The Pickled Piper (13 page)

A
my kept her composure at the shop, but only because Nate's name didn't come up during the customers' continual rehashing of Dennis Isley's death. Apparently word of Nate once again being a “person of interest” hadn't gotten around yet. It was only a matter of time, though, so Piper sent Amy off early to stop at the library and check on Lyella Pfiefle's activities at the time of Dennis's fall, before heading on to A La Carte. There was still Robby Taylor's and Ralph Farber's whereabouts to pinpoint, and Piper was thinking about how to do that when Charlotte Hosch walked in.

“Oh!” Charlotte said as she glanced around, her mouth pursed into a sour look. “She's gone.”

“Do you mean Amy?” Piper asked.

“Yes, of course! I wanted to offer her a word of advice.”

Oh Lord
, Piper thought, and felt that at least one piece of luck had graced Amy's day—disappearing before Charlotte arrived.

“Advice?” Piper asked to be polite, though Charlotte had been sinking rapidly on her list of “Those Who Deserve a Modicum of Courtesy.”

“Concerning that young man she's been spending time with. The musician.” Charlotte pronounced that last word as Piper might have said tomato blight or fruit rot.

Piper stood a bit straighter. “What about Nate?”

“He's trouble, obviously. Pure trouble. As the sheriff's daughter, Amy Carlyle needs to steer clear of him, and for her own good, as well. I felt it was my duty to make that clear to her.”

At that moment, Tina walked into the shop. “Piper, did you know Nate—oh! Charlotte!” Tina rocked back on her heels at the sight of the not-so-sweet confectioner.

“You came to tell Miss Lamb about Nate Purdy being taken in for questioning, I presume?”

“Y-yes,” Tina said. “I guess I didn't need to.” She turned to Piper. “It's just so upsetting! Why should they harass the boy like that? First because of Alan, now about Dennis. It doesn't make any sense!”

“It makes all the sense in the world,” Charlotte countered. “Nobody knows a thing about that young man. There's no reason whatsoever to trust him. I'm convinced he saw Alan as an obstacle and therefore removed him. The same with Dennis, though I don't know exactly why in that case. But he acted as soon as he saw the opportunity.”

“What are you talking about?” Tina said, her voice rising. “What opportunity?”

“Nate was seen entering the alley,” Piper said. “Apparently close to the time Dennis fell.”

“That's crazy!” Tina cried. “Who keeps track of foot traffic in an alley? Nate couldn't have been the only person walking through there, anyway. What bonehead picked him out specifically as the one to report?”

Charlotte drew herself up to her full, five-feet-eight height, looking, with her prickly mop of steel-colored hair and pointed nose, not unlike an angry ostrich ready to strike. “I did.”

“You!”

“Somebody has to act with more than an ounce of intelligence around here! I saw Nate Purdy slip furtively into that alley and thought to myself that he was up to no good. Little did I know how right I was.”

“You don't know anything!” Tina's face had turned florid. “You're just a busybody who thinks the worst of everyone. Do you know how much trouble you've caused that boy?”

“I never shirk my duty simply to avoid unpleasantness.”

“No, you go looking for unpleasantness, you miserable—”

“Ladies!” Piper cried. “Enough, please. Tina, it's no good getting yourself worked up. That won't help Nate at all. The only thing that will help him is finding out the truth.”

Charlotte turned on Piper. “You're protecting that villain? I might have known! Well, obviously I'll have to speak directly to Sheriff Carlyle about his daughter. Perhaps he'll be able to talk sense into her—if it's not too late! I expect he'll also rue the day he allowed her to take employment at this—” She paused, obviously searching for the most scathingly descriptive words she could think of, then spat out, “—this pickle den!” With that, Charlotte stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

Tina stared after her with hands clenched into fists, her face beet red. “Oh! That horrible woman!”

Piper stared, too, but mainly in astonishment over Charlotte's exit line. Pickle den? What the heck was that supposed to mean? She turned to Tina, realizing the coffee shop owner looked upset enough to have a stroke. Or a migraine, at the very least.

“Don't let Charlotte get to you,” Piper soothed. “She thrives on stirring up trouble.”

“Don't I know that.” Tina took a deep breath. “But you're right. My ranting won't help Nate.” She pulled her gaze from the sight of Charlotte marching away, which seemed to help her regain her composure. In a moment Tina asked, “What can I do that will help him?”

Piper thought a moment. “Would you find out where the plumber, Ralph Farber, was when Dennis fell to his death? I already have scouts checking up on other suspects.”

“You got it. That shouldn't be too hard.” Tina's normal color was returning, and she even managed a wan smile. “Though I'd hate Ralph to be the one. Nobody likes to lose a good plumber.” She glanced at her watch. “I'd better get back to the coffee shop. Darla will need to take off soon.”

Tina moved toward the door, and Piper asked, “Any luck with your search into Alan Rosemont's background?”

Tina turned back and shook her head. “Not much, so far. He seems to have kept a low profile. But I'll keep working at it. I'll let you know as soon as I dig up anything good.”

“Great. Thanks.” Tina took off, and Piper heaved a huge sigh. She'd known at the start that it was going to be a rough day. And the day was only half over.

• • •

W
ithin an hour, Erin returned alone with a report on what she and Megan had learned about Gordon Pfiefle. Piper was glad it was only Erin. Though she genuinely liked both girls, on this near-siege of a day she was particularly grateful for Erin's quieter ways.

Erin's large brown eyes looked troubled, and she began by saying, “I really like Mr. Pfiefle. His supermarket sponsored our softball team back in high school, and he always showed up to cheer us on.”

“By himself?” Piper asked.

“With his wife.”

Of course. “It sounds like you learned something that doesn't rule him out.”

Erin nodded. “He was out of the store from three until a little after five.”

“Doing what? Do you know?”

“Mrs. Pfiefle had car trouble—a flat tire—and he rushed out to take care of it.”

“That's interesting. Amy might be able to tell us if Lyella Pfiefle told the same story, although I expect she would. Those two seem joined at the hip. If one of them was up to no good, they both were.”

“Maybe it really was a flat tire.” Erin said it so earnestly that Piper realized she'd been jumping the gun and backtracked.

“You're right. And we'll have to check up on that, somehow. But for now he's still on our list.” Piper looked at Erin's worried face and said, “It'll have to be someone, you know. Even someone who seemed likable. Try to remember that whoever it is, that person wasn't as nice as everyone once thought to do such terrible things. And we don't want Nate to be blamed for crimes he didn't commit.”

“Oh, I know! Absolutely. I just wish . . .” Erin winced. “I wish none of this had ever happened.”

“As do we all,” Piper said—particularly, she thought, Alan Rosemont and Dennis Isley. “If this is too hard on you, Erin, we'll all understand if you want to step away.”

“No,” Erin said, shaking her head firmly. “I want to pitch in.” She paused. “I hope Ben understands that what we're doing isn't anything against him. It's just that we know Nate so much better than he does.”

So Piper hadn't been mistaken about the feelings she'd picked up from Erin toward Ben Schaeffer. “I don't think he'll take it personally if we can prove the murderer is someone other than Nate,” Piper said. “Maybe you could talk to Ben, explain your view of the situation.”
And in the process let him see that there are other nice girls around besides Amy.

“Oh!” Erin flushed. “I couldn't! That is, he'd be . . . I'd be so . . .”

“That's okay,” Piper said, helping her out. “It was just a thought.” Piper's cell phone rang, and she glanced at it. “It's Amy. Let's see what she's found out.”

“Lyella Pfiefle wasn't at the library yesterday afternoon,” Amy said as soon as Piper picked up. “She was supposed to drive to Appleton for a meeting, but that got canceled at the last minute. Since she'd already arranged for someone to fill in for her at the library, she decided to stay home.”

“Well, that's interesting.”

“Why?” Amy asked.

“Because,” Piper said, “it doesn't exactly match her husband's story.”

P
iper closed up shop at six with a sigh of relief, although her day still wasn't done. She'd called the Pfiefles' inquisitive neighbor, Martha Smidley, and arranged for a visit that evening. Martha was more than agreeable but chose six thirty as the time.

“
Wheel of Fortune
comes on at seven,” she said in a tone that indicated she was stating the obvious.

That didn't give Piper much time for a badly needed refueling, so she hurried upstairs and pulled open her refrigerator. Her eyes lit on the tomatoes Aunt Judy had sent home with her the night before. Was there anything better than fresh-picked, vine-ripened summer tomatoes? she wondered. Well, maybe pickled green tomatoes, but there wasn't time for that.

Piper pulled out a fat red one and sliced it, piled the slices on wheat bread, then slathered it all with mayonnaise. Her first bite oozed juice and mayo down her chin but was the most delicious, satisfying thing she'd had all day. Piper took a few gulps of iced tea, then grabbed a raisin-loaded oatmeal cookie (also from Aunt Judy) to nibble on the way to Martha's, taking along a complimentary jar of pickled beets.

To save time, Piper drove to Locust Street. She'd barely climbed out of her car in front of Martha's house when the front door was opened by the elderly woman, who had obviously been watching for her as she watched most everything on her street. Piper hoped she'd been as vigilant yesterday afternoon.

“Hello, Martha!” Piper called and trotted up the front steps. Martha's smile broadened as Piper handed her the pickled beets.

“How nice! Thank you. Coffee?” Martha asked as Piper stepped into the foyer.

Piper saw a tray was already in place on the coffee table. Her hostess obviously didn't want to waste much time. “That'd be great,” she said and slipped onto the chair opposite as Martha poured the brew into two daintily flowered china cups, then passed over Piper's. After a quick sip, Piper drew a breath, ready to jump in with her questions, but Martha beat her to it.

“You want to know what was going on around here when that handyman fell off the roof, don't you?”

Piper nodded. “I do. Were you home then?”

“Luckily, I was.” Martha raised her cup to her lips, keeping Piper in suspense. She was wearing a crinkle-cloth matching top and pants, along with the sturdy sandals Piper had seen before. This time her socks were pale blue, which matched her pants outfit. Piper waited for her to speak.

“Well,” Martha said as she set down her cup. “Things were quiet the first part of the afternoon. Mrs. Donohue took her grandson out for a stroll after lunch. She watches him on Mondays and Thursdays, and occasionally on Friday afternoons.”

Piper nodded, though she didn't care a fig when Mrs. Donohue babysat. Martha apparently needed to run through her list of the goings-on of her street from the beginning, since they were all fascinating to her. Skipping ahead was not her method of choice.

“Then, the Patterson boy came by and mowed the Riveros' lawn, which was way overdue for a cutting. He's fifteen, now, and gotten quite tall.”

“Has he?” Piper glanced at the clock behind Martha and saw the minute hand creeping closer to
Wheel of Fortune
hour. “Did you happen to see the Pfiefles?”

“Why, yes. Yes, I did. Which really surprised me. They both are normally at work at that time. I saw Lyella first. She came home around two thirty. Looked a little more dressed up than she generally is for the library, wearing a light-colored suit and high heels.”

“I understand she had some sort of out-of-town meeting to go to.”

Martha nodded. “That explains it.”

“When did you see Gordon?”

“He showed up about three fifteen. Very odd. Not exactly lunchtime, though he rarely came home for lunch, either. Why would he, when he's surrounded by food at work?”

“Could you see Lyella's car? How did her tires look? Any flat ones?”

“Her car was parked out front. I can't say I noticed her tires, but I think if she had a flat I would have heard it thumping as she drove up, don't you? And she would have fussed over it when she got out. All she did was walk into her house like she does every day.”

“So Gordon didn't change any tires while he was there?”

“Certainly not. He came home, parked behind her car, and disappeared into the house.”

“And when did he leave?” Piper asked.

“Ah, now that's a sticky part. Since they have a corner lot, all I can see is this side of their house where their front door faces Locust. But they have a back door that's out of my line of sight, and what with all the shrubs and trees on that side, anyone can slip out onto Third Street without me knowing it.” Martha's mouth puckered with frustration. “I noticed Gordon getting back into his car at five. But I can't guarantee that he—or she—was inside the house that entire time. There've been times they surprised me by going for walks together but leaving from the back door, and I didn't know they'd gone out until they came sauntering down the street from the other direction.”

How very inconsiderate of them
, Piper thought, though in this case she shared Martha's frustration. Martha glanced at her clock. It was five minutes till showtime. Thinking that was all there was to be said, Piper set down her cup, ready to leave.

As she was in mid-rise, Martha said, “There's one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“The look on Gordon's face as he came back out to his car around five o'clock.”

Piper sank back down and waited as Martha seemed to search for the best way to describe Gordon Pfiefle's expression.

“It was . . . almost . . . well, smug. Yes, that's what I would call it. Smug.” She looked up at Piper. “Now, what do you suppose he had to feel smug about?”

• • •

P
iper drove home, thinking over Martha Smidley's account of the Pfiefles' activities. It made them look bad. Gordon Pfiefle had left work with the explanation that he needed to fix Lyella's flat tire. Yet, according to Martha, there was no flat tire. Then, either of them could have slipped out of the house without Martha's knowledge—Piper suspected they were aware of their neighbor's surveillance activities—and could have gone to the alley behind Ira Perkins's house and killed Dennis Isley.

But why? That was the missing puzzle piece. But nobody else had a motive for killing Dennis, either, so far as she knew. All the suspects on her list had strong motives for murdering Alan Rosemont as well as opportunities to do so, but all she had to work with on Dennis's death was opportunity.

Tina was looking into the plumber, Ralph Farber, for her. Piper was going to have to find out where Robby Taylor had been yesterday afternoon—and the sooner the better on both counts. There'd been two murders already in the small town of Cloverdale, and the sheriff was surely under pressure to arrest the murderer. Unfortunately, Nate was the person who kept drawing his attention.

Piper parked in the alley behind her shop and let herself in, happy to avoid the sight of the paint splash on the front of her building. She'd have to check with Max Noland as to when he was coming to power wash that ugly blot away for her. It occurred to Piper that if the splash had happened as a simple accident, it wouldn't be quite so disturbing. It was the negative vibes connected to someone defacing her bricks on purpose that made the splotch so unsightly—and made her that much more eager to get rid of it.

She shook her head, willing herself to think pleasanter thoughts, and smiled when the image of Will's Christmas tree popped in her head. Who else, she wondered, would come up with such a super-thoughtful gift at just the time she needed it? Piper climbed the stairs to her apartment and flicked on the lights, bringing her second unexpected gift into view—Scott's rose bouquet, which was much less smile producing. She sighed, knowing she hadn't e-mailed him yet, what with all that had gone on since the flowers arrived. She'd handle that task right away, she decided, since—grim thought—who knew what might happen next?

Martha's dainty cups had barely provided two decent swallows of coffee, so Piper set about making herself a mugful before tackling a job that she knew would require brainpower—wording her note of thanks to Scott politely but clearly enough that he would stop thinking of her as waiting breathlessly for his return.

As the water heated in the microwave, she changed into comfy sweats, then switched on her laptop. She left it to power up while she went to add instant coffee crystals to her steaming mug and, as an afterthought, snatch another of Aunt Judy's oatmeal cookies, carrying both to the table that held her laptop. She sat in front of it, then logged into her e-mail and set up a message for Scott. Once that was done, she stared at the screen and watched the cursor blink.

What to say? How to say it? After five minutes, all she'd typed was, “Dear Scott,” her mind going blank after that. Piper's phone rang, and she lit up at the sound, not caring enough who might be calling to check caller ID. At that point she would have been happy to talk with a fund-raising solicitor for the mental health of gerbils. However, she was spared descriptions of rat phobias and psychoses as she heard Will's voice.

“Hi,” he said. “How's it going?”

“Hi,” Piper responded happily. She made a series of clicks to put her laptop to sleep, promising herself to wake it back up and finish her task soon. “Things are fine,” she said. “That is, all things considered.”

“You mean what happened to Dennis Isley? That was a shocker. But at least he didn't fall from
your
roof. Alan Rosemont ending up in your pickle barrel was bad enough.”

“That's the truth. Having a second death too close to home might have tipped a few people over the edge about me.”

“What? Have you been accused of something?”

“Not exactly. I've been wondering, though, if that paint thrown on my wall was a message, a ‘We don't want your kind in Cloverdale' message.”

“If it was, whoever did it is a bigger idiot than I thought—and that was pretty big to begin with.” Will sounded genuinely angry, which touched Piper but at the same time made her instinctively pull back. She didn't want Will feeling responsible for her, well-intentioned as he was. She was fine with handling that herself.

“What I'm most worried about,” she said, changing course, “is Nate. He was taken in for questioning this morning after someone—well, Charlotte Hosch, actually—reported she'd seen him go into the alley behind Mr. Perkins's place just before Dennis was killed.”

Will grunted. “Not good.”

“No, and not fair, either. That alley is a shortcut for any number of people. To pick out Nate and not worry about who else may have been passing by there around the same time is a mistake.”

“Do you know for sure the sheriff isn't looking at anyone else?”

“No, but I haven't heard of anyone else being questioned as closely as Nate. Have you?”

“Can't say I have, but then I didn't know about Nate until you just told me. The sheriff's office isn't likely to broadcast every step of their investigation, so maybe certain happenings just haven't gotten around, yet.”

“I certainly hope they're casting a broader net.” Piper didn't like to mention her worries that the sheriff might be predisposed to suspect the worst of Nate, who, besides being of unverifiable character and in suspicious circumstances, had captured the affections of his daughter. Uncle Frank had a high opinion of Sheriff Carlyle's professional abilities and ethics, but could he say for sure that Carlyle was able to separate fatherly protectiveness from his job? Mama bears had a reputation for fierceness on behalf of their young, and the sheriff had needed to be both mother and father to Amy for years. Would heightened concern for his daughter affect his judgment?

“Tell you what,” Will said. “I'll check around, see if I can find out if other townspeople are being looked at in connection with Dennis's death.”

“Would you? That'd be great.”

Their conversation moved on to less serious topics, and Piper remembered to ask if hanging lights on her live Christmas tree would hurt it. (It wouldn't.) They chatted about the latest movies, Will asking if Piper would like to go see the newest one. (Yes, but not until after the current situation was resolved.) Finally, it ended with Will promising to stop by if he had anything to tell her—and even if he didn't.

After they hung up, Piper glanced at the dark screen of her laptop. She should get back to her message to Scott, she knew, then saw that the time had flown by astonishingly fast. She set the laptop aside and picked up her empty coffee mug, telling herself that it wouldn't hurt to put off writing her note to Scott tomorrow. Such an important e-mail should, after all, be composed when her mind was well rested and clear.

That settled, she turned off her living room lights, brushed her teeth, and went to bed.