The Pickled Piper (16 page)

“D
o you think Nate Purdy would find that agreeable?” Gilbert Williams asked.

He'd knocked on Piper's back door the next afternoon, having seen her light on. It was Sunday afternoon, when Piper's Picklings was closed, but Piper had been working on her store's books. Finding the bookshop owner standing in her alley was a mild surprise, but his proposal bowled her over.

“I think Nate would be very happy to live above your shop as well as work for you, Mr. Wi—ah, Gil.”

“The living quarters haven't been used in quite a while—since my last tenant moved out at least two years ago, actually, when I decided I preferred the quiet to the income. So I'm afraid it'll need a bit of dusting up.”

“Nate and his friends can take care of that.”

“There's a few pieces of basic furniture, though again, not in the best condition.”

“I'm sure he'll love it,” Piper declared, “just as he'll love working for you.”

“He'll be welcome to stay as long as he likes, though I understand working in a bookstore isn't exactly on his career path. I can really use his help, though. Books are quite heavy to move around, you know, and I'm not as young as I look.” Gil Williams's eyes twinkled at this, and Piper grinned.

“I'll get on the phone and have Nate come talk it over with you. This is really great of you, Gil.”

“Not at all. My dusty old shop has been in need of perking up for some time. Nate will be doing me a favor.”

Gil Williams turned back to his shop, and Piper called Amy, pulling the phone away from her ear at the joyful squeal that flew out at her news.

“I'll call Nate right away,” Amy said.

“I thought he'd prefer hearing it from you. It won't be luxury accommodations by any means, but Gilbert Williams will be a very considerate landlord and employer.”

“And we'd be working right next door to each other!”

That should cause Sheriff Carlyle a bit of indigestion, Piper thought with a wince. As well as Charlotte Hosch, Ben Schaeffer, and who knows who else. But Piper would let Amy handle her father, and the others could just—

“Thanks, Piper. Talk to you later!” Amy hung up, eager to reach Nate, and Piper smiled, glad that one problem was taken care of for the time being. Then she thought of Aunt Judy, who might be still working busily on behalf of Nate, and dialed her number.

“Aunt Judy,” Piper said when her aunt picked up, “I have good news, for a change.” She explained the situation, hearing a pleased “ah” as she did so.

“Gil Williams surprises me, now and then,” Aunt Judy said. “He'll keep to himself so long that you think he's become totally out of touch. Then he does something like this that shows it's just the opposite. That's very good of Gil. And fortunate for Nate. I wasn't having much luck with my efforts to find something for him, though if worse came to worst, your uncle and I would have brought him here. I don't know how Nate would have taken to farmwork, though.”

“I'm sure he would have been fine and grateful,” Piper said. “But the bookshop will put him much closer to Amy when she's on the job here.”

Aunt Judy chuckled. “A definite plus. Thanks for calling, dear. I'd better make one or two calls and take people off the search.”

Piper went back to her account books but found it difficult to refocus on numbers, bills, and payments. Her thoughts kept going back to Nate, whose reprieve from unemployment and homelessness, she knew, was only a temporary fix. They moved on to her discussion of the murders with Will the previous evening, then settled on Will himself. She was liking him more and more and found herself getting less unsettled by the assumptions of townspeople like Stan Yeager that she and Will were a couple. A long way from wanting to march down the aisle with him, but not totally appalled at the suggestion, either.

Piper was smiling at the memory of one of Will's comments when she heard a second knock on her door. Thinking it might be Gil Williams again, she was surprised to instead find Roger Atwater, husband of Mindy Atwater who ran the knitting shop down the street. At least Piper thought it was Roger. With the large box he was holding covering his face, all she could see was the top of the man's bald head and the round edges of his body on each side of it. His telltale, often worn, plaid golfing pants, however, gave him away.

Roger tilted his head and one eye peered around the box. “This was delivered to Mindy's shop by mistake, yesterday. She gets so many that she didn't get around to checking it right away. I took a chance you might be here.”

“That was very kind of you,” Piper said, reaching out.

“I'll carry it in,” Roger said. “Just tell me where you want it.” Piper stepped back, indicating an empty spot on her floor, and Roger gently set the box down.

“I wasn't expecting an order,” Piper said. “I can't imagine what—” She leaned over the slightly battered box to read the labels and winced.

“Came all the way from Thailand,” Roger said, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe at his bald head.”

“Yes, it certainly did.” Piper could see that Roger was hoping she'd open it in front of him. But Piper wasn't sure she wanted to open it at all. “It's probably those specialty canning tools I ordered,” she fibbed and saw his eyes instantly glaze over.

“Okay,” he said, pocketing his handkerchief. “I'll leave you to it, then. Mindy said to say hello.”

“My best to Mindy, too, and thanks, Roger,” Piper said, ushering him out. She waved good-bye, then shut the door and turned toward her package.

What had Scott sent her this time? She circled the box a few times, nudging it cautiously with her toe as though fearing it might suddenly come alive. Finally she found a box cutter and cut through the taped edges. She knelt down and pulled out mounds of packing material, little by little revealing the item beneath. Piper tugged the Bubble-Wrapped piece out, judging it to be at least twenty by thirty inches, and carefully cut through the layers of plastic, intrigued despite her strong reservations.

When she peeled off the last layer and was able to fully behold it, Piper sighed. It was beautiful. A delicately carved wooden wall plaque, obviously teak. She gazed at it, gradually taking in all the fine details. Slender wooden branches interlaced with one another holding a myriad of vegetables and fruits: pineapples, squashes, beans, peppers, and more. The craftsmanship was exquisite. A card had been tucked in with the packing materials, and Piper reached for it.

Thought of you when I saw this and knew it would be perfect for your pickling store—Love, Scott

Piper let the card flop down.
Oh, Scott
, she thought,
why do you do this?
She'd sent him a clearly worded e-mail—finally—about the inappropriateness of the bouquet he'd ordered for her. Apparently it wasn't clear enough for Scott. Except—

Piper reached over to check the delivery markings on the package. The plaque had been dispatched days before he sent the bouquet. That figured, since there were plenty of travel miles to cover between Thailand and Cloverdale. Even so, Scott shouldn't be sending her gifts. Especially thoughtful, lovely, probably expensive gifts. And there was no way she could send it back to a former fiancé who was constantly on the move.

She'd have to hold on to the beautiful piece. But as soon as Scott came back home she'd hand it to him and wish him good luck with his life. In the meantime, she'd store it away safely in its box.

Piper ran a finger over the plaque. What a shame, though, to hide such a beautiful thing away. Somebody, thousands of miles away, had poured all his artistic talents and skills into creating the piece. It deserved to be out to be admired instead of hidden away. She knew the perfect place for it on her shop wall, where it would be the first thing—Piper stopped herself, seeing what was happening.

“Scott?” she asked with exasperation, gazing at the ceiling as though his image floated there. “Why, why, why do you do this to me?”

• • •

“I
t's very nice,” Aunt Judy said cautiously, as Piper propped up the wooden wall plaque to show her aunt.

“It's more than nice,” Piper said. “It's absolutely beautiful. Which makes me furious.” She had let Aunt Judy in at the back door where her aunt quickly spotted the box from Thailand and its disgorged contents.

“Furious?” Aunt Judy asked. “Why?”

“Because Scott shouldn't be sending me things like this. And because I really love this plaque, and I kind of like that he was thoughtful enough to know that I'd love it. When we were together, I highly doubt that that would have been the case. But these travels seem to be changing him, or bringing something out in him that he kept hidden before. But if so, what does that mean for our relationship? I thought we were over. Done with. Kaput! Now I'm starting to have second thoughts, and that makes me furious!”

Piper realized her voice had risen and she'd been rocking Scott's plaque back and forth for emphasis. She grinned ruefully, saying, “Sorry,” and carefully lowered the carving down.

“Don't worry about it,” Aunt Judy said, patting Piper's arm. “You have plenty of time before you'll see Scott again. Where is he going next? Japan?”

“China.”

“Well, there you are. Half a world away and no need for any decisions to be made for quite a while.” Her aunt smiled wickedly. “And I hear they have perfectly lovely gift items in China.”

“Aunt Judy!” But Piper smiled, too. Her aunt was right. She shouldn't let herself get worked up over something that might never need to be addressed. Hopefully Scott would see her latest e-mail and view their relationship more clearly.

Piper grabbed her purse. “Ready to tour the Taylor mansion?”

Aunt Judy had called Piper about Dorothy Taylor's open house that afternoon and suggested they go to it together, saying, “It could be an opportunity to talk to Dorothy about Robby.”

Piper thought that was a fine idea, and going with her aunt instead of Will or even alone was much better as far as the town gossip mill was concerned.

“It's not exactly a mansion,” Aunt Judy said, “but yes, I'm ready.”

Piper locked up, and Aunt Judy gave directions to Dorothy Taylor's home as they climbed into Piper's hatchback, whose tires had thankfully been repaired and plumped. “She grew up in that house,” she explained as Piper drove off, “and her father, who'd been widowed by then, turned it over to Dorothy when she and Henry married. Her father was born in the house, but he decided to move to Arizona for his arthritis.”

“So the house has been in her family for quite a while?” Piper asked.

“Oh yes, ever since her grandfather built it nearly a hundred years ago. Plenty of furniture was passed down as well, though Dorothy wasn't fond of most of it and gradually moved pieces up to the attic. Those were the things Alan Rosemont got from her at a real bargain price. He sewed up the deal in a flash before any of her friends, or Robby, knew what was going on. Dorothy, as you know, thought she was simply getting paid to have someone clean out her attic for her.”

“So the pieces were pretty valuable?”

“A few were. I'm sure there was plenty of junk like most of us have mixed in. But Alan obviously had a sharp eye and spotted the good stuff.”

“What a shame. I wouldn't blame Robby for being furious.”

“There's the house, dear.” Aunt Judy pointed out a gray clapboard-sided house with white trim. The large railing-edged front porch added plenty of charm to the two-story structure, but Piper could already see signs of age and lack of maintenance in the peeling paint and scrubby front lawn. She pulled up behind a black Audi.

“That looks like Stan Yeager's car,” Aunt Judy said. “We're going to have to find a way to talk to Dorothy without him around.” She opened her door as Piper climbed out from her own side.

“I'm surprised she's having this open house so soon,” Piper said. “Mr. Yeager gave me the impression the decision to sell had just been made.”

“It does seem a rush,” Aunt Judy agreed. “It reminds me a little too much of Alan Rosemont's dealings, except Stan Yeager would never behave so unethically. It wouldn't be up to him, anyway. The push must be coming from Robby.”

As they walked up to the porch steps, the front door opened. Stan Yeager stepped out.

“Welcome! Welcome! Glad to see you got the word, Miss Lamb. I was about to give you a call to let you know.”

“No need,” Piper said. “The news reached us through the grapevine. We were surprised, though, at the suddenness.”

“Once Mrs. Taylor made up her mind, she saw no reason to dawdle,” Yeager said. His expression sobered. “It's often hard for the older clients to make the change. Some look at it as pulling off a Band-Aid. You know—painful, but best to do it fast.” His smile reappeared. “I know you'll love the place. It's loaded with character.”

He waved them in, and Piper stepped into an entry hallway with a living room to the left. A bay window overlooked the porch, and an old-fashioned radiator lined the inner wall.

“They used to call this the ‘front room,'” Yeager said. He pointed out the abundant natural light coming from the large window as well as its hardwood floors as positive features, though the floors looked uneven to Piper and the window frames leaky. She also thought the room looked seldom used, with its 1970s furniture nearing museum-level preservation even though no seat cushions were covered in plastic.

“Dorothy mostly entertained in the sunroom at the back,” Aunt Judy said. “She and Henry added that on some years ago, and it was much more spacious.”

“Right,” Yeager said, nodding. “We'll get to the sunroom in a minute. In the meantime, across the way, here, is the dining room.” He led them into another hardwood-floored room that should have been as bright as the front room but instead was darkened with heavy draperies and a massive dining table, chairs, a buffet, and china cabinet.