Before Piper could reply, the front doorbell rang. Liddy went off to answer it as if the place were hers, which was fine with Clate, who understood he was living in a house that the people of Frye's Cove, in general, looked upon as their own. Hannah must not have spent much of her widowhood alone. When Liddy returned, she had a box of doughnuts. A present from Mrs. Carlucci. Clate had the feeling this was only the beginning.
Liddy put the doughnuts on a plate and dug out a big Thermos that Clate didn't even know he had, poured in the coffee, and made another pot. The friend arrived with the new underwear. The boys floated back in, tried to make off with two doughnuts each, were reprimanded, and satisfied themselves with one each.
Sally and Paul Shepherd turned up with a big pot of clam chowder from the tavern at their inn. They expressed their shock and dismay at Piper's ordeal. "At least you and your father and brothers know how to fix up the place," Paul said. "It's salvageable, isn't it?"
Piper nodded. More color was returning to her face. She liked the activity, Clate thought, and appreciated the attention, the fact that people cared. "I think so. It could have been much worse. They'll be over with their report soon."
Sally sat at the table, turning down Liddy's offer of coffee and a doughnut. "It's true, then, that you ran back inside to shut down the dampers?" She seemed amazed, and she struck Clate as a woman with a certain strength of character, an almost prudish sense of propriety, but without real courage.
"I acted without thinking."
"Oh, Piper! You could have passed out with all the smoke."
"I know. It was dumb."
"But you probably saved your house," Paul said, standing above his wife.
Piper nibbled at a honey-covered doughnut. Rising, Sally laid a hand on her husband's elbow, ladylike, utterly composed. "We should go, Paul." She smiled kindly at Piper. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call on us. We certainly have room at the inn if you need a place to stay."
"Thank you." Again, tears threatened. "Everyone's been great."
As the Shepherds left, the Macintosh men arrived. They smelled of smoke and had splotches of soot on their hands, arms, faces, clothes. Andrew looked as if he'd crawled up the fireplace. He retreated to Clate's downstairs bathroom to wash up. The other two washed up at the kitchen sink, much to Liddy's irritation. Benjamin grinned at his wife. "Pour us coffee, woman, and keep quiet."
She kneed him in the thigh, muttered something to him that sounded pretty much like "go to hell," and they both laughed. Benjamin did, however, pour his own coffee. Liddy offered him and her father-in-law doughnuts.
They were eating, all talking at once, when Hannah made her entrance. She'd gone home for a jar of a greenish tea that she insisted Piper drink immediately, without benefit of a cup, heat, or sugar. Piper opened the jar and sniffed. "What is it?"
"A restorative mixture."
"Of what?"
"I don't remember, exactly. I wrote it down somewhere. Oh, for heaven's sake. I drank some myself last night, and I'm still here." She gave a haughty toss of her head. "I didn't poison myself. That, presumably, was the work of whoever set fire to your house."
Andrew emerged from the hallway. "What was that?"
They were off and running. Poisons, arson, threatening phone calls, who hadn't told whom what, who was still holding back pertinent information. This last was reiterated by each Macintosh man, eyes on Piper and Hannah, who ignored them. Listening carefully, Clate gathered that Piper's house was salvageable, but unlivable at the moment. Part of the roof had burned, and the wall around the chimney on the second floor had caught fire, forcing the fire fighters to rip it up. Smoke damage had probably ruined most of what Piper owned, although some stuff downstairs, especially closer to her kitchen and back rooms, might be okay.
Liddy Macintosh dipped chowder into mugs and bowls. She smiled at Clate. "You'll get used to it. The more worried they are, the louder they shout."
He leaned against the counter, watching Piper hold her own with her father and brothers. They never crossed the line with her, and in their own way, they treated her as an equal. She'd have to bear up under their scrutiny and high standards, just like anyone else. And they under hers.
"She'd be right there yelling with Benjamin," Liddy said, "if Andrew had just nearly gotten himself killed trying to keep his house from burning down."
"Tight-knit family."
She laughed. "Don't I know it."
When they launched into a rehash of everything they'd just gone over, Clate took his mug of coffee outside. The boys were rampaging through his yard with a familiarity that was disconcerting him less and less. Hannah, perhaps, had done a disservice to them all by selling this place.
She materialized next to him; he hadn't even heard the door open. Wisps of white hair floated around her gently wrinkled face. She said, "I assume you've told Piper it was Jason I saw that night, out here."