The Pickled Piper Read Online Free Page A

large one.
    â€œMr. Burchett? Two more burgers?”
    â€œComing up, Shawn.” Burchett released Piper’s hand and slapped two beef patties on his grill.
    â€œI’ll get out of your way,” Piper said, stepping back reluctantly.
    â€œAh, right. Sorry. Got to keep up with this. But, hey, thank your aunt for me. And I, ah, I’ll stop by at your shop sometime and say hello.”
    â€œThat’d be great. Nice meeting you, Will.”
    Piper backed away, holding her drink, then remembered the shady bench that was supposed to be nearby. She found it and sat, taking a sip from her lemonade and thinking what a nice guy Will Burchett seemed to be, volunteering his time for a good cause as he was. She hoped he really would come by her shop.
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    S hortly before eight the next morning, Piper was sipping the last of her coffee in the apartment over her shop, when she heard familiar beeps out back. She ran to her bedroom window and threw it open.
    â€œMorning, Uncle Frank!”
    â€œGood morning, peanut.” Uncle Frank had called Piper “peanut” as long as she could remember, and though she’d eventually grown taller than her aunt and stood within an inch or two of her burly uncle, she was happy to still be called that—but only by Uncle Frank. He leaned out of the cab of his freshly washed tan Ford pickup.
    â€œCan I take any more heavy stuff out to the fair for you?”
    â€œSure! I’ll be right down.” Piper dashed down to the shop to unlock her back door, then ran about gathering up jars of the pickled vegetables she’d decided to take—definitely more pickled watermelon—and packing them carefully into divided cardboard boxes. Uncle Frank walked in, pulling off a green John Deere cap and smoothing down the few remaining strands of his gray hair.
    â€œI have to swing by the garage to pick up a tractor part,” he said, “but I’ll get these to you by the time the fair opens up.”
    â€œThat’ll be fine. Oh, I got a call from Mom and Dad last night. They arrived in Bulgaria. Said to give you and Aunt Judy their love.”
    â€œBulgaria. Well, well.” Uncle Frank gave a low chuckle. “That brother of mine does get around, doesn’t he?”
    Piper smiled. Although her father and his brother had grown up together and even resembled each other physically, they couldn’t have chosen any more widely divergent paths in life. Uncle Frank considered a drive to Albany a major excursion, whereas Piper’s father had been twice around the world with his archeological pursuits.
    â€œWe both like to dig in the dirt,” Uncle Frank often joked. “Only difference is the things I come up with are a bit fresher and they’re edible. But the things he digs up he can write about. I don’t know anybody’d want to read about my beets or carrots.”
    â€œMaybe not, but I can’t pickle an old candlestick, can I?” Piper would respond.
    Uncle Frank’s organic farm provided most of the fruits and vegetables that Piper preserved with her pickling spices. And Aunt Judy grew in her garden several of the herbs that Piper dried and either used or packaged for sale. They were the perfect team, as far as Piper was concerned, and she was daily grateful that her Uncle Frank had chosen farming rather than anything he could write about.
    â€œJust these two boxes should do it,” she said. Uncle Frank reached for the larger of the two and headed out. Piper followed close behind with the second, unsurprised—once she stepped out—to see Jack occupying the passenger seat of her uncle’s truck. Jack yipped an excited greeting, and as soon as Piper deposited her load in the back of the cab she reached over to rub his ears and receive a few juicy licks.
    Uncle Frank climbed into the driver’s seat. “Thanks a bunch,” Piper said, giving her uncle a kiss on his