Free A Real Pickle by Jessica Beck Page B

water.”  He stood, raised his glass dramatically, and then my grandfather said, “To Curtis Trane, one of the better men that I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”
    After he drank, my grandfather sat back down.  I’d looked around the table as Moose made the sentimental gesture, and I saw a smile from Jeffrey, but the others were clearly unimpressed.  
    Soon enough, the appetizer was replaced by cold vichyssoise soup.  
    “Cook is off his game tonight,” Sarah said after she took a small sip of the soup.
    “I think it’s delicious,” I said.
    “You clearly aren’t used to the level of perfection we expect here,” Sarah said, almost as though she was speaking in sympathy.  “You run a truck stop; is that right?”
    “It’s the best diner in our part of North Carolina,” Moose said.  For a moment I thought he was going to leave his seat he was so upset, but I put a hand on his shoulder and he settled back down.
    “Of course.  Forgive me,” Sarah said.  “What type of fare do you normally serve there?”
    “You name it, and we can make it,” I replied.
    It was pretty clear that she doubted that with all of her heart, but I wasn’t about to let her get under my skin.  “What is it exactly that you do, Sarah?”
    She looked at me defiantly.  “I’m a student of life.”
    “Wow, what does that pay?” Moose asked.
    “Everything in this world is not about money,” Sarah snapped.
    Moose wasn’t about to back down, though.  “It can be if you don’t have any, but then I’m not talking to anyone who’s ever felt that way, am I?”
    Charlotte stepped in before things got any bloodier.  “Could we all strive to be more civil to each other, particularly during this meal?  Let’s try to focus on the good memories we’ve all had of my brother.  We at least owe him that.  Agreed?”
    The family nodded their assents readily enough, and Jeffrey added his as well.  Moose and I really didn’t have much choice to agree without looking heartless and uncaring.  It was a clever move on Charlotte’s part, and I had to wonder if she had prompted her niece to goad us into an argument so she could use it against us.
    After that, enveloped in idle chitchat that did nothing to advance our investigation, we had an excellent roast with baby carrots and new potatoes that I wished my husband could have tasted.  The cook had used an unusual spice combination on the roast’s rub, and I knew that Greg would have been able to identify every ingredient.  After that, we had light and crispy salads, and then dessert and coffee.  The chocolate truffles were amazing, but I restrained myself and didn’t clear the tray, as difficult as it was for me to do.
    “That was wonderful,” I told Charlotte after the meal was completed.  “Would it be appropriate for me to give my compliments to the chef?”
    “Don’t praise him too much,” Sarah said.  “I still believe that the soup was a bit bland.”
    “It was fine, Sarah,” Tristan said.  
    “What do you know about the art of good food?” she asked.  It was clear that the tiptoeing part of our evening was over.  “Or good art of any kind?”
    “I’m warning you,” Tristan said before Charlotte spoke up.
    “Enough.”  The single word was enough to get them to agree to a reluctant truce.  
    Jeffrey took the opportunity to say, “If you’ll excuse us, I need to go over some reports with Crane tonight.”
    “It’s not all about business, young man,” Charlotte said.
    “Not always, but this is important,” Crane said.  He turned to Jeffrey and suggested, “Let’s go into the study and work where we won’t disturb anyone.”
    “That would be fine,” Jeffrey said.  “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
    “You’re not coming with me?” Crane asked.
    “I need to have a word in private with Moose and Victoria first,” he said.
    It was clear that Crane wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of being kept waiting by a