The Pickled Piper (17 page)

Yeager gave them a moment to scan it, then said, “And at the back of the house is the kitchen.” Piper and her aunt dutifully followed the Realtor. Piper's first thought on entering the kitchen was that if she were actually buying, she'd have a huge amount of renovation to do. The appliances were years old, the cabinets dated and too few, and the counter space severely limited. This was definitely not a kitchen in which she'd want to do pickling and canning. Which was a moot point, of course, since she had no intention of becoming its owner.

The sound of footsteps drew Piper's attention to a back hallway connected to the kitchen. There, an older woman gradually materialized out of the dimness, a stiff smile on her face. Feeling instant guilt from her critical thoughts as well as the false pretenses under which she was there, Piper pulled up a smile that certainly must have matched the woman's for stiffness until Aunt Judy cheerily cried, “Dorothy! There you are!”

D
orothy Taylor's expression softened on seeing Piper's aunt in her kitchen.

“I've brought my niece to see your lovely place,” Aunt Judy said. She introduced the two, adding, to Piper's surprise, that they had actually met years ago at a church picnic. Dorothy, from her doubtful look, was just as clueless as Piper on that point. But after a minuscule pause, both heads bobbed as each said, “Oh yes, that's right,” along with, “How nice to see you again.”

Piper thought she could see a slight facial resemblance to Robby, but unlike her son, Dorothy Taylor was plump and far from fit. She also sported bright red hair rather than Robby's dark waves, but considering her age as well as the shade, the color hadn't risen from her genes. Dorothy, in addition, seemed more reserved than her son. That last might have come from negative feelings over selling her house. Piper hoped to learn more about that.

“Are we the first ones here?” Aunt Judy asked.

Dorothy shook her head and pursed her lips. “The Satterfield couple is upstairs with their baby. I don't think she likes the house. She thought the bathroom was old-fashioned.”

“Maybe I'll just run up and point out a few of the finer features,” Stan Yeager said, and as he hurried off, Aunt Judy caught Piper's eye. Piper knew what she was thinking.
Here's our chance.

“We don't mind waiting till the other couple is done,” Aunt Judy said. “Would you like to sit for a bit, Dorothy? Maybe in the backyard with a glass of something nice and cool?”

Dorothy Taylor smiled—her first genuine smile so far, Piper thought. “I'd love that, Judy. I have a pitcher of iced tea chilling.”

“I'll get it,” Aunt Judy said. “Why don't you show Piper your lovely garden, and I'll be right out.”

Dorothy Taylor agreeably beckoned Piper toward the hallway and out through a screen door that led to a small patio with an aged umbrella table and chairs. To their right was the sunroom Aunt Judy had mentioned. That attachment, though nicely spacious, looked to Piper out of sync with the rest of the house, as though it had been sliced off of a much more modern structure and glued onto this nearly century-old one.

“I'll miss my garden,” Dorothy said, walking on with some effort across her uneven lawn toward a grouping of faded, end-of-summer perennials. “It's so full of memories since many of my plants came from good friends as they divided up their own gardens.” She pointed to a drooping clump of daylilies. “Those were from Ellie Peterson. The hostas over there came from your aunt years ago. And I have scads of daffodils and irises that were given to me by dear friends who are no longer with us.” She heaved a sigh, and Piper was about to express sympathy until Dorothy added, “Patty Hendrickson and Enid Bates moved down to Florida some time ago.”

They turned at the sound of the screen door banging. Aunt Judy had stepped onto the patio with a tray of iced tea, so they made their way back to join her.

“Thank you, Judy,” Dorothy said, taking one of the glasses from her and settling heavily in a chair. She looked about her somewhat morosely. “This might be the last time we'll sit here together.”

“We'll still see each other, Dorothy,” Aunt Judy said, sitting next to her friend. “It won't matter exactly where that will be. What are your plans? Will you stay in Cloverdale? Or are you thinking of moving closer to Robby?”

Dorothy looked away from Aunt Judy. “I haven't exactly had time to make plans, at least not anything definite. First things first!” She switched on a bright, but not terribly convincing, smile. “So!” she said, turning to Piper. “You've seen at least half of my house. What do you think so far?”

Piper scrambled to come up with a proper answer. “It's quite an interesting place,” she said, hoping that sounded positive. “There's obviously a lot of history attached to your house.”

Dorothy nodded. “There is that.” To Piper's surprise, she then chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Not all of it wonderful, though, right Judy? Remember the incident with Pop?”

Aunt Judy grinned but said, “That's all water under the bridge, Dorothy.”

Dorothy said to Piper, “You'll probably hear about it eventually, so you might as well get it from the horse's mouth. When Henry and I were first married, my father turned the house over to us before moving to Arizona. My mother had passed away—bless her soul—years before, and as far as I knew Pop had lived the quiet life of a retired widower after that.

“Well! One day, my doorbell rings, and I answer it to find this strange woman on my doorstep, baggage at her feet, demanding to see my father. At least, that's what I eventually figured out she wanted, since her accent—from someplace like Romania or Lithuania, I couldn't tell you exactly where—was so thick I could barely understand her.

“Come to find out the regular visits Pop was making to Rochester, which I thought were simply to meet with an amateur astronomy group he'd got interested in, were for another interest as well, which he never happened to mention.” Dorothy turned an amused, head-shaking glance to Aunt Judy before going on. “Turned out Pop had set up this woman—Nadia was her name—in a little apartment and was having a much better time in Rochester than any astronomy club ever offered.”

“Dorothy!” Aunt Judy protested, but her shoulders were shaking and she pressed her fingers to her lips.

“Now, my father was a single man and free to do what he wanted as far as I was concerned. I was certainly surprised, but I wasn't about to judge him. The only thing was, he apparently decided this little arrangement had run its course, and when he left for Arizona he neglected to say anything about it to this woman. She, obviously, was not pleased to be left hanging and had tracked him down to here. When I informed her he had given the house to me and moved on, she was furious and screamed that he had promised to take care of her. He'd stopped paying her rent in Rochester, so she was going to stay here. At that she picked up her bags and marched upstairs!

“I didn't know what to do. But I certainly didn't want a strange woman moving into my house. I threatened to call the police. That's when she said she would sue to take our house altogether if we didn't let her stay.”

Dorothy took a sip of her tea before going on. “Henry and I were horrified, of course. We didn't think there was any way she'd win her suit, but we didn't have the money at that time to hire a lawyer to defend ourselves. We were young and naïve and felt pretty helpless. So there she stayed, in our spare bedroom, smoking up a storm, coming down and messing up my kitchen and bad-mouthing Pop with every other word that came out of her mouth.

“It got really bad when she started doing the same around town—complaining about Pop to anyone who would listen. Finally, Henry and I scraped together a bit of money. We offered her travel fare to Arizona along with my father's address if she would leave and never come back. She snapped up the cash and took off.”

Dorothy swatted at a fly circling the table. “The last I heard,” she said, “she showed up at my father's, stayed awhile, then decided to move on to Las Vegas. I learned all this from a neighbor of my father's. Pop never mentioned Nadia to me, and I never mentioned her to him.” Dorothy took another sip of her tea, looking over the top of her glass at Piper and waiting for her reaction.

“Well,” Piper said. “That wasn't exactly the kind of history I had in mind, but it does make a good story.”

Dorothy cackled and reached over to pat Piper's hand. “You were hoping for something like ‘George Washington slept here,' I suppose. The house is old, but not that old. I like you, Piper. I'd like to think of you living in my house.” At that, Dorothy's smile faded. She blinked and looked away.

Stan Yeager popped his head out the screen door. “The Satterfields have left. I can show you the upstairs if you like.”

They heard the front doorbell ring. “Take care of whoever just arrived, Stan,” Aunt Judy said. “We'll sit awhile longer with Dorothy.”

“Lord, I hope that's not Shirley Pettit,” Dorothy said. “She hinted she wanted a place with room enough to raise more Siamese cats!”

“Dorothy,” Aunt Judy said, “are you sure you're ready to sell your house? I mean, this all seems such a rush. Have you thought it all through carefully?”

Dorothy shook her head. “I have to sell. I can't expect Robby to help me keep the place up.”

“But you could afford to pay for help, couldn't you, Dorothy? I mean, not to be too nosy, but it did sound like Henry left you well enough off to pay for repairs and upkeep on the house.”

“He did,” Dorothy agreed. “At least enough for a while. That got to be so expensive, though, and other things,” she said, vaguely, “came up. Then, too, hiring people doesn't always work out, you know. Just last spring I hired that Dennis Isley to replace my old toilet. He offered me the lowest price, so I went with it. But the new toilet kept leaking and Robby ended up having to do it over himself as well as patch up my kitchen ceiling from the water damage. He was furious!”

“Yes, I can imagine he would be,” Piper said. “I'd sure want my money back from anyone who did such a shoddy job. Did Robby talk to Dennis about that?”

“Well, ah, he might have. Yes, actually, I think he did. They worked it out, I'm sure. More tea, Judy?”

“No, I'm fine, Dorothy, thank you. That is a shame about the leaky toilet. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Dennis wasn't the most capable handyman. He was definitely cheaper, though, which might be why Alan Rosemont employed him now and then.”

“Oh! Alan!” Dorothy's face darkened at mention of the swindling antique dealer's name. “That snake! Yes, Alan was always on the lookout to make or save a buck, wasn't he? He and Dennis must have got along just fine.”

“Actually,” Piper said, “I don't believe they did. Cheap as Dennis's services may have been, I think Alan still tried his best to underpay him. I understand why you feel that way about Alan. It sounds like he acted very unethically regarding your family antiques.”

“Oh, Robby was so upset,” Dorothy said, shaking her head. “And it wasn't just from the money I lost. There were things that had belonged to my father—the old telescopes from that astronomy hobby I mentioned, for one. I never realized, but Robby said later he always intended to take up the hobby himself when he had time.”

“Really?” Aunt Judy said.

Dorothy nodded. “Robby never knew my father that well, Pop living so far away until he died. But he still grew to be very like Pop in some ways.” She frowned. “Well, I mean, with their interests in astronomy, of course, and . . . and . . .” She paused, searching, then brightened. “And physical fitness! Pop always rode a bike if you remember, Judy. He had energy to spare, just like Robby.”

“That's right, he did,” Aunt Judy said. “He had a quick temper, too, didn't he?”

“That he did,” Dorothy agreed. “Which is probably why he and Nadia didn't get along for very long. If they'd spent too much time around each other, they'd have been at each other's throats, would be my guess.”

Aunt Judy cast Piper a glance, and Piper thought she might be wondering, as she was, if this was another similarity between grandfather and grandson. At that moment, Stan Yeager reappeared.

“All clear. Who wants to see the upstairs?”

Nobody within hearing distance
, was Piper's first thought, but since that was supposedly the reason she was there, she gamely stood up. “Back in a minute,” she said, leaving Aunt Judy to see what more could be learned about Dorothy Taylor's son.

As she reentered the house, she heard her aunt ask, “More tea, Dorothy dear?”

E
arly Monday morning, Piper looked out her apartment window and saw Amy's orange Toyota pull up in front of Gilbert Williams's bookshop. She spotted Nate sitting in the passenger seat, so Piper put down her just-filled coffee mug to run out and say hi. As Nate climbed out, she called, “Moving in?”

Nate looked up and grinned. “Right.” He swept his arm toward the small-sized car. “And this is my moving van. Took us close to ten—maybe fifteen!—minutes to load it up.”

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.”