The Pickled Piper (9 page)

“So you're looking for other suspects. I hope that's not why you came here tonight?” Will said it with a smile, but Piper realized with shock that he'd asked a reasonable question.

“Not at all!” But what could she say that didn't get her into more trouble? That she'd come because she liked his blue eyes and honest face? “You shouldn't be a suspect, should you?”

“No, but maybe you should have verified that before riding alone with me to this remote spot? As it happens, besides never having met Alan Rosemont in my life, I have a pretty good alibi for Friday night.” He paused, grinning, and Piper realized she was holding her breath. “I was playing cards with Sheriff Carlyle and three other men. Low stakes.”

Piper laughed. “I guess you can't do much better than that.”

“Probably not. But I hope when you're looking around for suspects, you'll always keep your own safety in mind.”

Will looked so serious, but Piper knew he was right. She was getting involved in something that could have dangerous repercussions. Her tipped-over garbage can came to mind. Certainly nothing that could be called dangerous—more annoying than anything. But could it also have been a warning?

“S
o, how did you enjoy your tour of Will's tree farm?” Aunt Judy asked casually as she browsed through Piper's spices. Uncle Frank had dropped her off along with a fresh bushel of his black-spined cucumbers.

Piper looked up in surprise. She'd intended to mention the evening tour to her aunt, but in an “oh, by the way” manner. “How did you know about that?”

Aunt Judy smiled. “You're still not used to small-town living, are you? Not much gets missed.”

“Other than the occasional murder, I presume?”

“Well, that,” Aunt Judy agreed. “But when a young lady gets picked up on a bright summer evening and heads off in the direction of the driver's tree farm, somebody's bound to notice. Will's very proud of his setup.”

“He should be. I was impressed.” Piper was sorting through the bushel, but it was clear Uncle Frank had already done so. She hadn't found a swollen or pinch-ended cuke in the bunch. Plus they'd been thoroughly washed, though she'd give each cucumber a second scrub before packing them into her crocks. “To answer your question, I enjoyed the tour very much. But it was simply a tour,” she added. “Will's a nice guy, and I'm glad to get to know him. Nothing more.”

“Of course not.” Aunt Judy replaced a jar of Sichuan peppercorns that she'd been examining. “It's always good to make new friends. And I agree. Will's a very nice young man.”

Piper thought it was time to change the subject. “I've been checking out a few possible suspects that might deflect Sheriff Carlyle's investigation away from Nate. Lyella Pfiefle and her husband Gordon, as you know. But I also learned about Dorothy Taylor's son, Robby, who was pretty ticked off about Alan Rosemont's fleecing of his mom, and rightfully so, I'd say. According to Mrs. Peterson, Robby was in town during the fair. Do you think he's the kind of guy whose anger could turn violent?”

Aunt Judy frowned. “I haven't run into Robby very much since he was a teenager, and we all know how volatile teenage boys can be. They usually grow out of it, though whether or not Robby did I just can't say. I could drop in on Dorothy if you like. If she's aware of anything bad Robby might have done I think I'd be able to tell. And if she's in the dark—and I have to say Dorothy doesn't always pick up on things that others do—I might at least be able to pin down his whereabouts late Friday night.”

“Would you? That'd be great.”

“I do want to help. I feel the same as you, that it's just too unbelievable that Nate could do something so terrible as murder. There's a few too many in this town, though, who are ready to jump to conclusions when a stranger is involved.”

“I guess I'd better watch my step, then, too,” Piper said, only half joking. She was thinking of her overturned garbage, which she hadn't mentioned to her aunt and didn't plan to.

“You're not a stranger, dear,” Aunt Judy said, patting her hand. “At most you're a newcomer, but plenty of people know you, or at least about you, through us. Nate doesn't have any connections here, though, and that's the problem. It makes some people uneasy when they can't fit a person into a slot.”

“It is odd that he's so alone,” Piper said, “although I can think of plenty of reasonable explanations for that.”

“I'm sure we'll learn more when he's comfortable sharing. For now, I'm happy with accepting the boy for himself.”

The shop's door opened, and two ladies entered.

“Good morning, Mrs. Lamb,” the older of the two said to Aunt Judy. The other nodded politely.

Aunt Judy responded in a polite but reserved manner, which told Piper these women might belong to the group of “some people” her aunt had just referred to. Aunt Judy introduced the two to Piper and slipped in a recommendation or two for Piper's newer pickling spices to the women. Then she took her leave.

“I'll let you know what comes up,” she said to Piper, who nodded, hoping her aunt would be able to dig up something useful for Nate. She then turned to her customers, who were picking and poking about like gulls on a search for bread crumbs.

“Ladies,” she said, bracing herself for a challenge, “can I help you?”

• • •

A
n hour or so later, when Amy arrived for her shift, the first words out of her mouth were, “So, how was your date with Will Burchett?”

“How did you know about that?”

Amy looked puzzled for a moment, as though Piper had asked how she was aware the sun was shining or that it was Wednesday. “Megan saw you riding off together. That was you, wasn't it?”

Piper sighed. “Yes, it was. But I wouldn't exactly call it a date. Will was just showing me his tree farm.”

“Ah.” Amy stowed her purse under Piper's counter. “Did he feed you?”

“Y-yes. Just chips and a soda, though.”

“Was he cleaned up and changed out of his work clothes?”

Piper nodded, aware of where this was going.

Amy whooped. “It was a date!”

Piper sighed. “Okay, maybe it was. But just a ‘friends' date.”

“No such thing,” Amy declared, “if the guy goes to some pains—and I'll bet you did, too, right?”

Piper half shrugged, but then nodded honestly.

“Then it was an honest-to-goodness date. Yay! Piper has a boyfriend.”

“No! Don't call him that, especially not to anyone else—not even Megan or Erin.”

“Okay,” Amy promised, “I won't.” She grinned slyly. “But I think it's great.”

The phone rang, and Piper grabbed for it thankfully. “Piper's Picklings.”

“Piper, it's me,” Aunt Judy said. “I've been to see Dorothy Taylor.”

“That was fast.” Piper pulled up a stool and sat down as Amy headed toward the back room. “How did it go?” Piper asked.

“It was . . .” her aunt said, hesitating. “Odd.”

“Odd? In what way?”

“Well, as I mentioned, Dorothy was never exactly the brightest bulb in the chandelier. But either her mental capacities have gone downhill significantly, or she's hiding something.”

Piper began penciling inward-turning spirals on a nearby notepad as she listened.

“You asked her about Robby?”

“Oh yes. And normally she's quite chatty about him, going into more details than you ever want to know. But today she simply said he was fine and stopped there. So I said I was sorry to have missed him since I understood he'd been in town for the fair. That's when she got this funny look on her face and changed the subject altogether.”

“That is odd.”

“Yes! I didn't know what to do about turning the conversation back to Robby—I didn't like to make poor Dorothy uncomfortable when she'd clearly signaled she didn't want to talk about her son. I'm so sorry, Piper. I make a terrible detective!”

“Not at all. You found out that Robby Taylor is a person we should be checking into more closely—just not through his mother, obviously.”

“Oh, I do hope it's not Robby who did in Alan Rosemont. Dorothy would be so upset. But there! Another reason I'd make a bad policewoman. I'd feel so sorry for anyone I arrested that I'd probably end up letting them go.”

“No you wouldn't, Aunt Judy, because you'd feel even worse for their victims.”

“Maybe so.” Piper heard a sigh. “But it's just as well I went into farming with your Uncle Frank, isn't it? I can be quite hard-hearted over a less-than-perfect parsnip when I have to be. Which reminds me, Frank will be picking me up any minute. I'd better go.”

Piper thanked her aunt for her efforts and hung up the phone. As she did, Amy came out from the back room, tying on an apron.

“I'm going to have to find out where Robby Taylor was on the night Alan Rosemont was murdered,” Piper said. She told Amy about Dorothy Taylor's evasiveness.

Amy's face lit up with excitement. “I'll ask around, too. Wouldn't it be cool if we find it was him?” she said, inadvertently expressing the exact opposite opinion from Aunt Judy's.

“It'll be great to find out who the real murderer is and be able to tell your father. Which reminds me, do you happen to know if your father was playing cards Friday night with Will?”

“The night of the murder? I know he played cards, and that Will often joins that group. I'd have to check whether he was there that night. You asked Will for an alibi?”

“He offered it. It hadn't even occurred to me until he brought it up. Which was foolish, I know.”

Amy grinned. “It's hard to see straight when there are stars in your eyes.”

“Enough!” Piper cried, but with a smile. “Just find out from your father, if you would. Discreetly.” Piper reached for her own purse. “Since you're here, I'm going to run over to Tina's coffee shop for lunch. She's been keeping her eyes open for us, too. Maybe she's picked up something.”

“Hope so. While you're gone, I'll get started on that bushel of cukes back there, okay?”

“That'd be great. Bring you anything?” Amy shook her head, and Piper pulled open her door. “I won't be long.”

• • •

T
he coffee shop was busy, so Piper ordered her sandwich and coffee, then nibbled on it as Tina tended to her other customers. Tina's part-time waitress, Darla, who was there only on the busier weekdays, bustled about as well, and it wasn't long before all were served and the crowd began to thin. The coffee shop seemed to have become the top choice of many who enjoyed the food but had jobs or other things to get back to, so few dawdled over extra cups of coffee.

When the place had about emptied out, Darla announced it was time for her to pick up her youngest and took off. Piper was down to her final potato chip crumbs when Tina pulled out the chair opposite.

“Whew! Glad that's over.”

“Business is doing well,” Piper said.

Tina nodded. “Not too badly, though yesterday wasn't nearly this busy. You never know what to expect. Want some more coffee?”

“I'm fine, thanks. Got anything to report?”

Tina smirked. “I did hear that a certain pickling shop owner has started seeing a certain Christmas tree farmer, but maybe that's not what you meant?”

“Oh good Lord!”

“But don't worry, Janice Hockley approves, though Betsy Testerman has a few worries about the level of debt Will might be carrying and whether he's in a position to think of settling down yet.”

“Let me know when they've booked the church,” Piper said. “I'd hate to miss my own wedding.”

Tina laughed. “They're just having fun with it. A few of these older people have time on their hands.”

“Next time, send them to me. I'll show them better ways to keep their minds occupied—and their pantries filled at the same time.”

“Will do. Nothing more has come up on Gordon Pfiefle, by the way. Sorry.”

“That's okay. Keep listening, and while you're at it would you keep an ear open for anything on Robby Taylor?”

“Sure. Who's he?”

Piper explained about Robby, and his mother's uncharacteristic evasiveness when asked about him.”

“Sounds like she knows something that she doesn't like, doesn't it? Of course, that could be anything from ‘he lost his job' to ‘he murdered Alan Rosemont last weekend.'” Just then, a man of about sixty walked into the coffee shop, and Tina slid back her chair. “Hi, there, Mr. Laseter.”

“Afternoon,” Mr. Laseter said cheerily, including both women in his greeting. “Mind packing up one of those tasty egg salad sandwiches for me to take along, Ms. Carson?”

“Coming right up.”

As Piper made her way to the counter to settle her bill, Mr. Laseter said, “You're that lady owns the pickle shop.”

Piper smiled. “Yes, I am.”

“Shame about what happened at your booth. I hope it didn't hurt your business none.”

“Thank you. I can't really tell, yet, since my shop's barely gotten off the ground.”

“Well, I hope not, anyway. I hate to see anyone get hurt, even that miserable Alan Rosemont. My friend Ralph Farber, though, has been dancing a jig since it happened.”

“Oh?”

Tina turned from her sandwich making and threw a look at Piper, but Piper didn't need any prodding.

“Why is Mr. Farber so happy?”

“Throw in a bag of chips with that, would you?” Mr. Laseter said to Tina before answering Piper. “Ralph's delighted because he doesn't have to listen to that infernal bagpipe wailing anymore. He lives next door to Alan Rosemont. Or he did, since Alan's not there anymore, is he?”

No, he isn't
, Piper thought.