A Real Pickle by Jessica Beck

was no room for art here, no tapestries.  The volumes were the art.  Large, comfortable chairs were everywhere, and there was even a broad wooden table near the fireplace, with seating for an even dozen.
    Just five places were taken at the moment, though.  
    I was surprised to see that Jeffrey occupied one of them, and I smiled at him.  He nodded in return, but he didn’t speak.
    “May I present Sarah Harper, Tristan Wellborne, Christopher Crane, and Charlotte Trane.  You’ve met Jeffrey already,” Humphries said.  As he spoke each name, the person in question offered us a nod, but no more.  Sarah Harper looked to be somewhere in her mid-twenties.  She was wearing a wispy dress that accentuated her slight figure, and she might be called pretty in the right light, but this clearly wasn’t it.  Her front teeth were a little too prominent, and her forehead a bit too broad.  Tristan was a few years older, wearing a casual shirt and slacks that both fit him snugly.  What Sarah lacked in looks, Tristan made up for double.  He was handsome, even devilishly so, and from his grin, I knew that he would be trouble to any woman who might catch his fancy.  Christopher Crane, somewhere in his mid-sixties, was wearing a three-piece suit, and from the way he carried himself, I wondered if he slept in it as well.  That left Charlotte Trane, Curtis’s sister.  She must have been his younger sister, because I doubted that she was much past sixty herself.  She wore a suit as well, and from her demeanor, I was guessing that she was always business, all of the time.
    Moose and I knew who we were dealing with now, but we still needed a program to tell us how each of them was connected to Curtis other than his sister, Charlotte.  I was still trying to figure out how to learn what their relationships were when Moose spoke up beside me.  “We were two of the last people on earth that Curtis befriended,” he said.  “My granddaughter and I have come here to learn more about him, and I hope that you’ll indulge us.”  Moose winked at me, and then he added, “Curtis encouraged us to write about him recently, since he knew that Victoria and I have had some success in the past.”
    This was news to me, and I wondered how long Moose had been holding onto that particular ploy.  I had to admire the cover story.  It would certainly allow us to ask some rather nosy questions as we tried to get to the bottom of Curtis’s murder.  What credentials did we have, though?  Maybe no one would ask.
    “Pardon me for asking, but what makes you qualified to do that?” Charlotte Trane asked pointedly.
    Moose hadn’t been expecting it, but I’d had a moment to consider our options.  “We write under a pseudonym,” I said.  “It’s all very hush-hush, so I’m afraid that we aren’t allowed to say more than that.  The nondisclosure agreements publishers use these days are really pretty dreadful.”
    My grandfather nodded his approval of my addition to his story.  “That explains why Curtis wanted us here, but what brings you all to the table?”
    A few of them looked shocked that he had the nerve to even ask that kind of question, but Moose was bold, and he knew that if he kept quiet, someone would start talking, if only to fill the silence.  I knew better than to interrupt him myself.  I’d studied at his knee, and I liked to think on my best day that I was his equal, though I was probably just kidding myself.
    Finally, Sarah broke the silence.  “Of course.  You know Jeffrey; he brought you here.  For some reason, my uncle placed a great deal of trust in him, and he is acting as executor of the estate.”
    Jeffrey waved and offered a slight smile, but again, he didn’t speak.  Sarah went on.  “This is my older brother, Tristan, or Tris, if you like.”
    “I prefer Tristan, actually,” the young man said, and as he did, he smiled broadly at me.  Wow.  I was a happily married woman, but I’d still have to