"I don't know enough—"
"You know plenty." He snatched up his shoes and walked toward her in his bare feet, the sand a bit warmer away from the water. "You could be in danger, Piper. You don't know who's placing those calls, who dug in my yard last night."
"In danger? Me?' She scoffed, but he could see the spark of fear. "The only danger I'm in is of being annoyed and harassed to distraction. I've lived in this town most of my life, Clate. I know these people."
"So?"
She stared back at him. "I'm not as hard and cynical as you are."
"Maybe that's a good thing, maybe not. You don't have the perspective I do. You can't be objective."
"I'm not that naive. Look, I know Hannah makes people mad. I make people mad. But that doesn't mean either of us is in any real danger."
Clate didn't relent. "Tell your brothers, Piper."
Ignoring him, she about-faced and continued up through the marsh. Clipped pace. A bit of a stomp to it. Hated getting advice, Piper Macintosh did.
But he wasn't finished. "One more thing."
She didn't turn around.
"There's no treasure under my wisteria." He emphasized the myjust enough to get her back up.
It worked. She flew around, nearly sailing her sandals into the marsh. "Because you don't want there to be any treasure under your wisteria or because you know that for a fact?"
"Because I dug a damned three-foot hole and didn't find anything."
She grinned suddenly, devilishly, the orange glow of the sunset bringing out the red highlights in her hair. "Not so hard and cynical as you think, are you, Mr. Jackson?"
Sarcastic, enjoying herself. Clate resisted the temptation to dish her out some of her own medicine. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this thing, Piper. Whatever's at the bottom, I'm going to get to it." He went ahead and made himself sound hard and cynical. He meant what he was saying. "Be ready."
Andrew stood at Piper's back door. "Was that Clate Jackson?"
He and Benjamin, who'd started across the yard to meet her, were both frowning, adding to her self-consciousness. She had sand between her toes, in her hair, all over her wet clothes. "Yes, it was." She kept her tone matter-of-fact as she dropped her sandals on the stone terrace and dragged out the hose. "He saw me down on the beach and came over to say hello. I'm still not used to having a mobile neighbor. Hannah seldom made it that far."
Andrew muttered a bullshit under his breath, but Benjamin, being the slightly more diplomatic of the two, touched his younger brother's arm. It wasn't above either of them, Piper knew, to have already examined her sink strainer for signs she hadn't dined alone. Clate Jackson had them on high alert. Well, her, too.
"We're not sure we trust that guy," Benjamin said.
"No kidding." Just enough sarcasm to assert her ability to handle the situation. She turned on the water spigot and hosed down her sandals, glancing behind her at her brothers. Neither was moving. "Something up? Why the family powwow?"
"You know why," Andrew said with a snarl. If he'd arrived with any patience, it had exhausted itself by now. Clate was the sort of out-of-towner that rubbed Andrew the wrong way. Rich, secretive, using Frye's Cove as his personal refuge. Andrew welcomed newcomers provided they made an attempt to be a part of the community, didn't treat it as a fantasy but a real place populated by real people.
But suddenly Piper sensed he and Benjamin hadn't come about her neighbor. She turned off the hose, switched off the spigot, and tried to ignore a sense of dread. "You're here about Hannah."
"She's got to stop," Andrew said darkly.
Benjamin's expression softened. "We don't want her to hurt herself or anyone else. She's a sweet woman. We know that."
"But she can't go around thinking she's conjuring up men for you," Andrew said, "and she's got to leave Stan Carlucci alone. Jesus, Piper. Agrimony and—what the hell was it?"
"Bistort," she said. "It's a common tincture."
Andrew fisted his big hands. "It's harassment?'
"There's no proof."
"This isn't a goddamned court of law, Piper. We don't care about proof. We care about stopping Hannah before she lands her little old fanny in jail or somebody else in the hospital."
Benjamin picked up Piper's abandoned hose and wound it into a neat pile, never one to stand a mess. "We're worried about her, kid."
She nodded. "So am I. Who told you about the tincture?"
"We dragged it out of Paul Shepherd," Benjamin said.
If possible, Andrew's frown deepened. "Guess we can't rely on our own sister to tell us what the hell's going on."
"Hannah's our aunt, too, Piper." Benjamin moved from the hose back next to his brother. "We care about what happens to her. No need for you to handle this thing alone."
"Paul and Stan spoke to me in confidence."
Andrew snorted in disgust. "And you can't talk to us in confidence?"
"Well, I—" She sighed. "I just wasn't sure what to do. I did talk to her, and she denies she left the tincture for Carlucci."