"Well," Piper said breezily, "have a good day."
He hung back, suspicion flaring again in his eyes. "You, too."
He was not a man to go plunging in whenever suspicion beckoned. He would bide his time, observe, remember. If she intended to continue to play loose with the truth, she thought, she'd have to be careful to keep her story straight. One misstep, and Clate Jackson would swoop in for the kill.
He remained on the beach as she walked back up the path through the marsh. She could feel his eyes on her. A hot shower, clean clothes, breakfast. They'd put her back on track, and then she'd figure out what to do about the phone calls, Hannah, and buried treasure.
She was halfway through her breakfast of homemade granola, fresh strawberries, and yogurt when her telephone rang. Her heart skidded. She decided to screen the call. If it was the same jerk as earlier, she wanted his voice on tape.
But it was Hannah. Piper snatched up her cordless phone at the sound of her aunt's voice. "I'm here," she said.
"Why didn't you answer?"
"Because I'm screening my calls. Remember that weirdo who called the other day? He's bugging me again. Or she. I really couldn't make out the voice." She tried to keep her tone light, not to let her earlier panic and fear show in her voice. "Hannah, you're sure you haven't mentioned your treasure to anyone else?"
"Absolutely."
Which didn't mean, at eighty-seven, she hadn't.
"Why?" her aunt asked. "Did the caller mention it?"
"No—no, not at all. I just wondered at the coincidence." The caller must have known she'd been out on date's property last night. She considered telling Hannah, then decided better of it. There was nothing Hannah could do but worry, and Piper preferred her aunt to enjoy boiling up her herbal concoctions and playing with her new microwave and computer. "Well, it's probably nothing. What can I do for you?"
Hannah took an audible breath. "You can stop humoring me and either get going on the treasure or let me find someone else who will. I can't stand any more of your delaying tactics, Piper." Even miffed, Hannah was too gentle a soul to manage more than mild reproof. "Once we find the treasure, all your doubts will be proven to have been for naught."
We. As if Hannah were going to venture out to Clate Jackson's property in the middle of the night. Piper sighed. "I'm doing the best I can."
"Your best. Ha."
"Hannah, what's that noise I hear? It sounds like a siren."
"I think it is. I hope I'm not being stopped for speeding."
"You mean you're on your cell phone? Hannah, geez. You shouldn't be driving and talking on the phone at the same time. It's dangerous, especially—well, you just shouldn't do it."
"Especially at my age, you were going to say. Phooey. You sound like Andrew. I only take calculated risks." The sound of the siren faded, and Piper could hear her aunt's smug little snort. "There, he's gone. Now, I wanted to tell you that I have a black dress that would be perfect for midnight digging."
"For who, me?"
"Yes, you. I think it will fit you. You can come for it later today." Her voice lowered to a near whisper. "Piper, I had another dream last night. I don't have much more time to solve this mystery."
Piper felt a jolt of fear. "What do you mean? You got a clean bill of health at your last checkup."
"I don't know what I mean. I just know."
"Right." She poked at her granola with her spoon. "Look, you should get off the phone and concentrate on driving. I'll come by later, okay?"
"Good," Hannah said, not bothering to disguise the note of victory. She knew how to motivate Piper. She always had.
Giving up on breakfast, Piper grabbed her knapsack and headed out front, where the wind had died down and the sun was boiling down from a cloudless sky, stirring the scent of the roses that grew in tangles over her picket fence.
"Bitch. I warned you."
She shook off the disturbing words, hoisted her backpack onto her back, and climbed on her bicycle. First stop the library, then Hannah's. By this time tomorrow, she decided, she wanted to have this buried treasure business finished.
Before she'd even cleared the driveway, Andrew's battered brown truck rolled to a stop on her narrow blacktopped road, and her brother poked his head out his window. "Christ, Piper, you look like hell."
"And a good morning to you, Andy."
No one called him Andy. "What did you do, spend the night digging up Jackson's back yard?"
She gave him a sarcastic smile. "No, I'm saving that for tonight."
"You're such a pain in the ass," he said good-naturedly. "Here. Benjamin dropped this by last night. Thought you'd find it interesting reading."
He shoved a magazine out the window at her. She immediately recognized Clate's picture on the cover. He was wearing a charcoal suit and red tie, his arms crossed on his chest, everything about him dark and devastating.
Her brother observed her closely. "Jesus, Piper, are you drooling?"
She scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Hell of a guy for Hannah to conjure up, huh?"