Sally giggled, her husband's irreverence having a positive effect on her. She was more spontaneous and flexible than Piper remembered, less bound by her natural reserve and sense of propriety—simply put, less of a prude.
Piper tried to share their good-natured response to Hannah's latest eyebrow raiser. "I'm surprised Carlucci hasn't had her bound up and tossed into the bay as a witch by now."
Paul waved a hand. "She's an old woman, for heaven's sake. People tend to tolerate the eccentricities of old people. Stan got what he deserved, and he knows it—not that there's any proof Hannah's tea was responsible for his difficulties." He grinned, as most everyone did at the mention of Carlucci's cramps and diarrhea. "Last I heard, he's still not a hundred percent."
"I worry about her," Piper blurted.
"We all do," Sally cooed, immediately reaching over to pat Piper's hand. "But I've no doubt Hannah can handle Stan Carlucci or anyone else who'd dare to think she'd stoop to poisoning people. Now. Shall we get started?"
Paul bent down and kissed his wife on the cheek. "I'll leave you two to it. Piper, good to see you. Remember, tea and scones, okay?"
An hour later, her meeting with Sally successfully completed, Piper felt calm enough to venture up to the second floor, where Macintosh & Sons were working on a suite well to the back of the old inn. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if she'd been keyed up and out of sorts. If she didn't pop in to say hello, her father and brothers for sure would know she was hiding something from them, which she was.
When he saw his daughter, Robert Macintosh grinned, dusted off his big, callused hands, and declared, "Time for a coffee break."
He looked every inch the carpenter with his overalls, tool belt, and muscular build. Flecks of white paint and a layer of plaster dust clung to his thinning gray hair and dotted his nose and bushy eyebrows. He was precise in his work, not his appearance. Despite an occasional relationship, he had never remarried after his wife's death in a car accident when Andrew and Benjamin were ten and twelve and Piper, who'd been in the car with her mother, barely two.
Andrew glanced up from a section of tile he was repairing on the fireplace. Piper immediately recognized his critical look. He knew about her valerian-root escapade. Hannah must have blabbed.
Before he could say anything, Benjamin spotted the jars of jam his sister was carrying. "All for me?"
Piper laughed. "No, you have to share."
"You're no fun."
"You do get an extra jar for Liddy and the boys."
Liddy was his wife, a fifth-grade teacher; they had two sons, eight and ten. Andrew had been married once, briefly, in his twenties and, at thirty-eight, seemed to have no intention of repeating the experience. Benjamin was taller and leaner than either Andrew or their father, his dark hair without a hint of red, his eyes more blue than green. He grabbed a squat jar from his sister and held it up to the light streaming in from the windows. "Color's perfect, kid."
Her father handed her a mug of coffee he'd poured from his ever-present Thermos. "Glad to see you making jam, Piper."
Andrew grunted, getting up from his work. "Better than letting Hannah lead you around by the nose."
Piper sipped the coffee; it was strong, rancid, lukewarm. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Means we heard you got caught trespassing the other night."
"Hannah told you?"
"She let a few clues drop," Andrew said. "I had to pry the rest out of her. Don't worry, I didn't get out the thumbscrews. Once she got started, she was happy to talk, damned proud of herself if you ask me. Jesus, Piper. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking of her."
He snorted in disgust. "If you were thinking of her, you'd tell her you can't trespass and you can't steal on her behalf."
"Hannah can be damned persuasive," their father said mildly.
Benjamin sighed. "I have to agree with Andrew on this one, Piper. You're as crazy as Hannah is if you start listening to her."
"Hannah's not crazy. She's just eccentric."
"Tell that to Stan Carlucci," Andrew muttered.
Piper nearly spilled her coffee. "There's a big difference between a medicinal tea and poison."
"And there's a big difference between a doctor and an eighty-seven-year-old lunatic." Andrew was incensed. "Piper, I love Hannah as much as you do, but she's got to watch herself. I'm not even going to go into what all I've been hearing around town. She's going to land herself in a padded cell and you in jail if you're not careful."
"Hannah's been taking care of herself longer than you and me put together. She's just trying to stay interested in life. And I'd hardly call helping myself to a bit of valerian root a major crime."
Andrew inhaled, ready to go off again, but Benjamin got in the next shot. "Never mind Carlucci. I'm worried about you and this Clate Jackson character, Piper. He put up those No Trespassing signs for a reason, you know. He guards his privacy. They say his place in Nashville's like a damned fortress."