Free License to Dill by Mary Ellen Hughes

row for his busy November-December season. She wished him a safe trip and promised to update him on the situation when he got back.
    The next morning, expecting a busy day, Piper fortified herself with a breakfast of oatmeal and toast topped with her own strawberry jam and, of course, coffee. Lots of coffee.
    When she raised the shade on her shop door, hopefully prepared to face the onslaught of rehashings and minute-by-minute updates of the previous day’s events, to her surprise the first person she saw heading toward Piper’s Picklings was Erin. Quiet, mind-her-own-business Erin.
    This longtime friend of Amy’s had flexible hours, Piper knew, working part-time at Dr. Dickerson’s office while taking classes at the community college in nearby Bellingham. But Piper was still surprised that Erin, instead of all the more news-spreading townspeople (Piper carefully avoided the word “gossiping”), was the first to arrive on this extremely newsworthy morning. However, given a choice, calm and sensible Erin would have been a strong favorite.
    Piper unlocked her door and held it open as the young woman approached.
    â€œYou’re out early,” she said. Erin was dressed for her receptionist’s job, having paired a pale yellow sweater, which complemented her brunette coloring, with a dark, knee-length skirt.
    â€œI have to be at Dr. Dickerson’s in a few minutes, but I wanted to get this to Amy today.” She held out the book she’d been carrying. “It’s a library book she asked me to pick up for her when I was there. I know Amy sleeps in after working late at A La Carte, so I thought I’d leave it here. Is that okay?”
    â€œOf course. Come on in. Want some coffee?”
    Erin stepped in but turned down the coffee, saying, “I’ll get plenty at the office.” She paused. “As well as an earful about what happened yesterday.”
    Piper noticed dark shadows under Erin’s eyes. “This is upsetting you.”
    Erin nodded, grimacing. “I like the Standleys. I got to know Miranda when we were both in chorus. She was two years behind me at school, but she sang second soprano, like me. We were about the same height, so we were usually next to each other. I like her a lot.”
    Erin reached over to straighten a pickling cookbook that jutted out of line on its shelf. “And Mrs. Standley,” she said, “came along sometimes when the chorus traveled for performances. She was always really nice. I hate to think what they might be going through. People are saying Mr. Standley might be in a lot of trouble.”
    â€œâ€˜Might’ is the operative word,” Piper cautioned. “So far I haven’t heard of anything beyond his being questioned, which is absolutely normal and routine, I’d say, when a body has been found on your property.”
    â€œI tried to call Miranda, but I can’t get through.”
    â€œShe’s probably being barraged with calls right now. Give it a day or so, Erin. Maybe everything will be straightened out by then. Have you talked to Ben lately? Does he know anything more than the rest of us?”
    â€œNo, I don’t think so. The sheriff had him helping out at the Standley’s farm yesterday, but he was mostly there to move curious onlookers along. Today he’s back in his office. I’ll call him at lunchtime. He might have heard something by then.”
    â€œLet me know if he does, okay?”
    â€œI will.” Erin saw Piper’s gaze shift over her shoulder and turned to see Mrs. Tilley approaching the shop. “I’d better get to work,” she said, returning an errant purse strap back to her shoulder. She held the door for Mrs. Tilley, both exchanging polite greetings.
    Mrs. Tilley, a regular customer at Piper’s Picklings, smiled as she stepped in. “I just wanted to pick up some cinnamon and cloves,” she explained and proceeded to pluck the