The Pickled Piper (12 page)

A
my had left for A La Carte, and Piper had just been informed by her insurance agent that she needed a second cost estimate on the paint clean-up job, when a woman she recognized from the fair entered the shop.

“You look like you just bit into a sour pickle,” the woman said.

“Biting into a sour pickle generally makes me smile,” Piper said. “Having to drum up another handyman in a hurry doesn't.”

Piper explained the situation as the woman's name percolated to the top of her brain—Emma Leahy, with whom Piper remembered discussing the many ways of pickling okra. “I can't stand okra itself,” she remembered Emma stating. “Slimy things, aren't they? But I remembered trying a pickled okra once, and it was delicious.”

A no-nonsense type of woman in her late sixties, Emma looked like she might have come straight from digging in her garden (and had looked pretty much the same a few days ago at the fair). She brushed back a loose strand of salt-and-pepper hair, cut sensibly short, and dug into the canvas tote that seemed to be filled with enough items to get her through the night. She pulled out a cell phone and began scrolling through her contact list.

“Dennis Isley would probably give you the lowest price,” she said as she searched, “but I wouldn't recommend him. Besides, he's working on Ira Perkins's roof right now. I saw him on my way here.”

Piper nodded, aware that she wouldn't have chosen to hire Dennis, anyway.

“Here you go. Max Noland.” Emma recited Noland's number for Piper to write down.

“Great! Thanks. Now how can I help
you
?”

Emma, as Piper expected, wanted to know more about pickling okra, specifically which recipe Piper could suggest that might come closest to the one Emma had once sampled. Piper walked her through six different recipes, including a no-salt version and a couple with celery and either mustard seeds or hot red peppers, and even found one for candied okra, made with brown sugar, cinnamon, and cloves. Emma liked the recipe with green, rather than hot, peppers, plus garlic and mustard seeds, and Piper gathered up the spices and equipment she'd need.

After Emma left, Piper tried Max Noland's number and got a “please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you” message. She sighed and did so for perhaps the fifth time that day. Her aggravation was short-lived, however, since she soon spotted Will Burchett's green van pull up in front of her shop. She watched as Will climbed out and slid open his side door. He reached in and dragged out a four-foot-tall—at least!—potted Christmas tree.

“What in the world?” Piper ran to her door as Will staggered over with his tree.

“Hi,” he said, seeing her. He lowered the heavy pot gently to the sidewalk. “I heard about your problem,” he said and jerked his chin toward the now-famous paint splash. “I have plenty of these sitting around and thought you might like one.”

“A Christmas tree?”

“Yeah, a spruce.” He looked fondly at it, then suddenly blinked. “Not for Christmas! It's to keep outside here, as a, you know, decoration, and to maybe make you feel a little better after what some creep did to your wall.” He looked down at his tree, again, doubt crossing his face. “It'll grow, you know. I probably should have picked a bigger one, except lugging it here might have been a problem.”

Piper laughed, shaking her head. “That's so nice! But I really can't accept such an expensive gift.”

“No! It's nothing! I just dug it up and plopped it in the pot. I have plenty of them, you know. I would have thinned out the row, anyway. This way the little guy gets to hang around awhile longer.”

Piper was skeptical but said, “Well, then, great! That really is very nice of you, Will. Thank you!”

“I'll just leave it here for now, okay? So it won't get in the way of the work. Water it once in a while.”

“I will.” Piper found herself grinning broadly at her unexpected and unusual gift. It might have been the first tree she'd ever gotten.

Will checked his watch. “I'll be off, then. I'll give you a call, okay?”

“Please do. And thanks again, so much.”

Will left, and Piper stood gazing at her new tree. How tall would it grow? Could she put lights on it in December? She'd have to ask Will if that would hurt the tree. Piper went back into her shop but found herself wandering to the window often, just to look at her potted spruce.

She wasn't the only one who admired it. Customers who walked in the rest of the afternoon said, “Nice tree!” which was such a welcome change from the comments and questions she'd been fielding about the ugly paint splash. About fifteen minutes before closing time, Aunt Judy surprised Piper by popping in.

“I had to come see it for myself,” she said, referring to the tree, which told Piper news of her gift had made the rounds. “What a lovely thing for Will to do!”

Piper agreed. “He tried to downplay it, but I'm sure he went to a lot of trouble. It certainly cheered me up.”

“Yes, I felt so bad when I heard about the paint being thrown on your wall and was planning to come just on that account. But this is so much better. Your paint mess will go away, but that beautiful tree will last for years.”

“Will it?”

“Oh yes. Of course, eventually you'll have to put it back in the ground. We can bring it to our farm if you like. Or . . .” Aunt Judy paused, her eyes twinkling, then simply said, “Yes, your tree will last a good, long time.”

Just then, another van pulled up to Piper's shop. This one was white and had “Flowers by Fredericka” written on it in green paint.
Uh-oh
, Piper thought, not sure what to make of that.

“Oh my goodness,” Aunt Judy said as she turned to follow Piper's gaze. They both watched as a young man of about eighteen bounced out, then reached into the back to lift out a huge bouquet of roses. “Look at that!” Aunt Judy cried, and she hurried to get the door for the teen.

“Piper Lamb?” the delivery boy asked as he walked in. Close-up, the bouquet he held was even more enormous. When Piper nodded weakly, the young man grinned and set the bouquet on her countertop, saying, “Enjoy!”

“Thank you,” Piper croaked.

“There must be two dozen roses in there,” Aunt Judy said, her eyes popping. “How can Wi—, I mean, who sent it?”

Piper found a white envelope tucked into the blooms and plucked it out. She pulled the flap open and slipped out the card, closing her eyes a moment before she read what was on it. “Oh Lord,” she moaned.

“What? What is it?”

Aunt Judy looked so fearful, Piper couldn't keep her in suspense. “They're from Scott.”

“Scott! But I thought you, I mean, he, that is . . . Didn't you two break up?”

“We did. At least I did. Scott doesn't seem to have realized it. He just sent me two dozen roses on the anniversary of our first date.”

“Oh,” Aunt Judy said. “Oh my.” She looked searchingly at Piper. “Well, that's . . . very nice. I suppose.”

At that moment, Nate Purdy walked into the shop, halting as he spotted the roses. “Wow! I was going to say, ‘Good-looking tree out there,' but that's one gorgeous bouquet in here. Who's the lucky guy?”

Piper groaned, then hustled her bouquet, which seemed to be growing larger by the minute, up to her apartment before anyone else could see and comment on it. Aunt Judy had looked on the verge of asking how Piper felt about it, but all she felt at the moment was confusion.

Why would Scott make such a romantic gesture? He'd rarely done so when they'd been together, and now that he was half a world away he feels the urge? The phrase “absence makes the heart grow fonder” popped into her head, but did Piper want Scott's heart to grow fonder? She thought she'd ended that episode in her life, partly because she'd felt taken for granted. Now, just when someone new had entered her life, a man who was clearly very thoughtful, Scott suddenly becomes the gallant knight? Had he also become clairvoyant? It seemed as though every time Piper's feelings toward Will stepped up a notch, Scott did something to shake the ladder.

“Piper, do you want me to ring up the purchase for Nate?” Aunt Judy called up the stairwell. “He's picking up tarragon for Amy on his way to A La Carte, and he has to go now.”

“I'm coming down,” Piper answered, giving one of Scott's wonderfully fragrant roses an impatient tweak. She trotted down to the shop and wrote up a bill that Nate could give to the restaurant owner instead of paying out of pocket.

“More people have said they intend to go to the restaurant to hear you play,” Aunt Judy told him. “Your fame is spreading.”

Nate grinned. “I think it's Amy's cooking that's doing it, but either way it'll be good for both of us. Thanks again.” He made a snappy salute and took off.

“Want to come by for dinner?” Aunt Judy asked Piper. “It won't be up to the A La Carte offerings, but I've made your favorite chicken and biscuit stew.”

“Your cooking will always be tops with me,” Piper said. “Just give me a minute to close up shop.”
And to get my head together
.

• • •

S
ince Aunt Judy had been dropped off by Uncle Frank to run her errands in town, she rode with Piper to the farmhouse, first calling to let her husband know she had a ride back.

“Take a peek at the Crock-Pot, would you, Frank?” she told him over the phone. “If my stew is bubbling too much, turn the switch to low.”

As Piper pulled onto the highway on the outskirts of town, they heard sirens in the distance.

“Oh dear,” Aunt Judy said. “I hope nothing serious has happened.”

“If it has, we'll be sure to hear about it soon,” Piper said, checking her mirrors but not spotting any flashing lights.

“Caitlin Walker's little boy is prone to asthma attacks. Sometimes it's a bad one. Or old Mr. O'Hara's heart might have—”

“It could just be Ben Schaeffer in his auxiliary officer role catching a driver going five miles over the speed limit. You know how super-seriously he takes things like that.”

“Maybe . . .” Aunt Judy said.

Piper glanced over and saw her aunt's face still looking worried, so she bit the bullet and brought up the subject sure to distract her. “Will's gift of that live Christmas tree was such a surprise.”

Aunt Judy's expression instantly brightened. “He's such a nice young man. I liked him from the first. I remember saying to your Uncle Frank, ‘That Will Burchett has an honest face.' Of course, Frank laughed and reminded me that I'd said the same about the man who drove up to the house and offered to reseal our driveway at a big discount with his ‘leftover material from another job.' That was a long time ago, though. I think I've learned a thing or two about scam artists since then.”

“You're probably safe in your opinion of Will.”

“So, you like him, too?”

“I think he's a very nice guy. And I know half the town is already planning what to wear to our wedding. But we're still getting to know each other. Being a great guy and being the right guy aren't always the same thing.”

“Of course, dear.” Aunt Judy paused. “Scott's gesture—sending those beautiful flowers—does that cloud the waters?”

Piper shook her head, laughing ruefully. “You could say that. It's so unlike him, at least the Scott he was toward the end. But I haven't seen him for weeks while he's been traveling the world and ‘finding himself.' Maybe this separation has been doing him some good? Or maybe he's experiencing a touch of temporary insanity. I just don't know what to think.”

Aunt Judy reached over and patted her arm. “Don't overthink it, would be my advice. You have two men vying for your attention. Enjoy that for now, and as they say, ‘Just go with the flow.'”

Piper grinned at her aunt, and they lapsed into a comfortable, thoughtful silence the rest of the ride.

As Piper pulled into the farmhouse driveway, she saw Uncle Frank step out onto the front porch. Jack, their lovable mixed breed, barked and ran excitedly to meet them. Piper climbed out and ruffled Jack's fur before he darted to Aunt Judy's side of the car.

Uncle Frank trotted down the porch steps to give each of them a peck on the cheek. Piper thought his greeting fairly restrained and expected to hear that a large piece of farm equipment had gone on the fritz or some such complaint. But what her uncle said turned out to be much worse.

“Bill Vanderveen just called,” he said, his bushy brows knit tight. “There's been a bad accident in town. Dennis Isley took a fall from Ira Perkins's roof. They're not sure he's going to make it.”

A
fter that glum news, Aunt Judy's excellent dinner was consumed but hardly enjoyed. Several calls concerning Dennis Isley interrupted them as well as ensured that any conversation in between would be somber.

“Bill thinks he might have tripped over his own tools,” Uncle Frank said at one point.

“Ira Perkins's roof is so steep,” Aunt Judy responded, her lower lip trembling. Gracie, the plump gray cat, took this as a cue to jump onto her lap, something Aunt Judy normally disallowed during meals. But that night she held on to the cat and gently stroked its fur.

When they finished the meal, Piper helped clean up, then felt there was nothing more she could do and bid her aunt and uncle good night. She left, with hugs and a basket of fresh-picked tomatoes, knowing little more about Dennis's condition. However, not long after she arrived home, her uncle called.

“We just got word, peanut. Dennis died at the hospital.”

Piper gasped softly. Though the handyman hadn't been anywhere near a friend of hers, his death was still a shock. He was, after all, a person Piper had very recently seen and spoken to. Feelings of guilt flooded in as well, both because she'd disliked the man when he was alive and had been more than happy to suspect him of murder. She tried reminding herself that death tended to transform villains into angels but still found the news hard to deal with.

The next morning, Piper dragged herself from bed, knowing she faced a day of nonstop talk about the accident. She pulled out her box of quick-cooking oatmeal to fortify herself and brewed a generous pot of strong coffee. When she raised the shade on her shop door, the sun was shining brightly, and Cloverdale looked quiet and peaceful. Piper was sure that would change, though, and was soon proved right. Within minutes Mrs. Peterson popped in, professing to have come to reschedule her canning and pickling class but getting around rapidly to Dennis Isley.

“I understand that Ira Perkins heard the fall,” she said, “but thought Dennis had dropped a load of shingles. Dennis had a rope system for pulling the shingles up to the roof, you know, so he wouldn't have to carry them all up the ladder. Mr. Perkins's hearing isn't the best, of course, which is why I suppose he didn't mind staying home while Dennis was banging away overhead. When I had my roof redone a few years ago the noise was so awful, it sent me running to my sister's. I can only imagine if you listened to that all day, one more thud would barely be noticed.”

“Then why did Mr. Perkins think he heard Dennis fall?” Piper asked.

Mrs. Peterson winced. “Because he also heard Dennis cry out. But Ira put it to his having dropped the shingles, as I said. Poor man—Dennis, I mean. Who knows if he might have survived if he'd gotten help sooner.”

“I don't think so,” Emma Leahy said as she pushed through Piper's door. “Dennis landed on alley concrete, and his head injuries, I heard, were terrible. There's no way he could have survived except maybe as a vegetable for the rest of his life, and who'd want that?” Emma turned to Piper. “I came by to get another canning jar for my pickled okra, by the way.”

As Piper went to get the jar, a third person entered her shop, Mr. Laseter, the man who had first clued her in about the plumber, Ralph Farber.

“Did you ladies hear about the accident?” he asked.

Needless question
, Piper thought, and he paid for it by getting an earful and then some from both women. Mr. Laseter, it seemed, had come by to buy a jar of Piper's pickles—any kind—having felt concern for how her business might have suffered after Alan Rosemont's murder. Her business, however, wasn't currently suffering at all, and as the morning wore on, the sight of two or more people in conversation inside her shop seemed to suck in several others to pick over the grisly details and, by the way, pick up spices or pickles while they were there.

Piper was relieved when Amy finally arrived, which would give her a chance to rest her ears as well as her feet. She'd been bustling about, gathering merchandise while listening to the same information—and plenty of off-the-wall misinformation—shared and repeated, contradicted and dissected. Amy, however, seemed uncharacteristically quiet as she tucked her purse under the counter, and Piper asked, “Are you okay?”

Amy's brow puckered. “Nate's not answering my calls and texts.”

Piper handed a customer her bagged purchase of spices before turning back to Amy. “When did you last hear from him?”

“Late last night. I'd stayed behind at the restaurant to finish a few things in the kitchen and texted him when I got home. He answered to say good night and that he'd call me in the morning. But he didn't.”

Piper didn't know what to say. Normally, not hearing from one's boyfriend for a few hours wouldn't be much to worry about. But things had been far from normal lately. So much so that Piper was beginning to forget what that state was like.

“Maybe it's just a cell phone problem,” she offered. Then, thinking the ongoing busyness might be a good distraction, she asked, “Mind taking over? I'm in huge need of a break.” Amy nodded, managing to put some enthusiasm into it, and Piper left care of the shop to her.

She trotted upstairs and headed for a soft chair in her living room, kicking off her shoes and pulling the hassock closer. As she stretched her legs out, Piper heaved a sigh of pleasure. Unfortunately, besides comfort, her position also provided a direct view of Scott's roses. Of course, a bouquet that large was hard to miss from nearly any spot in her small apartment.

Piper shook her head as she stared at it. Was she the only woman in the world who was less than thrilled to receive such an amazing gift of flowers from a boyfriend? An ex-boyfriend, she reminded herself. But maybe Aunt Judy was right. She should just go with the flow.

Piper inhaled the flowers' pervasive perfume, which was lovely. It reminded her of one of their early dates, when Scott had taken her to a very nice dinner. As they'd strolled away from the restaurant toward his car, Scott had stopped at a street vendor's cart and bought her a small bouquet of violets. It was a spontaneous, romantic gesture that made Piper smile even now, just thinking about it.

There had been fewer of those gestures, however, as their relationship progressed. Scott's career kept him busier, and he began to take her more and more for granted. He'd won her over, his attitude seemed to say, and now he didn't need to work at it anymore.

Had Scott's travels caused him to rethink that attitude? Had it finally begun to sink in that Piper had broken up with him and that he was going to have to get busy at winning her back and changing his ways if he had any hopes of a future with her? Did Piper want him to win her back?

A screech from below jerked Piper forward in her chair. Amy's voice! Piper scrambled up and rushed to the top of her stairs.

“No!” she heard Amy cry. “No! That's not right!”

Piper grabbed her shoes and rushed down to the shop. Erin and Megan stood beside a distraught Amy. Erin spotted Piper first and explained.

“Nate's been taken back in for questioning.”

“Questioning about what?” Piper asked. “I thought he answered everything he could about Alan Rosemont.”

“Not Alan. For Dennis Isley.”

“Dennis! But that was an accident. Wasn't it?”

“Once in a while my idiot brother, Ben,” Megan said, “turns into someone who's actually useful.” She tossed her blond hair away from her face. “He told me Amy's dad is suspicious that Dennis's fall was murder. First of all, it seemed too coincidental for someone with a connection to Alan Rosemont to die within days of Alan's murder. Dennis, you know, did plenty of odd jobs for Alan, even though he didn't like him much.”

“Right,” Piper said. “And Dennis got the library painting job through Alan.”

Megan nodded. “Then, there was the fact that Dennis knew how to handle himself on a roof. He was experienced and had all the right safety precautions in place. He had a rope system for pulling up shingles, and the rope ran through a clip of some type on his tool belt.” She turned to Erin. “What did Ben call it?”

“A carabiner.”

“Yeah. Anyway, it's a gadget that roofers use to keep from losing the rope. Ben said there was no reason Dennis should have been pulled off the roof by that rope under normal circumstances. There was nothing for it to accidentally catch on and so forth. The only thing that could have happened is that someone down below pulled on it and surprised Dennis, making him fall.” She added, “And Mr. Perkins claims he saw a figure—that's all he could say, ‘a figure'—outside his window around that time.”

Piper gasped at the picture Megan had drawn. It was horrible. But she couldn't fill in the rest of it with Nate's face. It just wouldn't fit. “Why Nate?”

“Nate was seen going into the alley around that time,” Erin said, her face glum.

“Oh Lord,” Piper said. “He might have. He was here at the shop picking up the tarragon for you, Amy, before heading to work. It wasn't long after when we heard the sirens. Would that alley have been a shortcut to A La Carte?”

“Yes,” Amy said, shaking her head. “But that doesn't mean anything. Nate might have walked behind the Perkins' house, but he never would have done such a terrible thing. Never!”

“How did he seem when he arrived at the restaurant?” Piper asked.

“Perfectly fine! Normal. Happy! There's no way he could have just killed someone and been so cool. He'd have to be some kind of monster, and he's not!”

“No, definitely not,” Piper agreed.

“Tell your father that,” Erin urged. “Tell him how natural Nate was when he showed up.”

“Oh, I will,” Amy said. “I definitely will. I just don't know that it will make a difference. Daddy's always pointing out that he needs facts, not opinions.”

“Well, we'll have to dig up the facts, then,” Piper said. “If that rope was yanked, it was by someone else. We'll just have to find out who that was.”

Brave words
, Piper thought. Now to accomplish it. She took a deep breath. “So, first we have to see who benefits from Dennis Isley's death. Any thoughts?”

She looked from one to the other, but all she got were blank stares. Not a great start.

“Okay,” she said, pulling out her notebook of suspects from under the counter and dragging over a tall stool. “Let's assume Dennis's death had something to do with Alan Rosemont.”

“Can we?” Megan asked.

“Two violent deaths within days of each other in a small town? There has to be a connection. Unless you know of any other reason for Dennis to be murdered?”

Megan shook her head. “He didn't have anything anyone would want that I know of.”

“Then we could go with the theory that Dennis was a difficulty that needed to be removed. Maybe he knew or saw something, possibly without even realizing its significance. Otherwise, wouldn't he have reported it?” Or maybe not, knowing Dennis. But that was another problem.

Piper looked at her list of names. “We have the Pfiefles, Ralph Farber, and Robby Taylor as suspects in Rosemont's murder.” She quietly drew a line through the fourth name on the list—Dennis's. Piper looked up at the three friends. “We need to know where these people were when Dennis was pulled off the roof.”

“Erin and I can check on Gordon Pfiefle, find out if he was at his supermarket or not.”

“I can stop at the library on the way to the restaurant and check on Lyella,” Amy said.

“Good,” Piper said. “I'd just as soon not have to go there myself for a while.” That coaxed a wan smile from her helper. All four looked up at the sound of voices as two chattering women approached the door to the pickling shop. “Go ahead,” Piper told Erin and Megan. “Let us know what you find out.”

As they left and the two new customers came in, Piper braced herself to be bombarded with round two of the Dennis Isley accident story, hoping that amid all the whirlwind of gossip, something helpful might actually fly out—and that Amy could hold it together if Nate's name came up.