The Pickled Piper Read Online Free Page B

leathery cheek. He started his engine and pulled off, a well-tanned arm waving out the window as the truck disappeared around the corner.
    As she watched him go, Piper thought of all the summers she’d spent with Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank. Though Piper knew her parents loved her dearly, she had realized long ago—and gamely accepted—that they loved archeology even more. Each summer, therefore, they flew off to far-flung corners of the world to pursue their passion, parts that were usually less than congenial for children, and therefore Piper was sent to Cloverdale. Not that—once Piper fully understood what they were up to—she ever really wanted to go along with them. Her parents had their passion and Piper had hers. It had just taken her longer to discover it.
    Was it simply coincidental, she wondered, that Scott, another important person in her life, had discovered he was happiest when he was hundreds of miles away from her? Such thoughts were best pondered on another day, Piper decided, so she shook herself to get moving and on her way.
    Minutes later, Piper was locking up when she remembered that Tina Carson had asked her to drop off more of her pear chutney at the coffee shop. Apparently it was a big hit with her customers. Piper ran back into the shop for the jars, thinking she could stop on her way. But when she pulled up in front of Tina’s shop, a “Closed” sign hung inside the door, and the shop’s interior was dark.
    Bummer. Especially since the lettering on the door proclaimed the opening hour to be eight A.M. , and it was twenty minutes past that. Piper got out of the car and peered into the shop, hoping to see signs of life. She rapped but spotted no movement in the darkened interior. Tina, she decided, must have seen her business, like A La Carte’s, drop off and felt it wasn’t worth opening during fair days. Piper would have to get the chutney to her some other time.
    As she continued down Beech Street she noticed much lighter traffic than usual. Most of the bigger draws at the fair, such as the midway rides, didn’t open until ten, which probably explained it. If the majority of Cloverdale residents had shifted their activities from town to fairgrounds, they apparently had also decided to sleep in a little that day.
    When Piper pulled into the vendors’ parking area, there was only a scattering of other cars. She had come early to do a bit of tidying and rearranging at her booth, since spreading a protective tarp over her wares the night before was about all she could manage. Piper had also sold out of pickles from her pickle barrel, proving Amy’s optimism to be spot-on, so she’d brought a fresh batch of dills to restock it. She lifted up the hatch on her white Chevy to unload them.
    â€œMorning, Miss Lamb.”
    Piper looked over to see Ben Schaeffer walking toward her, dressed in khakis and a plaid shirt rather than his auxiliary officer uniform. Piper’s first thought was that Ben Schaeffer, who was only three years younger, had just addressed her as if she were his former kindergarten teacher.
    â€œCall me Piper, please,” she said. “You’re here early, Ben. Are you on duty?”
    He shook his head. “Not officially. But I thought I’d check around. You know, make sure nobody’s dumping trash where they shouldn’t. Things like that.”
    â€œThat’s conscientious of you.” Piper reached for one of the large plastic bags of dill pickles.
    â€œHelp you with that?”
    Piper smiled, resisting the elderly-woman-aided-by-Boy-Scout feeling that Ben seemed to automatically stir. “Thank you,” she said, and handed one of the bags to Ben, then grabbed the second, larger one herself. They took off toward the vendor booths.
    â€œThe fair seems to have slowed things down in town,” she said, conversationally. “Have you closed your place? Amy said you have an insurance