"She has to stop," Stan said, more reasonably. "For her own good and the good of the community."
Piper inhaled, every muscle in her body aching, her earlier sense of energy dissipating fast. "Leaving a common medicinal tincture on someone's doorstep isn't a crime. Anyway, who's to say it was Hannah? It's not exactly a secret she's into herbal remedies and tried one out on Stan. Maybe someone else who doesn't like his politics took up the cause." She threw up her hands, thinking on her feet. "Maybe it was a joke."
"It was no joke," Carlucci said.
"Well, if you want my advice, I say go ask her."
He looked as if he'd rather have tea with Medusa. Paul Shepherd didn't look much more enthusiastic. That was why, Piper realized, they'd come to her. She sighed, moving off from the sink. "All right, I'll talk to her. But if she says she didn't leave the tincture or simply meant it as a peace offering, I'm going to believe her. I'm not going to be a party to turning this into a witch hunt."
"Fair enough," Paul said. "We'll keep this among ourselves, then, for the time being."
Piper couldn't resist a wry smile. "Yes, I suppose it wouldn't be good for Stan's political career if people knew an eighty-seven-year-old woman in town offered him a little bistort and agrimony to help with his digestive problems."
"Which she caused," Stan pointed out, red faced. "My system has been off ever since I drank that woman's tea. I should have known better. She deliberately gave me...problems."
"She just believed your poor digestion was making you cranky and causing you to make unwise political decisions."
"My digestion is none of her damned business!"
Paul stepped between them, holding up one hand in a mollifying gesture. "Look, that incident's water over the dam. We're all just trying to do the right thing here. Stan, let's see what Piper can do. She has a good rapport with Hannah. Maybe this will all turn out to be an unfortunate misunderstanding."
With that, the two men departed. Piper followed them back through her parlor and out the front door. They complimented her on her roses and all the work she'd done on her little antique house.
"You've a talent for this sort of thing," Stan said. "Of course, things will change here if and when Clate Jackson decides to develop his property."
Piper tried to seem unconcerned, only mildly interested in her new neighbor. "He hasn't approached any of the selectmen yet, has he?"
Carlucci shook his head. "But I've made it known that I'm receptive to hearing his ideas. I'm not going to dismiss them out of hand before I've even heard them. It would ease the burden on Frye's Cove property owners to have more business in town. I believe in good growth, the wise use of our resources and natural beauty. From what I understand, Mr. Jackson could bring the kind of tasteful, upscale development this town would welcome."
He was off and running, still rhapsodizing about the virtues of a man he hadn't, as far as Piper knew, even met. Paul gave her a sympathetic smile as he climbed into his car, Carlucci still going on about development being good for democracy, allowing more people to see a part of Cape Cod most didn't even know existed. "Thank you, Piper," Paul mouthed, and they headed out.
Her lack of sleep and her worries about her aunt suddenly overwhelming her, Piper went back inside, stretched, took a shower, and headed out to cut rhubarb, never having felt so damned alone and isolated. What if Clate were right and Hannah was holding back something? What if Paul and Stan were right and she was a menace to herself and the community?
She brushed back tears, remembered a long-ago foggy Cape Cod morning when Hannah had taken her by the hand and walked with her along the beach, showing her horseshoe crabs, bits of kelp, oyster and clam shells, and sea urchins, understanding what it was like to grow up without a mother. They did share a special bond. Because of that bond, Piper was not prepared to lose her aunt to the eroding effects of time, mental illness, disease, or her own nutty ideas. Bad enough that Hannah had sold her house and moved across town.
"Bistort and agrimony," Piper muttered, hacking at a long, tender stalk of rhubarb. "Geez, Hannah."
Best, she decided, to let this one run itself out before sharing Stan Carlucci and Paul Shepherd's suspicions with anyone else, especially the man who had bought Hannah Frye's pretty Cape Cod house—he said—as a refuge.