The Pickled Piper (20 page)

“W
hat can you tell me about Brenda Franklin?” Piper asked Aunt Judy, who'd been more than happy to come watch the shop so Piper could keep her appointment with Brenda. She'd brought along the fixings for a casserole for Nate, intending to put it together in Piper's kitchen while she was there.

“Well,” Aunt Judy said, picking up a jar of mustard seed from the shelf and checking its label before setting it back in place. “Brenda has been a widow for several years, although she's only in her early fifties. No children, and apparently well-off enough not to need to work, which is a shame in a way.”

“How so?”

“Brenda is shy. Keeping to herself is probably much easier than going out and getting to know people. If she'd needed to earn a living, it would have forced her to get out more and might have been good for her.”

“Then how did she get involved with Alan Rosemont?”

“Probably through his antique shop. From what I've heard, she enjoys collecting things—china dolls, glass animals, things like that. She's an attractive woman, but between you and me, I suspect her bank account attracted Alan as much as anything.”

“Meaning?” Piper asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, not that. I didn't mean he would have fleeced her out of her money. But she has a lovely house that he would have shared if they'd married, and a very nice car, and she probably can afford to travel extensively, though she never does. But Alan might at least have encouraged that and expanded her horizons a bit.”

“But at what cost, I wonder? From what I've learned about the man, he would have taken over and run her life.”

“Very possibly,” Aunt Judy agreed. “It's hard to know what makes a workable marriage for other people, though, isn't it? Maybe Brenda would have been just fine with having someone make all the major decisions for her.”

The idea made Piper cringe. Even her younger, more naïve self had never considered turning over control of her life to any man. Compromise, yes, but control? No way.

Piper's musings were interrupted by Tina's brisk entry into the shop. “I couldn't come by before this,” she said, strands of hair escaping and flying loose from the several barrettes that were meant to tame it. “But I've been hearing about your fire from customers all day and had to see for myself.”

“It wasn't too bad,” Piper assured her. “Though waking up to fire in the middle of the night was a definite scare.” Piper didn't like to admit exactly how bad a scare it had been. Just talking about it made her feel edgy, but she managed a smile. “As you see, I'm still able to open my shop. Except for the lingering smell of smoke that I'm gradually blowing out, all the damage is on the exterior.”

“Thank heavens for that! I couldn't believe it when I first heard about it. I didn't hear a thing myself last night. But that might have been because I took something to help me sleep. I've been having a little trouble with that, as you know.”

“What a shame,” Aunt Judy said. “Have you tried warm milk? Or maybe yoga to help you relax?”

Tina nodded, smiling. “Been there, done that. Last night I needed something stronger, just to get me over the hump, you know?”

Piper thought Tina did look rather ragged and was sorry. Obviously the chamomile tea jelly hadn't been much help. “I had a call today that definitely perked me up,” she said, hoping it would do the same for Tina. “Brenda Franklin says she has something to tell me that could help with our investigation.”

“Brenda Franklin?” Tina's face went blank.

“She had been seeing Alan Rosemont before he died,” Aunt Judy explained.

“She had? I never heard that. So what does she know?”

“I'll find out at four thirty,” Piper said. “That's when I'm heading over to her place.”

Tina eyes lit up. “This might be just what you need.”

“That's what I'm hoping. I'll let you know.”

“Yes, call me tonight. I'll be anxious to hear. I'll bet it has something to do with Charlotte Hosch. Well,” she said, glancing at her watch, “I'd better be off. Got to fix some pasta salads for tomorrow.”

“I hope you get a good night's sleep tonight,” Aunt Judy said. “I've found taking a little walk before bedtime can be very relaxing.”

Tina nodded. “I might try that. Thanks.”

“She might be working herself too hard,” Aunt Judy said, as she watched Tina head down the street. “You'd think getting good and tired from such a busy job would make sleeping easy, but it can also wind a person up too much.”

Aunt Judy glanced at the wall clock. “Well, you'll be leaving for Brenda's in about an hour. Why don't I run upstairs and get my chicken breasts cooking for Nate's casserole?”

“Sure. Give a holler if you need anything.”

A customer stepped in as Aunt Judy left, and Piper waited on her, answering, in the process, more questions about her fire, something she'd been doing since she opened up. The excitement of the night before had definitely stepped up business at the shop. But she'd trade slow and safe for brisk but dangerous any day.

Soon after that customer took off, Piper was surprised to get a second call from Brenda Franklin.

“Miss Lamb, would you mind if we postponed your visit to six thirty?” she asked. “I'm afraid working in my garden has given me a slight headache. I'll need to rest for a while.”

“Six thirty is fine,” Piper assured her and wished her speedy relief. After hanging up, she called out the change of plans to her aunt. “I'm sorry,” she said. “Seems I dragged you here for nothing.”

“Not at all, dear,” Aunt Judy answered. “I'm getting my casserole for Nate made, which is all I was going to do at home anyway. I'll go ahead and finish, plus fix a little extra that the two of us can share before you leave for Brenda's. How does that sound? Uncle Frank will be fine. There's leftovers at the farm he can warm up.”

Piper heard her aunt bustling about the kitchen overhead as she handled a few more sales until about five forty-five. By that time she could pick up tasty aromas coming from her apartment, and with no approaching customers in sight she decided to lock up a few minutes early. She pulled her shades, dealt with her cash box, and ran up the stairs, eager to dig into Aunt Judy's chicken casserole.

“Go freshen up if you like,” her aunt said as Piper appeared at the top of the stairs. “This can cool for a bit. Do you want iced tea?”

“Yes, please,” Piper called and dashed off to her bedroom and bathroom. When she returned to the kitchen, Aunt Judy had dished out two servings onto plates, and she joined Piper at the table to enjoy the creamy chicken, noodle, and vegetable mixture that had long been a favorite of Piper's.

“I thought about Brenda the whole time I was cooking,” Aunt Judy said, “wondering what she can have to tell you. Do you suppose Alan told her something that nobody else knows that will lead us to his killer?”

Piper paused, holding a forkful of noodles over her plate. “Since she seems to have been the person closest to Alan, that certainly seems possible.” She chewed the noodles, then stabbed at a chunk of chicken, taking a quick glance at the kitchen clock. “I just hope she doesn't have a change of heart by the time I get there. Her calling to postpone the appointment may have been because of her headache or may have been an uneasiness over sharing private information. I hope it's not the latter.”

Aunt Judy nodded. “As I said, Brenda is a very shy person. This might be difficult for her.”

They finished their meal in companionable silence until Piper hurriedly scraped up her last morsel of celery. “I'd better get moving. Leave the dishes, Aunt Judy. I'll clean up after I get back.”

“Don't even think about it. I plan to wait right here to hear every word of what Brenda tells you, assuming it's not confidential, of course. We can have a nice dish of ice cream over it.” Aunt Judy stood, picking up both plates. “While you're getting your things, I'll give Nate a call and tell him I'm bringing over a casserole.”

Piper left to gather up her purse and car keys. When she returned from her bedroom, Aunt Judy had just replaced the phone, a small frown puckering her brow.

“Nate didn't answer. I'll try again a little later.”

“I'm off,” Piper said. “Thanks a bunch for dinner.” She gave her aunt a quick peck on her cheek, then trotted down the front stairs and out to her car.

• • •

A
unt Judy hadn't exaggerated when she'd described Brenda Franklin's house as lovely. The white siding of the two-story colonial looked freshly painted, as did the black shutters that framed sparkling windows. A low stone wall edged a front garden filled with end-of-summer blooms with not a single weed mixed in that Piper could see.

Piper walked up to the wood front door with its stained glass insert and checked her watch. Six thirty on the dot. She smiled and pressed the doorbell, hearing the chime echo inside. She waited but heard no approaching footsteps or turn of lock. After a minute or so, she pressed the bell again, shifting her purse to the other side and listening. There was no response.

Piper frowned, not sure what to do. Had Brenda changed her mind? But why not call and cancel? Perhaps she'd simply fallen asleep, resting from her headache. But wouldn't the doorbell rouse her?

Piper pressed the bell one more time, then decided to walk around the back, hoping to find Brenda there, out of earshot of her doorbell. She followed a flagstone path that led around the side of the house to the rear, ending at a thick, green lawn and a second garden, both dotted with bird feeders. A screen porch was attached to the house, affording a perfect place to sit and enjoy the view. Which was where Piper spotted Brenda. Except she wasn't sitting on any of the pretty white wicker furniture. She lay sprawled on the floor.

“Mrs. Franklin!” Piper cried, thinking the woman had fainted. She ran to the screen door and flung it open but instantly pulled up short.

The trim, middle-aged woman stared sightlessly upward from the porch floor. Blood pooled around her head, matting the long brown hair that spread like a fan on the concrete. Scattered about were dozens of broken glass animals apparently knocked from a shelf that had been pulled down and now lay among overturned end tables.

Piper gaped, frozen in place. Then she spotted something that made her gasp. In the middle of all the shattered glass lay a bloodied, broken canning jar. The label could be seen clearly.

It was a jar of Piper's honeyed bread-and-butter pickles.

“O
kay, let me get this straight.” Sheriff Carlyle lifted his hat briefly to wipe the sweat off his brow with the edge of his sleeve and studied his notes. “You arrived at Mrs. Franklin's house at approximately six thirty—”

“Exactly six thirty,” Piper said. “I looked at my watch before I rang her bell, and I know my watch is right.” They were standing beside the sheriff's car in front of Brenda Franklin's house in the fading light. The place was a beehive of activity as crime scene personnel swarmed over the house and yard, doing their jobs. Piper had calmed from her initial shock of finding Brenda Franklin dead, though the scene before her brought uncomfortable flashbacks of discovering Alan Rosemont's body the morning of the fair.

She had related what she knew more than once already, to various officers along the chain of command, but she understood the need for repetition and expected to describe her actions many times more. After all, she was a potential suspect, wasn't she?

The thought was grim but, Piper felt sure, accurate. She was, after all, the one who reported having discovered the body. How best to explain any possible blood on one's clothing, or having left fingerprints and footprints, than by claiming to have innocently stumbled on the scene. And this time there'd been no Ben Schaeffer beside her to verify her statements as he'd done at the fair. Then there was the fact of her pickle jar lying there. Had it been the murder weapon? Piper dreaded to find out.

“And your reason for coming?” the sheriff asked.

“Brenda Franklin called and said she wanted to talk. She was upset over the fire at my place as well as the other things that have happened to me and said she understood I was only trying to help find Alan Rosemont's real murderer.”

The sheriff coughed and cleared his throat at that but simply said, “Uh-huh. And you first arranged to arrive earlier?”

“Yes, she suggested four thirty. I agreed and called my aunt to watch the shop for me because Amy would be gone. Aunt Judy arrived around three or three fifteen. But then Brenda called and changed our appointment to six thirty.”

“When did she call that second time?”

“I think it was around three thirty or three forty-five. I can't be a hundred percent sure of that, but Aunt Judy might remember.”

The sheriff nodded. “So you didn't leave your place until what time?”

“Around six twenty, maybe six twenty-five. I knew it'd be a short drive. Aunt Judy and I had a quick dinner after I closed up a few minutes before six.”

“And your aunt was with you from the time of her arrival until you left around six twenty?”

“Uh-huh. That is, she was upstairs in my apartment most of the time, cooking, and I was dealing with customers in the shop, but, yes, she stayed with me.”

“And those customers were?”

Piper rattled off the names once again, not having to think as hard as she did the first time. She also knew she could back up her memory with the receipts at the shop. She had wondered, at first, why the sheriff needed that information. Then it occurred to her. He was checking her whereabouts minute by minute.

Piper knew now how Nate must feel to be under suspicion, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. Every word she said and every expression on her face was probably being scrutinized, and though she was telling the simple truth, she began to worry that the way she said it might be misconstrued or that she would leave out a detail that could be pounced upon later on.

Except, this was Amy's father talking to her, a man who was highly regarded by townspeople, including her aunt and uncle. But Sheriff Carlyle had acted unfairly, she believed, toward Nate. Would that now be turned on her?

The sheriff thanked her and headed over to Aunt Judy, probably to verify Piper's story. Aunt Judy had rushed over to Brenda Franklin's once Piper called with the terrible news but hadn't been able to do more than give a worried wave to Piper, who'd been kept occupied answering questions. Uncle Frank, thankfully, had also arrived soon, and he stood with one arm around his wife while tossing concerned glances Piper's way.

The usual gathering of the curious formed, and as Piper waited beside the sheriff's car with a young deputy, she wondered what they all might be saying. She'd been at the center of several “incidents” in her short time in Cloverdale. So far, they'd provoked only sympathy—along with plenty of questions. Would things start to tip the other way and would townspeople begin looking at her with suspicion as many already did with Nate?

Piper remembered that her cell phone had rung at one point but she'd let it go to voice mail. She checked it, finding a message from Will.

“I'm in Rochester,” he said, sounding super-frustrated. “One of my tractors needed a part. I just heard what happened. Give me a call. I'll get back as soon as I can.”

Poor Will, Piper thought. How tired he must be of getting bad news. If she were Will, she'd start spending a lot more time in Rochester. Piper saw the sheriff walking toward her and sighed, wondering if more questions and double checking lay ahead. To her surprise, however, Sheriff Carlyle said, “You can go on home, Miss Lamb, if you like.”

Really?

Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank were close on his heels. “Let's go on back to your place,” Aunt Judy said. “I'll fix a pot of tea and we can talk.”

Once Piper got over her shock she didn't waste time. She made her way to her car and nudged it away from the official vehicles and standing crowd as quickly as she dared. Uncle Frank was soon behind her, with Aunt Judy behind him, and all three arrived at Piper's Picklings—which seemed strangely dark and quiet after what she'd been in the midst of—within minutes.

Inside her apartment, Aunt Judy set a kettle of water to boil as Piper, still puzzled, asked, “What happened back there? Why didn't they take me back to the station for more questioning?”

“You told them everything you could, didn't you?” Aunt Judy asked.

“Many times.” Piper pulled down a box of tea leaves. “But I was sure they'd still want more.”

“If you're thinking they might have suspected you,” Uncle Frank said, “they probably did, at least routinely, for a while.”

“Oh, that's ridiculous, Frank!” Aunt Judy said. “Suspect Piper? Why would anyone in their right mind think our Piper could have murdered poor Brenda Franklin.”

Uncle Frank held his hands up defensively. “I'm just saying they had to rule her out, Judy. It's strictly procedure, as they say on TV.”

“He's right,” Piper said. “And I admit I was plenty worried about that bloodied jar of my pickles that was lying next to Mrs. Franklin.”

“Oh!” Aunt Judy cried. “I didn't know about that.”

“Me neither,” Uncle Frank said. He lifted the kettle of boiling water from the stove at that point and emptied it into Piper's teapot himself. “Sit,” he said to both women, then found mugs, spoons, and sugar to bring over to the small table.

“I did happen, however,” he said, “by some strategic maneuvering, to overhear the doc giving his estimate of the time of death. Brenda Franklin was dead at least two hours by the time you found her, Piper. Maybe more.”

“Thank God!” Aunt Judy said. “I mean, I'm very sorry Brenda was killed, of course, but that rules Piper out, doesn't it?”

“It does,” Piper said, pouring her aunt a cup of the steeped tea, then some for her uncle and herself. “That must be why Sheriff Carlyle was asking for so many details about my afternoon. I had a verifiable alibi for every minute up until the moment I went to Brenda's house.” She stirred sugar into her tea, thinking. “And that would have still been the case if I'd gone over at the original time of four thirty. But Brenda wouldn't have been dead as long, would she? It wouldn't have mattered what sort of alibi I had before I got to her house if Brenda had been killed just before I found her.”

“Piper,” Aunt Judy said, “if you'd gone over at four thirty you might have run into the murderer! You might have been killed yourself!”

“No, I don't think so.” Piper reached out to squeeze her aunt's hand. “I don't think I would have surprised anyone. I think the murderer may have expected me to arrive at the original time.”

Piper paused, looking back and forth from her aunt to her uncle.

“I think someone tried to set me up.”