Death of the Pickle King by Marlene Chabot

Author:Marlene Chabot
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery cozy sleuth fiction pickles recipes
Publisher: Marlene Chabot
Published: 2019-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

~28~

Day 11

I had a rough night. Barely slept. It was the worst night of my life as far as I was concerned, except for possibly the night in fourth grade when I had flu like symptoms and the appendix almost ruptured. But then how does one compare an appendix to a budding relationship on a scale from zero to twenty, especially when a man gladly spends the night, but not where one would expect.

You see, last night when whiteout conditions prevented Trevor from driving back to his hotel, super gracious Aunt Zoe readily offered the sleeper couch to him. Yes, yes. At least I kept my virginity intact. Yay. But did Aunt Zoe really have to stay and act as chaperone, sharing the full size bed with me when Margaret has a spare bed at her place.

I glanced at my aunt who was snoring away. I guess last night’s arrangements were for the best. I’d no idea where the brief dating Trevor and I’d done thus far was headed. It could be trivial or end up being grand—with wedding bells, flower girls, and a six-tiered cake. Of course, I keep thinking the same about David and me.

I listened for the roar of snowplows, but heard not a peep. I suppose I should get out of bed and make Trevor a gourmet breakfast, wearing apron and all and play Martha Stewart, but there wasn’t much in the way of breakfast foods except, cereal, bread, juice, and coffee. Besides, as soon as the roads get cleared we’d both be hustling out and heading in different directions, him to classes and me to work.

A knock at the entrance door finally jarred me into action. Before I charged down the hallway, I grabbed the ratty-looking terry bathrobe I’d left at the end of the bed last night and tossed it on. The attire wasn’t glamorous, but I didn’t care. It was more important to stop the knocking.

I won’t be receiving the medal for the ten yard dash after all. Trevor, dressed in exercise pants and short sleeve shirt, was already handling the early morning visitor with his K9 dog. If that scene didn’t invoke danger for the person on the other side of the door nothing would. Feeling safe, I eased up behind him.

“Hi, can I help you?” Trevor asked amiably in a relaxed stance.

“What the heck are you doing here? Rod Thompson said in a quarrelsome mood. “I didn’t expect to run into you.” Duke growled.

Oh, boy. Here we go again.

“Where’s Mary?” he asked. “I came by to talk to her.”

I stuck my hand out from behind Trevor’s back and waved. “Right here,” and then I stepped next to Trevor. “Whatever you have to say, Rod, you can say in front of Trevor.” I planned to make the man sweat bullets. He deserved it after wrecking Trevor’s and my perfect evening at Ziggy Piggy’s.

Rod pouted. “Fine,” he said, “but could you at least get the dog to back off? He’s making me nervous.”

I braced my hands on my hips.

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