The Pickled Piper

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  With that, the sheriff touched his hat once more and climbed into his patrol car. Piper watched him drive off, hoping that his definition of appropriate matched hers but having the feeling she’d just been dismissed. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.

  A glance at her watch made her gulp. It was almost time for Amy to leave for her second job. Piper took off, taking the direct route and picking up her already swift pace significantly as she passed Charlotte’s Chocolates and Confections. When she hurried into Piper’s Picklings, Amy appeared at the doorway to the back room, looking upset.

  “I know. I’m late. I’m so sorry—” Piper began, but Amy waved her hands, stopping her.

  “No, no! That’s not the problem. Come look.” She spun around and Piper followed, wondering what was wrong.

  “Erin and Megan helped me clean up back here, and I dumped all the garbage into the can out back, like we always do. After they left—just a few minutes ago—I found a bit of trash we’d overlooked, so I carried it out. See what I found?” Amy opened the outside door and stepped aside for Piper to see. The garbage can had been turned upside down and all its contents—piles of vegetable scraps and soggy papers—were spread across the alley pavement. Piper gasped at the mess.

  “What happened?”

  “I have no idea. I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Kids?” Piper asked.

  “That was my first thought, but look.” Amy pointed to the garbage cans up and down the alley behind other establishments. All were upright and covered. Piper’s was the only mess. “Kids in the mood for this kind of mischief would have tipped over as many as they could.”

  Amy looked at Piper worriedly. “I think someone’s got it in for you.”

  • • •

  Piper scurried about her upstairs apartment, running late getting ready for her date with Will Burchett. Was it a date? She wasn’t really sure. Her hair was still wet and wrapped in a towel from her shower. Should she pull it back or leave it down? And what did one wear for a tour of a Christmas tree farm? Tinsel?

  She grabbed a bite of the chicken sandwich from the plate on her bed as she switched on her hair dryer. She’d been late closing up the shop because of two lingering, chatty customers, then still had to clean up the garbage disaster in the alley. Amy had offered to do it, but Piper shooed her off to her restaurant job. When Piper finally made it up to her apartment, a sandwich was all she’d had time to throw together before jumping into the shower, and Will would be there in minutes!

  Settle down, Piper ordered herself. Will could wait in her small living room if he had to. However, someone had to open the door to let him in, and guess who that someone would be? Did she really want his first sight of her to be in her ratty bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head? Piper switched the hair dryer to high and waved it furiously at her hair.

  When the doorbell rang, Piper had somehow managed to get herself dried and dressed, as well as powdered and glossed. She took a deep breath, then walked slowly down the steps to her apartment’s street door.

  “Hi,” Will said. “Sorry, I’m a little late. A delivery truck drove up just as I was ready to leave.”

  “Oh, no problem,” Piper said smoothly and wished multiple blessings on that timely deliveryman. “Shall we go?”

  As she buckled herself into the passenger seat of Will’s green van, Piper felt herself relax. Something about Will made that very easy. She was glad she’d decided to go with shorts, sneakers, and her favorite yellow tee, which Scott had once said made her brown eyes look like deep, dark chocolate (but she wasn’t going to think of Scott right then). Will had dressed just as casually, a signal that the evening would be a simple tour of his farm and a prompt return home, which was fine. It was a nice evening to be out.

  “So,” she said as he slid into the driver’s seat, “Aunt Judy said you bought the Christmas tree farm a couple of years ago?”

  “Right. It was pure luck that I happened to be in the market at the same time the Andersons were ready to sell.” He put his van in gear. “The farm was in great shape, so taking it over went very smoothly, and I was able to get started right away on the changes I wanted to make.”

  Will drove down Beech Street for a few blocks, then turned toward the highway. Piper’s stomach gurgled, a complaint, probably, on the recent scarfing down of her sandwich, and she was glad the van’s motor was on the loud side.

  “I tried those zucchini pickles, by the way,” Will said.

  She turned to him with a smile. “And?”

  He grinned. “Not bad.”

  Piper laughed. “Not bad? Well, I’ll take that as high praise from someone who was extremely skeptical of them.”

  “My apologies. My mother would probably tell you I was a picky eater as a kid, though I always thought of it as being sensibly cautious. I think I’ve grown out of most of that, but those pickles caught me by surprise.”

  “Then I’m honored that you decided to risk it.” Piper thought of Scott’s fondness for sushi, one more difference between the two men since she couldn’t picture Will clamping chopsticks around a salmon and seaweed sushi roll. But then, sushi had never been a favorite of hers, now that she thought of it. She had only tolerated it for Scott’s sake.

  They talked about Will’s family—one older brother and a younger sister—and where he’d grown up—Vermont—then how he became interested in Christmas tree farming—a college major in plant sciences, which ultimately convinced him he preferred hands-on to theoretical work, specifically with Christmas trees.

  By the time they got through all that, they’d arrived at the turnoff for Will’s farm, marked by a colorful sign pointing to Burchett Tree Farm and Christmas Shop. As they drove up the long, private road, memories of Piper’s childhood visit to the place with Uncle Frank and Aunt Judy came floating back—except that all the trees had looked a lot bigger to her eight-year-old self.

  “How long does it take to grow a Christmas tree?” she asked.

  “About ten years until it’s ready to cut.”

  “Wow. So I guess that’s why you’d want a farm that’s already established?”

  Will nodded with a smile. “It helps.”

  The top of the road widened into a small, graveled parking lot. “We’ll switch here,” Will said, “to something that’ll handle the bumps in the field better. It’s sturdy but doesn’t look that great, so I generally drive the van into town.” Piper walked with Will over to a mud-splattered, scraped, and dented four-wheeler, then held on for dear life as they bounced their way in it to the various fields, Will pointing out plantings of firs, spruce, and white pines. The scents coming from the dark green trees were wonderful, and Piper commented on it.

  “My farm is all organic,” Will told her. “That’s important to me, when you think of people bringing one of these trees into their homes. I wouldn’t want those branches loaded with pesticides.”

  “Some people say they have artificial trees because they hate the thought of cutting down a live tree for a few weeks’ decoration.”

  Will laughed. “I’ve heard that before. Christmas trees are planted specifically for cutting. Nobody’s clearing wild forests. And when a live tree is taken down after Christmas, it gets ground up into biodegradable mulch. How long do they think those artificial trees sit in a landfill once they toss them out?”

  “Good point,” Piper said, and thought a tad guiltily about the plastic tree she’d owned but had at least passed on to the girl taking over her apartment in Albany instead of dumping it. Would that new tenant also pass it on when her time came to move? She hoped so.

  Will drove her through fields he said were designated for “cut your own” customers, and much larger fields of trees that would be cut in late fall by crews and shipped off to other vendors. He talked about the new netting and tie-down equipment he’d invested in, and Piper found, to her surprise, that a s
ubject she’d never dreamed could be interesting actually was. Will’s enthusiasm probably had a lot to do with it, and she liked the idea of someone investing their time and savings into doing something they really loved—much like herself. Will Burchett also had obviously discovered “who he was,” as opposed to Scott, who was currently on the other side of the world trying to figure that out.

  The tour ended at a small building Will said he’d put up just that year. “The Burchett Christmas Gift Shop,” he announced with a wave. “We’ll offer hot and cold refreshments during our busy season, when I’ll also have someone here to handle it. Right now, all I can offer is Coke, 7 Up, and a variety of chips.”

  “Sounds great,” Piper said, pleased at the prospect of extending her time with Will. The more she learned about him, the better she liked him.

  Will pointed her to a small round table with two wire-backed chairs as he went to gather their snacks. The gift shop had a counter where Piper imagined Will’s future employee would dispense food and drink orders to families hungry after tramping through the fields in search of the perfect tree. The shelves throughout the shop currently held only a few sealed cardboard boxes, but she could picture them loaded with Christmas knickknacks and toys, the entire shop decorated with fresh greens and lights, as well as smelling of pine, and maybe cinnamon and cloves. The image made her smile.

  Will brought the sodas and chips and sat down.

  “You have a wonderful place, Will,” Piper said truthfully.

  Will beamed. “It’s a lot of hard work, but I love it. But now it’s your turn. Tell me all about how you ended up in Cloverdale with your pickling shop.”

  Piper smiled, certain he didn’t really want to know about all the ins and outs of her developing love of the pickling process, learned in Aunt Judy’s kitchen and fueled by Uncle Frank’s farm-grown vegetables. She gave him the condensed version, though, tossing in mention of her long engagement to Scott, which she made clear no longer existed. Will nodded without comment, but she thought she saw a smile in his eyes.

  Eventually, the conversation worked its way, between crunches on BBQ-flavored corn chips and salt and vinegar crinkle cuts, to Alan Rosemont’s unsolved murder.

  “I’ve been looking around for possible suspects, for Amy’s sake,” Piper said. “And for mine, too,” she admitted. “I just can’t see Nate Purdy as the guilty one, despite Sheriff Carlyle’s apparent interest in him.”

  “Isn’t Sheriff Carlyle Amy’s father?”

  Piper nodded. “He’s doing his best to keep that fact from influencing him. I just hope he isn’t leaning too far in the other direction in his efforts to be impartial.” She took a swallow of her soda.

  “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?

  10

  “So, 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 customer
s, 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?”

  • • •

  An 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.”