The Pickled Piper by Mary Ellen Hughes Read Free Book Online Page B

turtles—having the strength to kill a man plus lift his body into Piper’s pickle barrel, no matter how furious she might be.
    Piper flashed back to the kitchen and Uncle Frank’s twitching mouth as they discussed Lyella as a possible suspect. She shook her head and laughed silently at herself. After all these years, she still fell for her uncle’s jokes. Still, since she was here, she might as well talk to the woman.
    The story ended, and the children scrambled to their feet, a few dillydallying but most rushing over to their parents. Lyella gathered up a small pile of books and waited for the group to move on. Piper made her way to the front of the room.
    â€œMiss Pfiefle?”
    â€œMrs.,” she swiftly corrected, then offered an efficient smile. “What can I do for you?”
    Piper introduced herself and asked, “Would you mind talking a bit about Alan Rosemont?”
    The librarian’s smile disappeared, but she nodded. “Quite a shocking turn of events.”
    â€œYes, it was. I was the one who found him, along with Ben Schaeffer. It was my pickling booth.”
    â€œOh! So you’re the owner of the new pickling shop.”
    A little girl with blond curly pigtails dashed over and gave the librarian’s knees a hug. “Thank you, Mrs. Pfiefle.”
    â€œYou’re welcome, Kayla. See you next week.”
    The girl ran back to her mother, and Lyella murmured to Piper, “A pleasant age. Ten years from now she’ll be shooting me dirty looks for breaking up a giggling session in the stacks. But you had a question about Alan Rosemont?”
    â€œYes. I never met the man, but I witnessed a nasty argument he instigated the afternoon before he was murdered. I’ve since heard that was fairly typical of him—that he was difficult to get along with.”
    â€œHorrible man,” Lyella said flatly. “I was hoping for years that his business would go belly-up and that he’d leave town for parts unknown. Preferably Siberia. Who would have guessed it would be he who’d go belly-up? But life,” she said, looking down at the books in her arms and shifting them, “is unpredictable.”
    â€œI heard he was responsible for the paint job on your building.”
    Lyella gave a choking laugh. “Lovely, isn’t it?” The group of mothers and children had cleared, and Lyella made a move to leave. “Let’s continue this out there, shall we? I need to reshelve these books.” With Piper hustling to keep pace, the librarian spoke as she briskly led the way toward the children’s books section. “Alan claimed he chose the paint to save the town money, which would be bad enough. But I know he took a special satisfaction in doing something he knew would aggravate me.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œI once had the audacity to organize a petition against one of his council proposals. He wanted to stop funding for maintenance of our town’s historical marker. No way was I going to let that happen. He didn’t like that.”
    â€œThere’s a historical marker?” As soon as Piper said it she could have bitten her tongue, for Lyella threw her a severe look.
    â€œIn front of the courthouse. It details Cloverdale’s founding in 1821, among other things.”
    â€œI’ll check it out,” Piper promised. “Alan Rosemont apparently didn’t like opposition.”
    â€œAlan Rosemont liked being a big fish in a small pond.” Lyella slipped two of her slim books into place on a shelf.
    â€œA fish that liked to play the bagpipes, apparently. His pipes were found next to him at my booth.”
    Lyella rolled her eyes. “He took that up after digging into his genealogy here. We have quite good resources for doing so,” she said and slipped another book onto the shelf. “He traced his roots to a particular clan and suddenly became more Scottish than Rob Roy. Unfortunately for