Free Scene of the Brine by Mary Ellen Hughes

choice. However, Zach was a student of plant life. Could that have offered a special intellectual satisfaction that made it appealing?
    Piper shook her head. She was thinking much too far ahead. The sheriff was simply questioning Zach. Hopefully, Sugar’s son could verify his actions and whereabouts during the critical time. And that would be the end of it. Piper added the carrots to her simmering vinegar mixture, then left them to check on her jars in their water bath.
    The jars of spicy carrots had been filled and sealed and were cooling when Piper heard an unfamiliar voice carrying from the front of the shop. In a moment, Amy appeared at the doorway.
    â€œThere’s a lady who would like to speak with you,” she said. From the pucker of Amy’s brow, Piper guessed it wasn’t a customer wanting pickling advice. A salesperson? A charity donation request?
    â€œWho is it?” Piper asked.
    Amy paused, glancing back to the front of the store, then whispered, “It’s Lydia Porter. Jeremy Porter’s mother!”

9

    P iper took a moment to gather herself before stepping out to meet Lydia Porter. She glanced down at her apron, which had become spotted with spicy-carrot splashes, but let it stay. If evidence of Piper’s hard work offended Jeremy Porter’s mother, so be it. She could deal with it.
    â€œMiss Lamb,” the silvery-coiffed, short but somehow still imposing woman said, holding out her hand. “Lydia Porter. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
    In a blue Chanel-styled suit, heels, and a string of pearls, Lydia Porter appeared dressed more for an elegant lunch than a visit to Piper’s shop. Piper shook her hand, which wouldn’t have surprised her if it’d been white-gloved, and responded cordially. What was Lydia Porter doing there at a time like that? Mrs. Porter quickly illuminated her.
    â€œI wanted to personally invite you to my tea. Somehow yours was not included in the invitations that were sent out. I’m here to rectify that unforgivable oversight.”
    â€œYou’re still holding the tea?” Piper asked, surprised.
    â€œOh, yes. I so want to get to know Cloverdale and its residents.”
    And carefully cull the ones who don’t meet your standards?
Piper badly wanted to stand up for Sugar Heywood but decided to hold off and listen. Amy had gone into the back room but left the dividing door open and was probably all ears herself.
    â€œI understand from one of the ladies at the Cloverdale Women’s Club that you recently moved here from Albany?” Lydia asked.
    â€œThat’s right. Several months ago.”
    â€œAlbany is my family home as well,” Lydia said with a satisfied smile. “You may know of my uncle, Congressman Wardell Smyth?”
    â€œUm . . .”
    â€œAn extremely effective representative for our state during the Roosevelt and Truman administrations. He was seriously considered to be Harry Truman’s vice president but then Alben Barkley, you know . . .” Lydia’s voice trailed off, hinting at possible political machinations that had insidiously blocked Congressman Smyth’s much-deserved political rise.
    Piper nodded as sympathetically as she could manage, still puzzled as to what had brought about this personal invitation to Lydia’s tea.
    â€œYour parents, I hear, are renowned archaeologists.” Lydia said, smiling.
    Ah! That was it.
Piper was tempted to respond that no, she had been raised by two high school dropout hippies whose commune, in addition to decrying anything governmental, still enthusiastically practiced free love—just to see the look on Lydia’s face. But in fairness to her parents, she nodded. “They’ve had some success in their field.”
    â€œAnd are they in the area?”
    â€œSadly, no. They are currently on a dig on one of the Greek islands.”
    â€œHow disappointing. I would have loved to meet