Free Night Scents by Carla Neggers Page A

stayed for three. This Piper knew because she and Hannah were standing out on his terrace when he returned, discussing the night her parents had been lured to their deaths.
    Alone, Piper could have scooted back to her property before he was any the wiser, but with her elderly aunt at her side, there'd be no escaping. They had heard an engine out front, assumed it was Tuck, then heard a curse from the kitchen. Now there were sounds of locks being unlocked, the back door banging open. Piper deliberately kept her back to the commotion because to have looked around would have indicated she was aware she was doing something wrong.
    "Just let me do the talking," she said in a low voice to her aunt, still absorbed in memories of mooncussers who would deliberately lure boats onto sandbars and treasure and paying no attention to the man who'd bought her house. She had insisted his No Trespassing signs didn't apply to her. "Do not mention buried treasure."
    A shadow fell over them. "I see you've yet to learn the difference between mine and thine."
    Piper knew he was addressing her, not Hannah. She could tell by his tone, a husky mix of drawl and fatigue that somehow made her feel warm, despite the persistent drizzle and the cool breeze off the water. Hannah glanced back at the man she believed she'd summoned north, then raised her eyebrows at Piper and smiled with satisfaction. Obviously Clate had passed muster, not that Hannah had had any doubts he wouldn't.
    "Oh, hello." Piper gave her hair a flip, a transparent attempt to look unchagrined. "I didn't realize you were back."
    "I take it you only trespass when you think no one's around."
    "Be dumb to try it when I knew you were home."
    Even so, she'd tried to persuade Hannah of the folly of venturing onto posted land. What if Clate had asked the police to swing by his place from time to time while he was gone? After the Stan Carlucci incident, it wouldn't be in her best interests to get caught trespassing. But after two days of Piper dragging her heels, her aunt's patience was worn thin. She wanted her treasure. She was convinced of the accuracy of her restored memory.
    Piper kept her tone light, as if she didn't believe she'd done a thing wrong. "You haven't met my aunt yet, have you? Hannah, this is Clate Jackson. Clate, my aunt, Hannah Frye."
    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