Scene of the Brine

Praise for the Pickled & Preserved Mysteries

“A one-of-a-kind mystery with homemade food, small-town secrets, and winsome characters.”

—Ellery Adams,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Books by the Bay Mysteries

“This warm-hearted mystery . . . had me turning the pages late into the night. Encore!”

—G. M. Malliet, Agatha Award–winning author of the Max Tudor Mysteries

“A charming new sleuth in a peck of pickles and murder.”

—Connie Archer, national bestselling author of the Soup Lover's Mysteries

“Hughes's second series entry . . . will delight fans of culinary cozies . . . Fans of Susan Wittig Albert's China Bayles series should enjoy this plucky heroine.”

—
Library Journal

“Will keep the reader guessing . . . A pleasing puzzle,
License to Dill
preserves Hughes's stature as a first-rate mysterian who specializes in homemade food and homemade homicide.”

—
Richmond Times-Dispatch

“If the first book is any indication of the direction this series will take, I say the author has a winner on her hands. It is a well-plotted, page-turning mystery.”

—MyShelf.com

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Mary Ellen Hughes

Craft Corner Mysteries

WREATH OF DECEPTION

STRING OF LIES

PAPER-THIN ALIBI

Pickled & Preserved Mysteries

THE PICKLED PIPER

LICENSE TO DILL

SCENE OF THE BRINE

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

SCENE OF THE BRINE

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2016 by Mary Ellen Hughes.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices,
promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

BERKLEY
®
PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME design are trademarks of
Penguin Random House LLC.

For more information, visit
penguin.com
.

ISBN: 978-1-101-59285-4

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2016

Cover illustration by Chris O'Leary.

Cover design by Sarah Oberrender.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

This one's for two brothers and sisters-in-law who have always been a special part of my life:

Ed and Anita Lemanski, and Ted and Janet Lemanski

Acknowledgments

An author can research only so much online and through books. Sometimes discussions with experts in their fields are called for. First of all, a special shout-out to the men in blue who, besides working tirelessly to keep us safe, have always been so generous in sharing their expertise with me on various points of the law. It's very much appreciated, and any mistakes that slipped in are mine alone. I'm also grateful to Dianne Wienand Lemanski, who helped me better understand several points in the real estate business. Sheila Marchand was my go-to person on plants—both harmless and poisonous—and she's been great with helping me keep them straight.

Many thanks to my editor, Robin Barletta, for working closely with me to make this the best possible book, as well as the excellent behind-the-scenes team at Berkley. Of course, none of this would have started without the help and encouragement of my agent. Thanks again, Kim Lionetti.

I owe much to my first readers, the long-running Annapolis Critique group—Shaun Taylor Bevins, Becky Hutchison, Sherriel Mattingly, Debbi Mack, Bonnie Settle, and Marcia Talley. Thanks to all for their excellent comments on my early drafts. All criticism was constructive, as it should be, and very gratefully received.

As usual, my husband, Terry, deserves the patience award for being a willing sounding board whenever I ran into story problems. He's continually acted not simply as a listener but also a solver and idea stimulator. Though some pickles improve by sitting undisturbed, my stories get better with a lot of tossing around. Thanks so much for participating in the catch and throw, Terry. Love you!

1

B
ang!

Piper jumped at the noise. Then she smiled and shrugged. A little, well, a lot of noise in her pickling shop was more than fine with her. In fact, it was downright delightful. It meant she was on her way to getting a new front door to replace her old and cracked one. And not just any door. What Piper was having installed was a custom-made, absolutely beautiful, hand-carved door.

“Can you afford it?” Uncle Frank, ever practical, had asked when she'd described the creation to him and Aunt Judy.

“Amazingly, I can. Ralph Strawbridge quoted me a price that was not much above what I'd find in a Home Depot or Lowe's.”

It all came about when Ralph, a relative newcomer to Cloverdale, visited Piper's Picklings for the first time, interested in trying one or two of Piper's specialty pickles. As Piper ran through the list of choices, she'd noticed that Ralph's gaze had shifted to the wooden plaque she'd finally hung on her wall. The plaque had come from Thailand, sent by her ex-fiancé, Scott, several months ago as he traveled the world in his effort to “find himself.” Piper had held off on hanging the plaque, beautiful as it was, because of her extreme annoyance at the time with Scott, who was ignoring the fact that they were no longer a couple. But eventually it seemed a shame to keep such an exquisite piece hidden away in a closet.

Vegetables of all kinds had been carved into the wood—pineapples, squashes, beans, peppers, and more, along with delicately intertwining vines. The genial, forty-something man stared at it as if entranced.

“That is quite impressive,” he'd said. When Piper agreed, he'd added, “How would you like something like that on your entry door?” Ralph had gone on to explain that he was a professional woodworker, specializing in custom-made furniture. “I noticed your front door was in pretty bad shape. I could make a new one for you and pick up the theme from that plaque.”

As he described the door he could create for her, Piper salivated, so perfect did it sound for an entrance to her pickling shop. But she was sure anything of that sort would be way out of her budget.

“Not at all,” Ralph assured her. “Believe me, this project would be as much for me as for you. A door of that type would be a terrific challenge. I'd truly love to tackle it.” He then quoted her a price that astonished Piper, since it seemed to barely cover the materials.

“I look at it as good advertising,” Ralph said with a smile. “It'll be my personal billboard, since everyone who comes through your door will likely ask where it came from.”

“And I'll certainly tell them,” Piper said, amazed at what had dropped into her lap.

They'd discussed details and eventually set a time frame, and within weeks, on that mild, late April day, Ralph Strawbridge had begun work toward installing his hand-carved door. Piper could barely keep from grinning ear to ear.

Her old door had come off, and Ralph called her over to inspect the doorjamb. “There's definitely wood rot near the bottom,” he said, pointing to the areas on both sides. “I should replace the entire frame.”

Piper nodded. “I remember you mentioned that possibility. Go ahead with whatever you need to do.” Her several discussions with Ralph had convinced her he knew exactly what he was doing. She'd also carefully checked around before making a final commitment and found that in his few months in Cloverdale, Ralph Strawbridge had built a reputation for excellent work. The only surprising part was that he hadn't done a large amount of work—though it wasn't for lack of interested customers. He turned down three jobs for every one he took on; at least that was the impression Piper got. Apparently Ralph picked and chose only work that interested him, and Piper felt privileged to be one of the chosen few.

Having gotten Piper's go-ahead, Ralph jumped nimbly to his feet and scrambled through his tool box. His loose-fitting denims didn't camouflage a fit and trim body, a condition that seemed maintainable by the middle-aged only through consistent hard work or hours in the gym. Hard work was clearly Ralph's method, though judging from his obvious enthusiasm Piper doubted he'd call it work.

Ralph pulled out a pry bar and put it into position, ready to attack the door frame, but then stepped back as Sugar Heywood approached.

“Hey, there, Ralph,” Sugar said as she stepped gingerly through the doorway. “It's good to see you! How're you doing?”

“Doing great, Ms. Heywood.”

“Don't you
Ms. Heywood
me, Ralph. We shared too many cups of coffee in my kitchen for that.” She turned to Piper. “Ralph made me the most beautiful cabinet.”

“And Sugar made the best apple pie I've ever had,” Ralph said, grinning.

“Oh, go on,” Sugar said, laughing, but she didn't bother to deny it. Sheila “Sugar” Heywood was well known in Cloverdale as an excellent cook and a popular special events caterer. Piper was sure her apple pie fit Ralph's description perfectly.

“So, what in the world are you doing to Piper's doorway?” Sugar asked, and Piper jumped in with the answer, sure that Ralph would streamline his response, making the project sound like a simple repair job. When she finished, the attractive silver blond, Rubenesque-figured caterer looked properly impressed. “I can't wait to see that,” she said. “Ralph is absolutely the best.”

Ralph dipped his head in acknowledgment but looked ready to get on with his work, so Sugar said to Piper, “I'm hoping you have a few jars of those sweet cherries that you put up with brandy and red wine. I'll be making my almond cakes for Jeremy Porter's Realtors' dinner, and your cherries make the absolute perfect topping.”

“I have plenty,” Piper assured her. “Amy and I made a bunch last fall. There's two jars out front here and more in the back. How many do you need?”

“I'm sure I'll need at least a dozen.”

Piper smiled and shook her head, thinking how Sugar was certainly her best customer, picking up all varieties of Piper's pickles and preserves depending on her latest planned menu. “That's great,” Piper said, “but maybe you should think about making your own, sometime. It's easy enough, and I can walk you through the process as well as provide whatever equipment and seasonings you'd need. With all the farms around, including my uncle Frank's, you'd have no end of supplies of fresh fruits and vegetables. I'm just saying it might be more economical.”

“Piper, you don't know how I'd love to. But with all the cooking I'm already doing, I just don't have a single spare minute in my day. Besides, with the great variety you carry, it's so easy to walk in and grab what I need. I make a point, by the way, to share exactly where a pickle or a jam came from whenever my clients or their guests rave about it—which is often.”

“I appreciate that, Sugar. I've had more than one person come by because of that.” Piper led Sugar to her back room for the brandied cherries.

As Sugar helped Piper pull the jars from a shelf and load them into a cardboard box, she said, “I know you're going to be over the moon with Ralph's door. He does truly amazing work. And he's a fantastic guy, as well.” She paused until the screeching sound of nails being pulled out of wood assured her Ralph was out of hearing distance, then confided, “I would have been more interested in the man if he had a little more ambition.”

When Piper looked over in surprise, she added. “Don't get me wrong, Piper. I'm not a snob in any way whatsoever. Heaven knows, I've worked my share of minimum-wage jobs when we lived back in Texas and was glad for them. But I made up my mind early on that I wouldn't let myself get stuck. I intended to do a lot better for Zach's sake, and in time I did.”

Piper knew Zach was Sugar's twenty-year-old son. “I've only known you since I moved to Cloverdale myself last August,” she said. “Your catering business seems to be going great, but I take it, it wasn't always so?”

“Heavens, no. I started it only a few years ago after scraping up enough money to get things going. I'm talking about waitressing, short-order cooking, and so many other jobs that I can't even remember. But I
always
had the goal of running my own catering business and to make it the biggest and the best I could. I don't see any point in not aiming high.”

Sugar glanced toward the carpentry noises with a hint of wistfulness. “Ralph is a great guy in many ways. But with his skills, he could do so much more! I mean, he turns down work right and left and spends three times as long as any other craftsman on the jobs he does take. He does wonderful work but he'll never get beyond barely scraping by with working like that, which drives me crazy. By comparison, look at Jeremy Porter. He started out years ago selling little starter homes and now he heads his own real estate company. That really impresses me.”

Piper counted the jars they'd loaded, then closed the flaps of the box over them, thinking about Sugar's comment. Jeremy Porter was a bachelor about Sugar's age, and highly successful, judging by the large house he'd bought a year or so ago when he moved to Cloverdale. The house was a historic mansion, built during the late 1800s by one of the area's railroad barons. Sugar had mentioned that she was catering a business dinner for Porter. But something about the tone of Sugar's voice and the look on her face when she mentioned him made Piper wonder if . . .

“Are you seeing him?” Piper blurted, then clapped her hand to her mouth. “I'm sorry. That just came out. It's none of my business.”

Sugar grinned. “I am, and don't worry about it. I'm sure it's common knowledge.”

“Then I'm the last to know.” What had happened, Piper wondered, to the Cloverdale “news spreaders” who certainly hadn't missed a beat when Piper went on a first date with Will Burchett? Was there a virus going around that had struck half the population dumb? If so, was there a way to capture and hold on to it for future use?

“That's great, Sugar. I haven't met Jeremy Porter yet, but if you like him I'm sure he's wonderful.”

“It's been a bit of a whirlwind,” Sugar admitted, “but I'm loving it. I haven't dated anyone seriously for ages, what with trying to be a good mom to Zach as well as get my business going. But with Zach off in college now, I'm totally ready for a little
me
time.”

Piper smiled. “How's Zach doing?”

“Wonderfully! He loves his major—botany—and it shows, 'cause he's made the dean's list every semester. Zach's home now on spring break. Which reminds me.” Sugar picked up her box of brandied cherries and started walking toward the shop front. “I promised to pick up a couple of books being held for him at the library. Can you imagine?” she said. “Studying on spring break!” She rolled her eyes but her pride shone through.

Piper grinned, thinking there were worse ways to spend your time on a school break, some of which she might have actually tried herself eight or nine years ago, though nobody in Cloverdale needed to hear about that. She rang up Sugar's purchase and as the caterer hefted her box once again to leave, Ralph noticed and stepped over to gallantly take it from her. Piper watched as the two walked together toward Sugar's car, chatting and smiling and looking for all the world like a couple extremely comfortable with each other.

When Ralph returned, he told Piper he'd have to run out to get the wood for the new doorjamb. “Your doorway will have to stay open until tonight, so you might want to keep an eye out for stray dogs and such.”

“I haven't come across any dogs with a taste for pickles yet,” Piper said, “so I think we're safe. It's a perfect day for letting fresh air in, though.” She breathed in appreciatively. “Springlike, but no insects to worry about yet. So an open doorway definitely works for me today.”

“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.