The Pickled Piper

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Amy climbed out from her side. “Good thing Mr. Williams has a bed up there. Otherwise Nate would be sleeping in the bathtub.”

  “This is all I really need,” Nate said, pulling out his guitar. But he then reached back for a well-filled duffel.

  “Need any help?” Piper asked.

  Amy grinned. “Not with carrying things in, that’s for sure. Erin and Megan are coming in a minute to help with the dusting up. We’ll be fine.”

  Gil Williams opened his bookshop door and called, “Welcome!”

  “Hey, Mr. Williams,” Nate said, moving forward. “I really appreciate this.”

  “The benefits, I’m sure, will be even greater for me,” Gil responded genially. He held the door for Nate and Amy as they carried in their loads, then asked Piper, “Coming in? I have a fresh pot of coffee.”

  Piper thought of the cooling mug left behind and nodded. “Just for a minute.” She joined the others, then followed all three up the stairs to Nate’s new living quarters.

  The building that Gil Williams’s shop occupied was similar to Piper’s, and she had pictured Nate’s new apartment to be like her own. The space above the bookshop, however, was cut up differently. Much of the area toward the back had been partitioned off and was being used, Gil explained, for book storage. Nate’s living area turned out to be an efficiency, with a tiny kitchen alcove next to the small living room and a bedroom separated from both with an accordion-style folding door. Piper assumed a second door led to a bathroom. The air was stuffy and a layer of dust covered most surfaces.

  “As I said, it’s modest to the extreme,” Gil said.

  “No,” Nate said, setting down his guitar. “This is great. Perfect!”

  They heard a car horn beep, and Amy ran to the window. “Megan and Erin are here.” She raised the sash, letting in welcome fresh air. “Come on up!” she called. “Bring the mops and buckets.”

  “Let’s leave them to their work,” Gil said to Piper. “My coffee is downstairs.”

  Piper followed him down and greeted Amy’s two friends as they bustled their way into the shop full of energy as well as cleaning supplies.

  “I wish I could have had the place professionally cleaned for him,” Gil said, pouring out a mug of coffee for Piper. “That expense, I’m afraid, wasn’t worked into my budget this month.”

  “You’re doing more than enough as it is,” Piper assured him. She took the mug gratefully and sipped from it. “They’ll probably have a ball up there doing it themselves.”

  “Yes, the enthusiasm of youth. Any progress,” he asked, “on the situation that brought this young man to such dire straits?”

  Piper was about to update Gil when she spotted a UPS truck pulling up to her shop. “That must be my latest spice order,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’d better go check it.”

  She started to set down her still-full coffee mug, but Gil said, “Take it with you. I’ll pick the mug up a little later, and we can continue this conversation.”

  “Come anytime,” Piper said, then dashed out to meet the UPS man.

  An hour or so later, Amy bustled into Piper’s Picklings, ready to begin her shift there. “Nate’s all settled,” she announced, grabbing a clean apron and tying it on. “Mr. Williams is so sweet. He kept apologizing for the state of the apartment, but the four of us cleaned it up in a flash. It’s not that large, you saw.”

  Amy took a step into the back room and stopped. “Oh! Where did that come from?”

  Piper knew she’d spotted Scott’s wall plaque, which Piper had left leaning against the wall next to its box. “From Thailand,” Piper answered, “with a brief stop at Mindy Atwater’s knitting shop.” At Amy’s questioning look she explained further. “My ex-fiancé sent it.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Seeing Piper’s dour expression, Amy asked, “You don’t like it?”

  “I love the plaque,” Piper said. “I don’t like the strings that came along with it.”

  “Ah. From your ex. What’ll you do with it?”

  “I’m still debating.”

  “Going to let Will see it?”

  Piper grinned. “I’ll think about all that later.” Piper picked up the plaque and started rewrapping it. “For now, I’m going to concentrate on more immediate problems. Like turning this batch of red bell peppers that Uncle Frank dropped off into sweet red pepper relish while they’re still fresh.”

  “Yes, ma’am! Just let me at them.”

  Amy got to work washing and chopping the peppers while Piper dealt with the customers who had popped in. When she returned to the work area, Amy was ready to stir in the kosher salt that would draw water out of the vegetables. Piper helped her do that, saying, “I became very fond of this relish because of Aunt Judy. She always spread it over the top of her meat loaf, along with catsup. I loved the sweet-tart crusty glaze that made.” As they set aside the bowls to sit for a couple of hours, Gil Williams walked in the front door, and Piper grabbed his washed coffee mug and carried it out to him.

  “It’s such a treat,” Gil said, “to be able to leave the shop for a few minutes without having to close up. Nate is unpacking a box of books for me right now.”

  “I know he really appreciates your taking him in, Mr. Williams,” Amy said, joining the two and wiping her hands on her apron.

  “It’s really nothing,” Gil said, waving it away. “What I wish I could do is clear up this mystery that has people treating Nate with such suspicion.” He turned to Piper. “To repeat my question of this morning, has there been any progress made in that direction?”

  Piper puffed out her cheeks and blew out. “I’ve acquired more information. Unfortunately, it’s nothing definitive.” She first caught Amy up on what she and Gil had learned about the actions of the plumber, Ralph Farber, on the day Dennis Isley died. Then she told both what she’d picked up about Robby Taylor.

  Amy listened solemnly. “So both of them had the possibility of doing it—I mean, killing Alan Rosemont and Dennis Isley—and both had enough to be plenty mad about to want to do it.”

  Gil nodded. “It appears that way. So which one is our man?”

  “I sure wish I had the answer to that,” Piper said.

  Amy plopped down on a stool, looking dejected. “I wish Alan Rosemont had never come to Cloverdale. Hardly anyone liked him, although a lot of people pretended to because of the power he grabbed on the town council. He was nothing but trouble for Nate when he was alive and worse now that he’s dead.”

  She looked up at Piper with anguished eyes. “Poor Nate. I’ve been trying to be upbeat for him, and he puts on a brave front. But I know he hates being under suspicion like this. What if we never find out who killed Alan and Dennis? People will go on thinking Nate did it.”

  Piper had had those same fears herself, so patting Amy on the back and saying everything would work out was not an option. Instead she pulled out her suspect notebook.

  “Let’s run over what we have so far,” she said. “Maybe if the three of us put our heads together we’ll see something we’ve missed.” She flipped the notebook open to a fresh page. “First, we have Lyella and Gordon Pfiefle,” she said, writing down their names, then writing “Motive” on the line below.

  “Lyella was furious with Alan Rosemont,” she explained to Gil, “for turning her library into a pink horror.”

  “And Mr. Pfiefle,” Amy said, “is furious with anyone who upsets his wife.”

  “Gordon Pfiefle,” Piper said, “had scratches around his face and neck the day after Alan was killed—”

  “Which could have come from a scuffle between the two,” Amy said.

  “Neither Pfiefle has an alibi for the time Alan was murdered,” Piper said. “Plus, they both behaved suspiciously around the time Dennis Isley was murdered. Lyella stayed home and Gordon left work with a phony flat tire excuse. They could have slipped out of
their house without being seen by their neighborhood watch-woman, Martha Smidley.”

  “So,” Amy asked, “would a librarian and a supermarket manager be capable of murder?”

  “A very good question,” Gil said. “I’m sure you’ve pondered it, Piper. What did you conclude?”

  “Only that Lyella is a very strong-minded woman, and she may have considered Alan Rosemont an enemy to all she held dear. If Gordon met with Alan that night at the fair, he might not have had murder on his mind, but an argument could have escalated to that point, especially if Alan said anything derogatory about Lyella.”

  “What about Dennis Isley?” Gil asked.

  “Dennis’s murder was, I think, not a crime of passion but one of necessity. If he was blackmailing the Pfiefles, he was a danger that needed to be removed.”

  Amy shivered. “That sounds so coldhearted.”

  “It does,” Gil agreed. “But from what I know about murderers—which is limited to books, I admit—once a first murder is committed, carrying out a second one for self-protection becomes much easier.”

  Piper filled in the information on the Pfiefles’ opportunities, then turned the page and wrote down “Ralph Farber.” Beneath that, she wrote “Motive.”

  “Ralph Farber lived next door to Alan Rosemont,” she said. “He’d argued with Alan often about the bagpipe practice at all hours. From what I saw of Farber, he’s not someone who’s willing to put up with aggravations. I’ve heard of fights between neighbors over lesser things like a tree hanging over the fence that ended up in murder.”

  Amy nodded vigorously. “I can imagine Alan purposely playing his bagpipes in the middle of the night, knowing it would drive Mr. Farber crazy.”

  “We know Farber was called to the fairgrounds that night for a plumbing problem,” Piper said. “And we know Alan had his bagpipes with him, because they were found next to my pickle barrel.” Piper ground her teeth briefly at the memory of her cherished pickle barrel’s involvement in the crime.

  “I can really see Mr. Farber going bonkers,” Amy said, “if he heard those bagpipes again.”

  “And, by his own account,” Gil added, “he could have ducked into the alley the day Dennis was working on the Perkins’ roof and pulled at Dennis’s rope.”

  “I think he did it,” Amy said. “I think he was furious enough to whack Alan, strong enough to drag him into your pickle barrel, and went on later to deal with Dennis.”

  “Maybe,” Piper said, cautiously. “But if nobody saw him do it, except possibly Dennis, how do we prove it?”

  “Ah, there’s the rub,” Gil agreed. “But we’re not finished with your list of suspects, are we? What about Robby Taylor?”

  “Robby,” Piper said, “was furious with Alan for cheating his mother out of her antiques. We know he was in Cloverdale for the fair, and he was in town talking to Stan Yeager the day Dennis was killed. As a fitness trainer, he’s in great shape, which means he could physically have handled Alan’s murder. Plus there’s the probability that he’s pressuring his mother to sell her house, which might come from his having to pay blackmail to Dennis.”

  “But with Dennis dead,” Gil pointed out, “the presumed blackmail has ended. Yet Dorothy Taylor is still selling her house.”

  “That’s true,” Piper said. “The payments to Dennis totaled six thousand. Seems like he could have covered that amount somehow and called off the house sale once the blackmailer was done away with.” Piper chewed at the end of her pen. “Does that eliminate Robby?” she asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Gil said. “But it’s something to keep in mind. Perhaps there’s another reason his mother is selling her house?”

  “She’s clearly not happy with the idea,” Piper said. “She’s doing it for Robby. Maybe it started with the need for blackmail money—which I doubt Dorothy would be aware of—but continues for another reason. I’d say Robby is still a good contender on our list.”

  “I’m still not seeing anything that points to one more than the other,” Gil said, shaking his head.

  The phone rang, and Amy picked it up. After a moment she said, “Mr. Williams, Nate says there’s a customer who’s asking for your expert help.”

  Gil Williams chuckled gently. “That probably means someone who can’t remember if they already bought Five Red Herrings or if they still need it to complete their Dorothy L. Sayers set. I’ll have to show Nate where I keep my records on regular customers. Ladies, we’ll need to continue this another time. In the meantime, I’ll think hard about all we’ve discussed.”

  “And so will we,” Piper said.

  As Gil pushed out the door, Tina approached, and he paused to hold the door for her, wishing her a good day and looking as though he’d tip his hat if only he happened to be wearing one.

  “Gil is such a gentleman,” Tina said, looking back at his departing form.

  “He is,” Amy agreed. “Did you know he’s letting Nate stay in the apartment above his shop?”

  “What do you mean ‘letting’? Why did Nate have to move?”

  Amy explained about Nate losing his job at A La Carte and therefore his ability to pay the rent at his last place. Piper silently wondered if Amy had been told of Ben Schaeffer’s theory that Nate could have been paying Dennis’s blackmail from a secret cache of funds. Obviously, if there’d been such a cache, Nate would be living a lot more comfortably, but Ben’s bias against Nate apparently kept him from reasoning that far.

  “That’s terrible!” Tina cried. “Nate shouldn’t be getting that kind of treatment when he didn’t do anything whatsoever to deserve it. Which is exactly why I’m here. I’ve known all along who does deserve such treatment and now I can prove it.”

  “You can?” Amy cried. Piper was interested, too, though she thought she knew who Tina was going to name.

  “Charlotte Hosch has finally tipped her hand!” Tina stated firmly.

  Piper wasn’t at all sure that would be the case. But she waited to hear what Tina would say.

  25

  “What did Charlotte Hosch do that convinces you she’s a murderer?” Piper asked, dearly hoping no customer would walk into the pickling shop in the midst of Tina’s explanation. Tina looked agitated, her movements and breathing rapid, and Piper could foresee a dramatic tale coming. Whether or not it would be something to share with Sheriff Carlyle was yet to be determined.

  “I saw it! I saw it this morning!” Tina said.

  “Saw what?” Piper asked.

  “The white paint can! It was in Charlotte’s trash. The can for the white paint she threw on your front brick.”

  “You searched through Charlotte’s trash?”

  Tina shook her head. “I was in her alley early this morning. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up early and went for a walk. I went farther than I meant to, so I took the shortcut through her alley to get back to my place. The recycling truck had just pulled in there, and I saw them dumping out Charlotte’s bin. The paint can tumbled out along with all the newspapers and bottles. I saw it clear as day!”

  “A white paint can?” Piper asked.

  Tina must have heard the uncertainty in Piper’s voice, since her “Yes!” came out at least half an octave higher. “Don’t you see? This proves Charlotte is the vandal! She’s been trying to scare you away from looking into the murders. She’s petrified that you’ll find her out, and this is her way of stopping you!”

  “That could be true,” Piper said cautiously. “Or it could also be that Charlotte was doing a little touch-up work at her shop.”

  “Did you get hold of it?” Amy asked. “Maybe there’s a way of matching the paint. They do that kind of thing on CSI all the time. Your splotch hasn’t been cleaned off yet, Piper.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” Piper agreed, grimacing, since that had been a matter of increasing annoyance for her.

  “The recycling truck
drove off before I could think fast enough to stop them,” Tina said. “Who knows where that can is now? So I guess I can’t prove anything, huh?” She looked crestfallen.

  “I’m afraid not,” Piper said. “But it’s definitely information to keep in mind.”

  “I’m just so sure Charlotte is behind all this,” Tina continued. “You may not believe that yet, but I’ll find a way to convince you. And the sheriff. Why oh why didn’t I grab at that paint can the minute I saw it?”

  Tina looked so wretched that Piper rushed to reassure her. “We have three other strong suspects, Tina. They all have stronger motives than Charlotte, miserable a person though she may be.”

  “Right!” Amy added. “And Mr. Williams has started working with us. He knows his way around an investigation, what with all the detective novels he’s read. With all of us putting our heads together, I know we’ll clear Nate in no time.”

  “Gil Williams is helping?” Tina looked surprised.

  “He’s been great,” Piper said. “Once he realized what a predicament Nate was caught in, he was completely willing to get involved.”

  “I just never thought of Gil doing anything like that,” Tina said. “He always seemed so reclusive and absorbed in his books. But . . . that’s great! As you said, the more people working on the case, the better.”

  Tina looked somewhat encouraged, so Piper gave her an update on what she’d learned about Ralph Farber and Robby Taylor since they last talked. Tina nodded and appeared at least marginally willing to expand her suspicions beyond Charlotte Hosch. By the time she was ready to leave, Tina seemed less hell-bent on dragging the candy maker off to the sheriff’s office, which was a relief to Piper. When Piper first asked for Tina’s help, she had hoped only for the odd tidbit the coffee shop owner might pick up in the course of her day. She never envisioned bringing on stress and sleeplessness for anyone. At the door, Piper grabbed a jar of tea jelly from a nearby table and handed it to Tina.