Hannah put out a bony hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Jackson."
The way she said "at last" made it sound as if she'd anticipated their meeting for years, not just the few months since he'd taken an interest in her house. Clate didn't seem to notice. Piper suspected he was distracted by her aunt's odd appearance: her homespun dress reminiscent of times gone by, her antique cameo brooch, the calico kerchief holding back her wisps of snow-white hair, and her new, top-of-the-line Reeboks.
"Likewise," he murmured, the Southern gentleman.
"Are you enjoying my home?"
A trace of irritation crept into his eyes, but he seemed to direct it more at Piper than at Hannah, either because it wasn't in him to be rude to old women or because, like most everyone else in Frye's Cove, he was holding Piper responsible for her aunt's behavior. "I've only spent a couple of nights here, but so far it's been... interesting. Is there something I can help you two with?"
Hannah opened her mouth to reply, probably to suggest he grab a shovel and start digging under the wisteria, but Piper shot forward. "My aunt and I just came to see about the hummingbirds."
He tilted his head back slightly. "Hummingbirds."
"Yes, she's always put out feeders, and she was worried they wouldn't adapt to having to fend for themselves. We planted bee balm last year—hummingbirds love it—but I don't know if it's well enough established to make up for the loss of the feeders."
Hannah picked up on Piper's half truth right away. They had discussed hummingbirds along with buried treasure. "Have you seen any hummingbirds since you've been here, Mr. Jackson?"
"No." His jaw seemed stiff. He glanced at Piper with those searing eyes. No way did he believe she and Hannah were there about hummingbirds and bee balm. "I haven't."
Hannah was oblivious to the tension between them. "Piper can show you where the feeders are, should you want to set them out."
"That won't be necessary. I'm a great believer in animals' survival instincts. The hummingbirds will figure out soon enough they're on their own."
Piper rested back on her heels and gave her conniving aunt an I-rest-my-case look. Maybe she'd reassess her opinion that Clate was meant to be the love of her niece's life. But Hannah pressed ahead. "Well, perhaps you'd let Piper set up the feeders in her yard."
"She's welcome to them. Now, I've had a long day. If you two ladies don't mind—"
Piper seized her aunt's hand in an attempt to coax her out of there before she could say anything else, but Hannah didn't budge. Her brow was furrowed as she stared at Clate. Finally, she said, "Someone close to you has died."
His head jerked up. His eyes darkened. Suspicion, fatigue, grief, irritation—Piper sensed a dangerous swirl of emotions as any trace of patience and humor ebbed out of him.
"I'll be back for the feeders another time," she said quickly.
He said nothing. Piper half led, half dragged her aunt down the terrace steps. Hannah seemed in no hurry to go. Probably still trying to read Clate's mind. "Geez, Hannah," Piper said when they were out of Clate's earshot. "Whatever possessed you to suggest that someone close to him died?"
"Because someone did."
"How do you know?"
She shrugged. "It was in his eyes."
Piper groaned as she slipped through the break in the privet, then waited for her aunt to join her. "Well, you see what he's like. You went and conjured up the wrong man. Clate Jackson is impossible."
"Of course he is," Hannah said placidly.
"He hates people, he's mean to birds—"
"He's suffered and survived. He thinks it builds character. You've never been booted from the nest. You can't judge."
"You don't know anything about the man!"
"Oh, but I do."
"Hannah, I swear, you are the most exasperating person I've ever known. You're lucky I love you so much."
She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Yes, I am lucky. You'll see to my hummingbirds?"
Piper sighed. Hannah wasn't worried about her hummingbirds until Piper had done some fast thinking to placate Clate. "Of course."
"And my treasure? No more dragging your heels?"
"I haven't been—"
"You have been dragging your heels, Piper. Please don't insult my intelligence by trying to deny it. You missed your chance to act while Mr. Jackson was away. Now you'll have to risk his catching you again."
"Hannah, you've seen what he's like. He'll call the police next time he catches me trespassing."
She waved a hand in dismissal. "Ernie would never arrest you for trespassing on Frye land."
"It's not Frye land anymore."
"Phooey," her aunt muttered as she walked around to Piper's driveway and her brand-new, neon-bright raspberry car, complete with its own compact disc player and cellular phone. Hannah Frye was undaunted by modern technology. She'd had the soundtrack to South Pacific playing when she'd arrived two hours ago. She opened up the driver's door and looked around at her niece. "I've waited eighty years, Piper. I want to know what really happened to my parents before I die."