“I’ll be quick,” Ralph promised, taking a moment to scribble down one or two things in a notebook and double-check a measurement. He then trotted briskly out and hopped into his truck.
Piper gazed after Ralph’s truck, thinking about Sugar’s comments on Ralph’s work ethic. It was true he took his time. If Piper had had a simple handyman replace her old door with a new one, the job would likely have been done by now. But Ralph was a craftsman. She didn’t mind putting up with the mess a little longer for him, convinced the wait would be well worth it.
As Ralph’s truck disappeared down the street, Piper caught sight of her part-time assistant, Amy Carlyle, walking toward Piper’s Picklings for her shift. Though she was some distance away, Amy’s long red hair was unmistakable, especially as it caught the April sun and became a glowing torch. With her wide network of friends, as well as the town’s sheriff for a father, there wasn’t much that went on in Cloverdale that Amy missed, so the second she stepped through the doorway Piper asked, “Why haven’t I heard about Sugar Heywood and Jeremy Porter?”
“You didn’t know?” Amy slid her light cardigan off to reveal a pretty yellow blouse tucked into black slacks. The sensible black shoes she wore worked for both her job at the shop and Amy’s later-on part-time job as an assistant chef at A La Carte, where she hoped to gain enough experience to eventually run her own restaurant. Sugar Heywood would approve of Amy’s ambitious goals, though for the time being Piper thoroughly appreciated Amy’s help in pickle preparation as well as sales.
“No, I didn’t know,” Piper said. “But since you did, and probably half the town as well, I’m surprised it never came up.”
Amy shrugged and slipped the loop of a green Piper’s Picklings apron over her head. “Maybe because they’re kind of old, so it doesn’t seem like a really big deal.”
“Old?” Piper repeated, surprised until she reminded herself that Amy was barely twenty-one. “Maybe to you they are,” Piper conceded. “But I wouldn’t exactly put them in that category.”
Amy grinned. “Well, not old old. Not ready for retirement homes, certainly.”
“‘Retirement’ is not a word in Sugar’s vocabulary, no matter what her age. She’s a highly driven person.” Piper glanced toward her work-in-progress doorway. “Which is fine, but I hope it’s not affecting her decisions in the romance department more than it should.” When Amy raised her brows questioningly, Piper shrugged. “Never mind. It’s really none of my business.”
“Jeremy Porter’s been to A La Carte a few times,” Amy said. “He seems like an okay guy, but that creep who works for him, Dirk Unger—he’s Porter’s accountant or something—he can be a royal pain. They were in together last night, and Unger sent back a meal that was perfectly fine. He’s done that more than once. The waitstaff get a lot of hassle from him, too. He’s always pointing out little slips in their service, or things he considers slips, like not keeping the water glasses fully topped or pointing out a spilled drop of coffee on a saucer. I don’t know if he’s trying to impress his boss with his so-called knowledge of fine dining but he sure doesn’t impress us.”
“Uh-oh,” Piper said. “Sugar said she’s catering a business dinner for Jeremy Porter. I hope for her sake that Dirk Unger won’t be there.”
“Would he criticize someone he knows his boss is dating?”
Piper shrugged. “I don’t know Unger but he sounds like someone who might enjoy stirring up a little trouble.” The shop’s phone rang and as Amy went to answer, Piper had another thought. If Jeremy Porter kept someone like Unger close by, what did that say about him?
2
Ralph Strawbridge returned with the new wood for Piper’s doorjamb and had been back to work, trimming and hammering, for an hour or so when Piper invited him to join her and Amy in a lunch break.
“We have leftovers from A La Carte—ratatouille with chicken.”
When Ralph hesitated, Amy said, “There’s more than enough for three, honest. You have to help us finish it up, or we’ll be eating it again tomorrow and be thoroughly sick of it.”
“I can’t imagine getting tired of anything you’ve prepared,” Ralph said, and Amy’s cheeks glowed with pleasure.
Ralph set down his tools and followed the two to the back room, where Amy pulled a covered dish from Piper’s refrigerator and slipped it into the microwave. Piper had a commercial kitchen in her shop’s back area, which she used for putting up the dozens of varieties of pickles and preserves, often with Amy’s expert help. As Ralph washed his hands, Piper opened up three folding chairs and Amy pulled out plates and forks. When the microwave dinged, Amy checked and stirred the aromatic stew, then decided to warm it for another minute.
“Oh,” she asked Piper, “is there any of the French bread left?”
“Aha,” Piper said. She did a quick search in a cupboard. “Yes!”
“Ratatouille and French bread,” Ralph said, shaking his head as he wiped his hands. “I may feel compelled to significantly reduce my bill after such royal treatment.”
“And what if we add some of Piper’s pickled carrots to the mix?” Amy asked.
Ralph shrugged helplessly and mimed ripping up a sheet of paper, which brought laughs from Piper and Amy. The microwave dinged a second time, and Amy took out her dish, then set it on the counter for everyone to help themselves.
They ate quietly for a while, savoring the meal, until Ralph asked, “So, Amy, when you set up your own restaurant, will it be French?”
“I’m not sure,” Amy said. She tore off a small chunk of bread and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I suppose it’ll depend on where it is. I love the cuisine, but A La Carte might have French locked up here in Cloverdale. Maybe I’d do better to choose something different.”
He nodded. “I’ve noticed that places that offer good, fresh food in a hurry seem to be getting popular.”
“You mean like Chipotle?” Piper said. She had eaten in one of their franchises at the Bellingham Mall recently and found it pretty good. “They say their food is local and sometimes organic. I liked it and it was very affordable.”
Ralph nodded. “Chipotle does Mexican food but you could probably use the same idea with anything, Amy.”
“I never thought about that,” Amy said. “I’d always pictured my dream restaurant as ‘fine dining’ like A La Carte. But fresh and fast, as long as it’s good, isn’t a bad idea.”
“Fine dining doesn’t have to mean white tablecloths and a maître d’,” Ralph said. “And it’d be a much lower initial investment as well as give you time to build a reputation.”
“That could work for you,” Piper said. “But what about Nate?” Nate Purdy was Amy’s boyfriend and he’d been the nightly musical entertainment at A La Carte almost from the time Amy started working there. Piper had the impression that they had long-term hopes to continue that sort of teamwork.
Amy’s pale brows pulled together delicately. “Nate and I have talked a lot about him performing in—and bringing his fans to—my imaginary future restaurant. That probably wouldn’t work in a place where there’d be much less lingering over coffee. But Nate has been getting pretty good feedback on the demo he made. Maybe he’ll want to move on to better things.”
Maybe so, Piper thought, but “better things” in Nate’s eyes probably didn’t apply to Amy. Piper doubted he would let anything take him away from her for long.
“Well,” Ralph said, “it’s just one idea. A good cook—excuse me, chef—has plenty of options.”
“Sugar Heywood has done well with her catering,” Piper said, looking up casually at Ralph as she did. The soft smile that appeared on his face spoke volumes, at least to her mind, especially as he immediately hid it with a forkful of ratatouille.
After a moment of chewing, he nodded. “She’s another excellent cook,” he agreed, then added with a grin, “They seem to congregate h
ere in Cloverdale, don’t they?”
Amy laughed. “Good cooks go where they’re appreciated. Nobody wants to spend hours on a perfectly seasoned dish and see ketchup get dumped all over it.”
“Or have it sent back to the kitchen for no good reason,” Piper said. “Like some people.”
Ralph looked up. “Who would do that?”
“Amy said Dirk Unger sent his dinner back last night at A La Carte.”
“The more fool he,” Ralph said, shaking his head. “But I’m not surprised.”
“Do you know him?” Piper asked.
“We’ve met. Jeremy Porter had me come to his house to discuss refurbishing the built-in bookshelves in his library. At the last minute, Porter couldn’t be there and he had Unger take over.” Ralph grimaced at the memory. “Big mistake. Those were beautiful carved mahogany shelves that I could have restored in time to their original glory. All Unger seemed to care about was the petty costs of every screw and nail and he made sure I understood he’d be overseeing the project and watching me carefully. His strong implication was that he assumed I would unnecessarily stretch the expense and cheat whenever I could. When Porter called later, he seemed surprised that I was no longer interested in the job.”
“His loss,” Piper said.
“Does Mr. Porter live alone in that big house?” Amy asked.
“He did at the time,” Ralph said. “But I believe his mother and sister have recently moved in with him.”
“Really?” Piper said. One more thing she hadn’t heard about.
“I guess that’s nice of him to bring his mom and sister to share that big place,” Amy said. “A little odd, though. I mean, I can’t wait to be on my own and he gives that up?”
Ralph made no comment and in a moment Piper heard “Yoo-hoo!” from the front of her shop. With no front door, she also had no working door jingle. She jumped up before Amy could. “I’ll get it. I’ve finished and it sounds like Mrs. Tilley.”
Amy nodded, knowing that Mrs. Tilley often had dozens of questions on any pickling project she had in mind, which built on previous questions she’d already put to Piper. It was easier for all if only Piper attended to her. As she left, Piper heard Amy ask, “More ratatouille, Mr. Strawbridge?” From the way Ralph had dug into his first serving, Piper was pretty sure what his answer would be.
“Hello, Mrs. Tilley,” Piper said. “What can I do for you today?”
“What happened to your door, Piper?” Mrs. Tilley asked querulously, seeming to fear that Piper’s front door had somehow been ripped off and carried away during the night. By whom, Piper couldn’t imagine, considering the condition of the old thing, other than anyone desperate for firewood.
“Ralph Strawbridge is making me a new one, Mrs. Tilley. It’s going to be beautiful.”
“Oh! I’m so glad.” She asked the expected questions about the door project, which Piper was happy to answer, and by the time they got around to the subject of pickling, Ralph had emerged from the back room, while sounds of Amy cleaning up could be heard.
“Mr. Strawbridge,” Mrs. Tilley said. “I can’t wait to see Piper’s new door.”
Ralph smiled, nodded, and wisely avoided further discussion by picking up his tools and getting busy. So Mrs. Tilley turned back to Piper with her questions about asparagus, which included pickling versus freezing—both are good, and it freezes very well—and the best length to trim the asparagus for pickling—about four inches.
When Mrs. Tilley finally decided what she needed from Piper’s shop to get started and had gathered and paid for everything, she mentioned having run into Lydia Porter, Jeremy Porter’s mother, on the way to Piper’s Picklings.
“A lovely woman,” she said, tucking away her credit card. “We met briefly at the Cloverdale Women’s Club. She’s just moved here from Albany, where she was head of the board of a private school. She mentioned her husband was one of the original Porters of Essex County, which I don’t know anything about but it sounds quite impressive, doesn’t it? And her own family included more than one governor, I believe. Or was it senator? Anyway, she intends to hold a tea at their home as a way to meet most of the residents of Cloverdale. Isn’t that exciting!”
Piper nodded but wondered just who the “most” would include, considering the invitation would come from a person who made a point of mentioning her impressive ancestry at the drop of a hat.
“She asked me to recommend a local caterer. I’m afraid my mind went blank,” Mrs. Tilley admitted. “It’s been ages since I had occasion to hire one myself.”
“Sugar Heywood is very good,” Piper said and saw Ralph’s face turn toward her with a smile.
“That’s right! I forgot all about Sugar. I’ll call Lydia the minute I get home and pass that on to her.”
“I’m sure both Sugar and Mrs. Porter will appreciate it.” Piper handed Mrs. Tilley her bagged purchases and wished her a good day. After the older woman had left, Piper said to Ralph, “I’m surprised Jeremy Porter’s mother didn’t already know about Sugar. After all, Sugar is catering a business dinner for him.” Ralph seemed more interested in Piper’s doorjamb than the communication between Jeremy Porter and his mother, so she left him to his work and went to her back room.
The lunch dishes were washed and put away and all traces of the recent lunch break removed except for one folding chair. Amy perched on it, curled over as she studied her cell phone. She looked up guiltily as Piper approached.
“Sorry. I got involved in some Internet searching after that bug Mr. Strawbridge put in my ear about fast gourmet dining. It’s becoming quite a trend!”
“No problem. It’s good to know about and study all possibilities. At least you have plenty of time before you’ll need to make a decision.”
Amy grimaced. “That’s the truth. And who knows what the latest trend will be by the time I’m ready to take the plunge?” She tucked away her phone and stood up. “But first things first. Are we making anything today?”
Piper grinned. “Glad you asked. I came across a recipe for a lime jelly with herbs that looked interesting, so I picked up a bunch of limes. Would you like to get started on juicing them?”
“Absolutely.” Amy snapped to work, as she usually did when food preparation was involved. She pulled out the limes from Piper’s refrigerator bin and got busy juicing while Piper poured green apple pectin stock into a large preserving pan and gathered the needed sugar and herb sprigs.
Everything was mixed and coming to a boil under Amy’s watchful eye, when Piper heard an unfamiliar male voice out front. Knowing the jelly preparation was in good hands, she went out front to see what was up. A rather scrawny but well-dressed man was talking to Ralph, and from the expression on his face Ralph wasn’t pleased about it.
“Can I help you?” Piper asked.
The thin man looked over, his small but piercing eyes taking in Piper in an uncomfortably calculating way. “I was just telling Strawbridge here how delighted I was he found another job after the bookcase project with Mr. Porter fell through.” He didn’t look all that delighted to Piper, but before she could respond the lizardlike man held out his hand and introduced himself.
“Dirk Unger,” he said. “I was just passing by, but now that I’m here, perhaps you could explain to me exactly what a pickling shop offers?”
“I’d be happy to,” Piper said politely, though she really wished she could simply put a Piper’s Picklings advertising brochure into his dry hand and send him on his way. “My shop carries all the equipment and seasonings needed to pickle or preserve any vegetable or fruit. I also offer an excellent line of pickling cookbooks. Plus, as a help to anyone unfamiliar with the wide variety of pickles, jams, jellies, and preserves they can make or for anyone just wanting the occasional jar of a particular pickle or jam, I cook up an extensive selection on the premises.” Piper gestured toward the shelves of colorful and carefull
y labeled jars.
Unger wrinkled his nose. “Is that what that smell is coming from the back?”
Piper stiffened. “We’re in the process of making lime jelly with herbs.”
“I thought it smelled terrific,” Ralph said before banging at a nail.
“If you like boiled lemonade,” Unger said. “Well, I’m sure you draw plenty of customers who do,” he added with a placating smile, though Piper didn’t feel the least bit placated. “Although I frankly can’t imagine making a success of a business with such a narrow niche market. But then, Cloverdale . . .” He left his probably unpleasant thought unspoken.
Unger gazed around the shop as though inspecting it for spiders or rat droppings, and, disappointed at finding none, finally rubbed his hands together briskly. “Well, I’d best be on my way. It was interesting to meet you, Miss Lamb.” He spun around. “Good luck with the repair work, Strawbridge.” And to the relief of both Piper and Ralph, he left.
After a moment, Piper said, “I understand why you turned down Jeremy Porter’s bookcase restoration project.”
“Uh-huh,” Ralph said, then drove another nail into the doorjamb.
“I heard some of that,” Amy said, appearing at the back room doorway. “Picture our poor A La Carte waiters trying to please a patron like him.”
“Well, for his sake I hope he’s an outstanding accountant,” Piper said. “If he were working for Jeremy Porter as a Realtor, he’d send clients running for cover with people skills like that.”
Piper thought of Sugar Heywood and hoped the caterer didn’t need to deal with Unger. Then there was Porter’s status-conscious mother . . . Piper shook herself. She was getting much too Cloverdalian, thinking about affairs that were none of her business. Best she stick to her pickles and jellies, at which thought she turned and marched back to the—to her mind—delicious-smelling limes.
Scene of the Brine Page 2
