“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.”
• • •
The 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.
11
Mr. Laseter took off, but before Piper had a chance to discuss with Tina the interesting tidbit he’d dropped, Dennis Isley pushed his way into the coffee shop, wearing the same stained denims as before, which, from the whiff Piper caught, may not have been off his lanky frame since then.
“Hey, Tina!” he called, while giving Piper a blatant once-over. “I’ve been working hard patching old Mr. Perkins’s roof. I need a cold drink.” He winked at Piper, who decided it was time to take off.
As she turned to say so to Tina, she noticed a pained look on the shop owner’s face as she loaded ice into a tall, take-out cup, and hoped that didn’t signal another of Tina’s headaches coming on. At least Dennis wouldn’t be hanging around. What a shame, Piper thought only half seriously, that Tina was able to give Dennis an alibi for Friday night.
When she stepped out the coffee shop door, Piper spotted Charlotte Hosch standing halfway up the block, apparently venting her complaints of the day to a younger—and o
bviously very patient—woman. Not caring to provoke a headache of her own, Piper turned in the opposite direction to circle the block.
Once she’d rounded the corner and was out of range of any “Just a minute there, young lady!” calls, Piper relaxed, and she continued on, soon coming upon a small park she’d forgotten existed. It looked invitingly cool, with its bubbling fountain framed with shaded benches. But as Piper drew closer, she spotted a dejected-looking figure sitting on one of the benches. Nate Purdy stared at the ground as his guitar lay silently on his lap.
“I hope you haven’t had more misery piled on lately,” Piper said, approaching.
Nate looked up and managed a wan smile. “Nothing I can’t handle. I just thought I’d come out here and give my neighbors a rest from listening to me practice.”
“With what you play, I can’t imagine they’d really mind.” Piper thought of Alan Rosemont’s neighbor, Ralph Farber, having to put up with his bagpipe wheezes and wails, and knowing what she did of Alan, probably not at the best time of day—or night.
“Thanks.” Nate lifted his guitar and dispiritedly plucked out the beginnings of a tune.
“I’ve been digging up information on other possible murder suspects to pass on to Sheriff Carlyle,” Piper said, hoping to cheer him. “It’s early days, but I think he’ll pay attention as more things come up. A lot of people are pitching in.”
“That’s great of you, trying to help. But that friend of the sheriff’s—Ben Schaeffer—really seems to have it in for me, and he has Carlyle’s ear. As soon as I’ve explained away one problem, he comes up with another. He’s like one of those terriers convinced a rat is in a hole and just keeps yapping and digging. I don’t understand why Schaeffer seems so bent on my being the guilty one.”
“We’ll just have to prove Ben wrong,” Piper said. And somehow shake him out of love with Amy, if that was possible. “How would you like a job in that respect?”
“Sure! Anything.”
“You could check out Alan Rosemont’s next-door neighbor, who might have been driven to murder by Alan’s incessant piping.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Nate said with a grin. “What’s his name?”
“Ralph Farber.” Piper pulled out the smartphone that Scott had talked her into getting, and that she hadn’t yet totally mastered. She started a search on Ralph Farber, muttering a bit over one or two missteps before crying, “Aha! Got it!” She whipped a sheet of notebook paper out of her purse. “Here’s his address,” she said, scribbling. “And, let me see . . .” She tapped a few more times. “Oh! Ralph Farber runs a plumbing business. It’s over on Fourth Street.” Piper wrote that down, too.
“I’ll try to catch him there,” Nate said. “Better than knocking on his door at home.”
“It’d be great if you learned that he was at the fair late Friday night.”
Nate laughed. “Wouldn’t it? And if he’d mention that he happened to bash Rosemont in the head with a lead pipe while he was there, it would be very helpful.”
Piper grinned, happy to see life returning to the musician. “You never know. But just getting a feel for the man and maybe his thoughts about Alan could tell us a lot.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Nate said, packing his guitar into its case.
They took off in separate directions, Piper hoping she’d both turned Nate’s worries toward a productive use and that the mission she’d sent him on would in fact produce something positive.
• • •
Later that afternoon, Piper was alone in the back room of her shop when her newly installed bell signaled a visitor. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried out to find Will on the other side of her counter.
“Hi!” Piper said, pleased to see him but also uncomfortably aware of all the recent interest and speculation about the two of them. Had he heard it, too, and come to put an end to it?
To her surprise, though, Will asked, “Are you free tonight?”
Piper hedged. “What did you have in mind?”
“Right,” Will said. “Sorry, I should have explained. I just came from the barbershop.” Piper had thought something was different about him but hadn’t put a finger on it. Will, in fact, did that for her, running several fingers through his hair and returning the too-perfect combing to its normal rumpled state.
“Anyway,” he continued, “that’s where I picked up on the fact that Nate is on the verge of losing his job at A La Carte.”
“No!”
“’Fraid so. Seems the owner has seen a significant drop-off in business since the murder and thinks Nate might be the cause because of his ‘person of interest’ status.”
“That must be why he was so down when I ran into him today. Though he never said a word about it.”
“It’s not a done deal, from what I could tell. So I thought maybe if we went there for dinner tonight and also pulled in a few more customers, we could make Nate’s boss happy enough to keep him on awhile longer.” Will suddenly looked uncertain. “Or is that a completely lame idea?”
“I think it’s a great idea! I’m sure I can get Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank interested. And they could get a few of their friends.”
Will brightened. “I was hoping you’d think so. I’ll see if I can spread the word to people I know, and maybe not all for tonight. It’d be good to keep it going for a few more nights.”
“From what Amy told me, A La Carte gets people coming in just for drinks and nibbles later in the evening when Nate is still performing. So everyone doesn’t have to spring for an expensive dinner. And that’d be fine with me, too,” Piper said, giving Will an option he might not have thought of.
He smiled. “Dinner works for me, if it does for you. How about I pick you up at seven?”
Piper nodded. “Sounds great,” she said, happy because it really did sound great. Will had come up with a very thoughtful way of helping someone they both believed was being treated unfairly, and in the process she had a pretty nice evening to look forward to.
• • •
At six forty-five, Piper was dressed and ready, glad to have avoided the frantic rush of the night before. She’d picked out a summery dress to wear with strappy sandals, and as an afterthought grabbed a light shawl to throw over her bare shoulders if the night—or the restaurant—were cool.
Was this an official date? she wondered as she plopped down onto her sofa. Or was she simply Will’s accomplice in his “saving Nate” plan? She sighed, thinking it didn’t matter—either way, the Cloverdale townspeople would likely be placing bets on the date of their wedding, as well as the number and names of their future children. Much as she loved Cloverdale, there were times she missed life in the big, anonymous city.
Her doorbell rang, and Piper picked up her purse to meet her date-accomplice-escort, who, it turned out, had slipped a light sports jacket over a polo shirt and slacks. Piper could just hear Amy hooting, It’s a date! It’s a date! which she ignored as she let Will take her hand and walk her to his van.
• • •
This was Piper’s first visit to A La Carte, at least in its present form. She vaguely remembered that the place had once been an Italian restaurant, but it had changed nationalities and currently offered, according to Amy, country French cuisine.
The front entrance hinted at that with its old-brick façade, blue canopy, and hanging baskets of flowers. Inside, the large space had been made cozy with wood ceiling beams and a brick fireplace presently filled with flowers instead of logs.
As the hostess led the way to a white cloth–covered table, Piper glanced around and saw no sign of Nate, though a small stage was set up against one wall with a microphone and tall stool—a good sign that he was expected. At the moment, soft music floated through a speaker system, and patrons, of which Piper saw a gratifyingly decent number, conversed quietly in keeping with the congenial atmosphere.
“Oh, there’s Bill Vanderveen,” Piper said as she took her seat, spotting the man who was Uncle Frank’s friend and the one who had pulled Will in to help at the youth group’s concession stand. Vanderveen sat with his wife, Gloria. “Did you call him, or did my uncle?” Piper asked.
“Must have been your uncle,” Will said, glancing over the wine list the maître d’ had left behind. He looked up. “Is he here with your aunt?”
“I don’t see them, but I know they’re coming.”
Piper studied her menu for a while, then said with a hint of a smile, “The frog legs look good. What do you think?”
Will lifted an eyebrow, then caught on to the teasing. “Maybe next time,” he said. “If they come with zucchini pickles.”
“I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”
They placed their orders, and Will added a bottle of white wine to share, Piper thinking as he did what an upgrade this was from the soda and chips they’d had the night before in the undecorated Christmas farm gift shop. Would there be a third evening out? Piper wondered, then reminded herself she was here for Nate’s benefit, not her own. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself, which so far she definitely was doing.
As their entrées arrived, poached salmon for Piper and filet mignon for Will, Piper spotted Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank walking in with another couple—the Tollivers. Aunt Judy waved brightly before taking her seat at their table for four, and Piper knew they’d join them eventually. She liked seeing Uncle Frank spruced up beyond his usual dungarees, though he appeared a tad uncomfortable and was probably wishing he could have put his feet up in front of the television. Piper felt sure, though, that whatever Amy sent him from the kitchen would change his mind.
Midway through their dinner, the piped-in music cut off, and a male voice introduced the live entertainment “for your dining pleasure.” Nate hopped up to the stage accompanied by a smattering of applause and took his seat behind the microphone. It was a very different Nate from the dejected person Piper had spoken with that afternoon, and she was impressed with his stage presence, which, while low-key, was commanding. Every eye, she saw, was on the musician as forks were set down and elbows leaned on.
The Pickled Piper Page 9