looked trim enough to play. Judging by the streaks of silver in his thick, dark hair, Piper guessed his age at forty-five to fifty, and she wondered if he were the team manager.

“Conti!” she heard Gerald Standley suddenly call out in surprise, and from his tone it didn't sound like a welcome one.

The man on the step looked about for the source of the call and spotted Standley. His smile widened, but to Piper it looked self-satisfied rather than joyful. “Standley,” he said. “I wondered if you'd be here.”

Piper saw Gerald Standley's face darken. He stared hard at the man he'd called Conti, then turned and pushed his way off through the crowd. Piper was surprised at the action, even more so when she looked back at the man who'd apparently caused it. Conti remained on his step, standing a full head above everyone below and seeming to relish his position. With obvious pleasure, he watched Standley walk off until the embarrassed remaining members of the welcoming group, along with the affable Italian coach, drew him from the bus and into the crowd.

Chatter and bustle resumed, but Piper stood silently by. What had turned the mood of the day so downward for Gerald Standley? Who was this Italian man Conti, and how did Standley, a dill farmer who never traveled farther than Manhattan for the annual Christmas pageant at Radio City Music Hall, happen to know him?

She shook her head. Too many questions to ponder as her newly purchased milk grew warm and her shop awaited opening. She predicted that an answer or three or four would be offered during the day as word of the morning's excitement spread its usual small-town way through Cloverdale. As she headed back to her car she knew the only remaining question was how long it would take.

I
t took, by Piper's watch, exactly one hour and thirteen minutes for the first person to pop into Piper's Picklings with “news” of the incident at the soccer field. That person happened to be Emma Leahy, a generally no-nonsense woman in her sixties who'd heard about it from her next-door neighbor. That neighbor's teenage son had apparently been on the scene. As she listened to Emma's version, Piper began to have serious doubts about the teenager's ability to process information. Either that, or there was a future ahead of him in fiction writing.

“The minute the Italian team arrived, the coaches started shouting at each other,” Emma claimed. “One of the Italians actually swung at our men, and it would have turned into a terrible brawl except that Jared and his friends stepped in.”

Ah! Jared wrote himself in as hero and graciously included his friends
.

“There's a tiny bit of exaggeration there, Mrs. Leahy,” Piper said and shared her own, eyewitness version. Emma Leahy seemed disappointed with the less dramatic account but took it with good grace. She ended up purchasing a set of decorative glass canning jars for her Christmas jellies and went on her way.

The next “newsperson” to stop in was Erin Healy, one of Amy's good friends. “Did you hear what happened at the high school?” Erin asked, looking distressed, but in her own quiet way, with her already-large brown eyes opened wide. Before Piper could answer, Erin shared an account that was nearly as off-kilter as Mrs. Leahy's, minus action from teenage heroes.

“One of the Italian coaches turned up his nose at our facilities and immediately called the tournament off. Mr. Standley was so upset he started having chest pains, and they had to carry him into the school and call an ambulance. The whole thing's turned into a terrible mess!”

“Last I saw of Mr. Standley,” Piper said, “he was walking away from the Italian team's bus under his own power. A little upset, but as far as I could tell, in good health. I'm pretty sure the tournament is still on.”

“Oh, I'm so glad! But what was Mr. Standley upset about?”

“I don't know. There was nothing obvious, like insults traded or anything like that.”

“Well, then that's very odd.” She gave Piper an impish smile. “Another mystery?”

“If it is,” Piper said, shaking her head, “I expect it will be solved very soon. Once, that is, all the misinformation gets cleared up.” Piper reached for a jar on the counter behind her. “Will you be seeing Ben today? He asked if I had any plum sauce, and I set this aside for him.”

“I was going to stop by his office, so I'll be glad to drop that off.” Erin's cheeks turned a becoming pink. “Ben's been experimenting with Chinese cooking. I think he wants to make mu shu pork for us using the sauce.”

“Sounds good.” Piper had watched Ben's near obsession with Amy gradually fade as Erin quietly made clear her own interest in him. It helped that Amy was obviously head over heels for Nate and he for her. Piper herself didn't quite understand the attraction of Ben, who, she felt, took himself and his auxiliary police volunteerism far too seriously. But if Erin thought he was wonderful, that was all that mattered.

In the next few hours, visitors continued to pop in to Piper's Picklings and offer increasingly dramatic versions of the happenings at the school, and Piper had no doubt hers wasn't their only stop. She offered occasional corrections to lessen the spread of wild rumors but had yet to hear a reason for Gerald Standley's odd reaction. Then, around midafternoon, as Piper tidied up a shelf, humming along with a lively Gilbert and Sullivan tune coming from her radio, Gil Williams, proprietor of the new-and-used bookstore next door, stopped in.

“I've been invited to a dinner tonight,” he said. “A last-minute fill-in to even up the table, no doubt, and am in need of a hostess gift. Can you suggest something tasty from your stock?”

Piper smiled at the thought of this genial, sixty-something neighbor being a last-minute fill-in. With his voracious reading habits, Gil Williams was such a font of interesting tales, all related with such wit, that she was sure he must be the most sought-after dinner guest in town.

“Any idea of what they might be serving?”

“None whatsoever. The tastes of these particular friends are quite eclectic.”

“Hmm. Then maybe something your hosts can enjoy later on would be best.” Piper pulled out a jar from the jellies and jams section. “What do you think of a raspberry jam with mint and lavender? Amy and I cooked this up about a month ago. Besides raspberries, it has Granny Smith apples, fresh lavender blossoms, and a touch of lemon juice.”

“I think it sounds like I should take two—one for my hosts and another for myself.”

Piper grinned and took down a second jar. As she bagged them, Gil said, “I presume you've been getting the same flood of comments on this morning's incident at the school that I have?”

Piper sighed. “Absolutely. And I've had to set plenty of informants straight since I happened to be on the scene myself.”

“Well then! Perhaps you can confirm or deny that the meeting of the two teams came to blows?”

“Denied.” Piper related what she had observed, that Gerald Standley appeared to recognize one of the Italians, possibly the team manager, and had called out his name in shock and with definite distaste. “The Italian,” she said, “seemed unsurprised to see Mr. Standley. In fact, he looked amused when Standley stomped away.”

“Hmm. You said Gerald called out the man's name. What was it?”

Piper thought for a moment. “Conti.” When Gil nodded, she asked, “Why? Do you know him?”

“I think so. It was many years ago, at least thirty, but I think he must be the same man. Gerald Standley hasn't had problems with very many people.”

“No, I wouldn't think so. He's been wonderful to deal with as my dill supplier, and I've heard others say only good things about him. So who is this Italian?”

Gil sank onto a tall stool Piper kept handy for customers. He adjusted the brown, elbow-patched cardigan that often served as his work uniform and said, “Raffaele Conti was an exchange student here in Cloverdale back when he and Gerald were both in high school.”

“Oh,” Piper said, mulling over what that might mean.

“I remember,” Gil said, “because, for one thing, it was quite unusual to have an exchange student in our small town. But Conti himself caused his own stir during the year he was here.”

“Who was his host family?”

“The Andersons. They've since moved to California where their daughter now lives. She was away in college at the time, and I suspect Tom and Joy were feeling a bit of empty nest syndrome. They probably thought having a teenager in the house again would help fill the void, but I don't think they were prepared for what they got.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Piper said. “What exactly did they get?”

“Well, as I said, it was many years ago and the details have faded. But despite coming across as a rather charming fellow, Raffaele tended to generate plenty of negative feelings. I do remember the boy was quite good at soccer and was initially welcomed onto the school team. But he managed to alienate his teammates fairly quickly.”

“In what way?”

“The trouble apparently came from his expecting star treatment, along with being a bit of what they called a ‘ball hog.' Maybe a
lot
of one. His teammates—and Gerald Standley was one—didn't consider themselves slouches in the game and I'm sure weren't enamored of being treated as simply backup support to this newcomer.”

“Didn't their coach put a stop to it?”

Gil ran fingers through his thinning white hair, returning it to its usual semiwild look. “He should have, definitely. But Conti was scoring a lot of goals, from what I understand, and the team was winning more often. That can be more important to some men than preserving team morale.”

“That was a long time ago,” Piper said. “Would Gerald Standley hold a grudge over something like that for thirty years?”

Gil Williams shrugged. “There likely was more to the story. I've told you what I picked up from various townspeople, but I wasn't exactly a confidant of the teenage set.”

He stood up and tucked his bagged purchase under his arm. “Well, let's hope Gerald and Raffaele can put aside any lingering differences for the next few days.”

Piper nodded agreement, but as Gil left her shop, the memory of Gerald Standley's anger-filled face stirred significant doubts. But, she mused, pushing those disturbing thoughts away, the tournament was only for a weekend. The teams would play, the town would have its excitement, and all would be back to normal soon.

An image of Scott's face then popped into her head, and she remembered how thoughtfully he had mulled over her pronouncement of their changed relationship. It gave her an uneasy feeling. Piper's own, painstakingly created normal had already been disturbed by her former fiancé's unexpected arrival in Cloverdale, which brought back her concerns about Conti.

Raffaele Conti and Scott had both stirred things up in Cloverdale, rather like a gust of wind blowing through an open window. Papers fly about when that happens, and they can't always be put back in order. Piper pondered that for several moments, but decided all she could control was her own actions. And hope for the best from those around her.