The Pickled Piper by Mary Ellen Hughes Page A

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.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œIsn’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.
    â€œSo 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.
    â€œNot 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?”
    â€œNo, 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.”
    â€œProbably 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
    â€œS o, 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.”
    â€œOther than the occasional murder, I presume?”
    â€œWell, 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.”
    â€œHe 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.”
    â€œOf 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