by Elaine Macko
“Janet, could you leave us alone. I’m sure Alex has some things she wants to discuss with me.”
Neither one of us had heard Sophie enter the room. She stood there in a pair of gray slacks and gray cardigan over a pale pink silk blouse. Her hair was once again swept up on top of her head, showing off her long, graceful neck.
“You have such a lovely granddaughter.”
I admit I said it as a dig and Sophie looked at me like I was crazy, shook her head, and sat down.
“You were here yesterday so I assume you’ve found out something.” Sophie looked at me expectantly.
“Actually, I have a few more questions. You were aware of the fact that Humphrey went to New York a couple times in the last month?”
“Yes. To some art gallery or another.”
“Do you have any idea why he would do that?”
“Humph liked art. We have some nice pieces around the house and there’s some stuff that belonged to his family.”
“Is it worth a lot?”
Sophie shrugged. “We purchased some nice things when we first married, but nothing that would break the bank. As for his family collection, I have no idea. The paintings and other things have been with us since I married Humphrey. He liked them and said they had sentimental family value, but I’ve never given them much thought. Why do you ask?”
“I have reason to believe he may have been trying to sell them?”
Sophie’s body tensed and her lips settled into a thin line. “I should have known. Humphrey didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. If he held onto anything it was only because of its monetary value. So he was going to pocket the money.” Sophie walked over to the big bay window looking out onto the ocean. “It doesn’t matter. I would have had enough coming my way just from the things I knew about.” She turned back to me, obviously still rankled her husband had tried to pull one over on her. “So what did he sell and how much did he get?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. Is anything missing?”
Sophie looked around the room. “Nothing here. Humph kept a few things in his study. I’ll be right back.”
While Sophie went to check the study I got up and looked at some of the paintings on the walls. I knew next to nothing about art and most of these were signed by people with European-sounding names I didn’t recognize. I had no idea if they were originals or not and then I had a thought. Maybe that’s what Humphrey was doing at the gallery—trying to gather more information about his family’s art works.
“Everything is exactly where it should be in his office. Humph knew a lot of people. Perhaps he simply knew the owner of the gallery and stopped in for a social call. By the way, I’m going to Wisconsin to visit my sister for a few days. Here’s my cell phone number if you find anything out or have any more questions.”
I left Sophie and headed back to the turnpike. Humphrey wouldn’t go all the way to New York to visit a friend and then stay for such a short time. And if he was friends with the gallery owner, why not go to lunch together? No, Humphrey Bryson was up to no good. Now I just needed to find out what that was.
Chapter 29
Did the fact Sophie could find nothing missing from her home mean the gallery owner was not in possession of any of Humphrey’s artwork? If that was the case then there would be no reason for him to kill Humphrey. If Mr. Hildebrand had nothing to sell and no money to pocket, why would he want to do Humphrey in? Of course, maybe good old Humph had made a pass at Suzanne, causing a jealous rage in her boss. And then what? Mr. Hildebrand drove to Indian Cove on a cold January night and waited for his chance to shove a pickle down the miserable old coot’s throat? I didn’t think so. So could I safely cross the gallery owner off my list of suspects?
The more I thought about this the more I decided, no, I needed to leave him right where he was. The truth is, maybe Humphrey didn’t give Mr. Hildebrand anything to sell and that was why he got killed—he promised the goods and then didn’t deliver. Alastair Hildebrand was still on my list of suspects.
As I drove, I returned to my conversation with Sophie. She said nothing was missing but I could see a couple of things wrong with that statement. One, maybe she was lying and planned to contact the gallery owner herself and retrieve whatever it was, or two, Humphrey took something to the gallery that Sophie didn’t know he had. I wasn’t sure how I could verify either theory, but hopefully something would eventually fall into my lap, which would lead me in the right direction.
I felt deflated. My talk with the widow didn’t clarify a thing. I still had no idea if Humphrey and Mr. Hildebrand were working together to sell off valuable works of art, and if so, how did it all tie in to his murder.
I was almost to the turnpike when I took a sharp turn and drove over to the Dupre home. I really wanted to speak with Sid without Marie around, but wasn’t sure how to accomplish that. And then I got a bit of luck. I was about six houses away from their home when I saw Sid pull out of his driveway. From what I could see, it looked like he was alone so I hung back a bit and let him get some distance between us. With any luck he wouldn’t be going too far and maybe I could get a few minutes with the man.
I continued to follow him for several miles, allowing a couple of cars to get between us. After another mile he pulled into a small strip mall with a hardware store. I waited for him to park and walk inside while I thought about a plausible excuse to be here and then I got out and went into the store.
Sid Dupre was nowhere in sight so I picked up a bottle of drain cleaner and then walked up and down the aisles until I found him.
“Mr. Dupre? Hello. It’s Alex Harris. I met you on Sunday at your home and I was at the pickleball game yesterday.”
“Oh, right, right.” He looked at the bottle in my hand. “Problems with your drains?”
“Tub. It’s taking a long time for the water to empty. Listen, I was hoping to catch you yesterday, but there were so many people around. I had a couple more questions if you have a minute.”
“Sure. Come on. I’m looking for a hose for the washing machine. Ours is about to give out and the last thing I need is water running all over the new hardwood floors we just had placed in the kitchen. Marie would have a fit.”
I followed him to the aisle with a bunch of rubber hoses and brackets and watched while he looked at a few. I loved these small mom and pop hardware stores, which for some reason always seemed to be located near a beach. During the summer they carried a wonderful selection of beach toys and Sam and I got to pick out new stuff at the beginning of the season when we were kids.
“Well, look at that. Exactly what I want. If you have some time, just let me pay for these and we can grab a coffee next door.”
I followed Sid to the checkout counter, paid for my drain cleaner and then we walked next door to a small coffee shop. Sid ordered a coffee for him and a tea for me and brought them to our little table by the window.
“Where’s Marie?” I asked.
“Zumba. I swear, she loves that stuff. Not me. I would rather go for a walk or play pickleball.” Sid tossed a packet of sugar into his coffee while I thought about all the zumba classes Marie took. Is that where she really was or was zumba a euphemism for some play time with Tony or Norbert or some other man I didn’t know about yet? I still hadn’t spoken with Norbert and I needed to rectify that as soon as possible.
“So what else did you want to ask me?” Sid removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair.
“What are your chances of getting the snow plow contract back now that Humphrey is dead?”
“I’d say great considering I met with the council yesterday. Those idiots over in Jersey never even had a contract. Humphrey wasn’t into doing things right. So the business of supplying the area with snow plows and maintaining them is back where it belongs. I hope you’re not thinking I would have killed the man over the plows. I knew he did it without the proper authority. I would have gotten it back no matter what. It was just a nuisance.”
“I overhead some people at the game yesterday talking about how mad you’d get when Humphrey flirted with Marie.”
Sid’s brown eyes flashed. “How would you like some woman fawning all over your husband? Do you have a husband?”
“Yes, I’m married and I guess I wouldn’t like it too much, but at the same time, I trust John, that’s my husband, completely so it would be annoying, but we’d probably laugh it off. I assume you trust Marie, too. I can’t believe you were really jealous about Humphrey.” I gave Sid a small smile. I didn’t want him having any outbursts here in the coffee shop like he had had at the supper, but I needed to introduce Cyril’s comments.
“Someone mentioned to me that after I stopped the fight between you and Humphrey, you confronted him again. There was some pushing involved.”
Sid was perilously close to crushing his cup of coffee. I pushed back a bit from the table hoping to avoid hot coffee spray, but then he calmed down.
“It wasn’t about Marie the second time. I told him he better stop messing around with my business.”
“But you just told me you were certain you would get it back because the New Jersey deal wasn’t legit.”
“True. But in the meantime I had a staff on hand. The maintenance guys. What was I going to do with them until we got the snow plow contract back? Humphrey butting into my business caused a lot of time and effort on my part and down time for my team, at least some of them, and I was tired of it. So I pushed him and told him to knock it off.”
“And what did Humphrey say to that?” I asked.
Sid scratched his head. “He said, sure, he’d talk with Marie and the contract would be mine again soon. I asked him what Marie had to do with anything and he just laughed.”
“Did you mention any of this to your wife?”
“Sure. She said she had no idea what the heck Humph was talking about.”
I sat there sipping my tea wondering if Sid was really that naïve about Marie and her men or if he knew all along what his wife and Humphrey were up to and had finally had enough. And then another thought occurred to me—Marie may have overheard the exchange at the supper and got nervous Humphrey would spill the beans about what she and he had been up to. I had two very good suspects in one family. And then another thought hit me—maybe they did it together.
Chapter 30
I picked my mom up at eight the next morning. She had made us each a sandwich and filled two thermos bottles with hot tea. You’d think we were going off to battle, and in a way, I guess, we were. It was my first day of treatment to battle this disease, which had invaded my body. Autoimmune diseases seemed to run in my family with a couple of aunts and uncles having diabetes. I would have preferred my mother passing on the genes for her luscious thick hair instead of her RA, but no one goes through life unscathed by something, and if this was the worst it got for me, I really have to count myself lucky.
“They’re going to do a blood test first and then give you an antihistamine before the treatment starts,” my mother said as she buckled herself into my front seat.
“What’s the pill for?” I asked.
“An allergy tablet. Just in case you have an adverse reaction.”
An adverse reaction? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what kind of adverse reaction that might be. I had seen too many TV commercials for various drugs and the possible side effects always sounded far worse than the disease. You usually got a few seconds touting the virtues of the medication and about sixty seconds telling you all the things you needed to be afraid of. Maybe I was being lax about my own health, but some things are just better left unexplored. At this point I didn’t seem to have much of a choice, and I had seen firsthand how the treatment had helped my mom all these years, thank god, with none of the dreaded adverse reactions.
We arrived at the clinic, which was attached to the local community hospital, and found a parking spot in an already-full lot. I guess lots of people had autoimmune diseases and cancer. Not a happy thought, but at least there was help.
“We have a full house this morning,” Kathy, a cheery nurse said to my mom. “Would you two mind sharing a small room we have at the back? We only use it on very busy days.”
We followed Kathy down a hall to the back room, passing other patients already hooked up to IV bottles.
“Lots of chemo patients today. People put stuff off over the holidays and we’re playing catch up,” Kathy said to me. “Your first time?” I nodded. “You’ll do fine and isn’t it nice you can be with your mom.”
After we were settled into very comfy recliners, made more so by a warm blanket placed over me, Kathy brought in IVs of saline solution. She hooked my mom up first and then it was my turn.
“How about if I use your right hand,” Kathy said. “I see a nice vein. You’ll just feel a pinch.”
I turned my head and winced when the needle went in and a second later she was taping the line to my arm and hooking me up to the IV bag.
“I’ll be right back with the rest shortly.”
“Why the saline solution?” I asked my mom.
“They just started that about a year ago. Not sure why. She’ll hook the treatment right to your IV line so you won’t be getting another poke.”
My mother handed me a thermos and I took a sip of the warm tea. Kathy came back, attached the other bag of solution to my IV, did the same for my mom, and was gone.
“They drip it slowly so she’ll be back every fifteen minutes to increase the speed. Don’t worry when you hear the alarm go off.”
I watched the clear liquid drip into the line. I felt anxious and was glad my first treatment was with my mom. With any luck, all of our treatments could be on the same day.
“Just sit back, dear,” my mom said. “It’ll be fine. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me how you’re progressing with the pickle murder.”
I realized I wasn’t the only one who felt anxious. My mom had been receiving these treatments for years, but I had a feeling it was something she never got used to—watching poison drip into her body and the fear of adverse reactions, whatever they might be. We needed a diversion and murder sounded like a good one to me.
Chapter 31
My mother had worked as a secretary and office manager before she retired so it was no surprise when she put up her hand to stop my ramblings and pulled a pad and pen from her tote bag.
“Alex, you have too many suspects. That’s why you can’t get a handle on this case. Now, start at the beginning and give me all the names and why you think they might have killed Mr. Bryson and maybe we can weed some of them out.”
“Well, I guess the first two suspects would be Mr. and Mrs. Dupre. Sid and Marie. Sid because Humphrey was always touching Marie and rubbing it in, and also because Humphrey was trying to ruin his business; and Marie because she was sick of having to meet Humph down at the beach. She may also have known Humphrey was having her followed and knew about the other guys. I don’t think she did until I told her, but you never know.”
“No, we mustn’t assume anything. If she’s a killer, she’d have her cover story in place. Okay, who else?”
My mother was having a lot of fun with this. I didn’t know if I should be happy about it or upset that I had created yet another monster. I seemed to drag my entire family into my sleuthing, what with my grandmother and her gang and my sister and even Millie and Marla. But what the heck, the more the merrier, and I did need another set of eyes on this one because I really had no idea who did Humphrey in.
“Then there’s another couple, Phyllis and Lester Holt. Humphrey was blackmailing Phyllis into meeting him because he found out somehow that she had had a drinking problem at some point. I’m not too sure of a motive for Lester except he may have found out what Humphrey was doing to Phyllis. Also, Lester had plans to run against Humph in the next city election and maybe he just wanted to do away with the competition.”
“This is good.” My mother was positively giddy. Geesh.
“Okay
, who else?” I took a deep breath. “Well, of course the widow because the spouse is always the guilty party. She wanted a divorce and she says she was okay with getting her share of Humphrey’s legal businesses, but who knows. Maybe she found out he had extensive wealth he had kept hidden all these years and she wanted her share of that too.”
The alarm on the IV machine sounded causing me to slosh tea onto the blanket. Kathy came in and adjusted our IVs and then left us alone.
“There’s also the PI, Terry Roder. He started out following Humphrey, but then ended up working for him by following Marie. Maybe he and Humphrey got into a fight over payment or something. I also met a couple guys over at the pickleball game on Tuesday. One was Tony Moretti. He’s one of the men Marie was sleeping with. Humphrey was blackmailing him over it, so he certainly had a motive.”
“How about the other guy?” my mother asked.
“Cyril Mayfair. I don’t think he was being blackmailed, but he was most likely being bullied by Humphrey.”
My mother took a sip of her tea and then looked at me. “Are you thinking it had to be someone from the pickleball group?”
I shook my head. “You know, Mom, at first I thought so, but Shirley Reynolds and I went to New York yesterday. We wanted to check out a gallery where Humphrey went a couple weeks ago.”
“Shirley Reynolds?”
I explained the story around the gallery and the dubious background of its owner to my mom.
“I also talked with Meme’s group—Fred, Walter, and Howard. I hated doing it, but they were at the supper. They all thought Humphrey was a pain in the neck, but kill him? I just can’t see it.”
“I hope it doesn’t come down to that for your grandmother’s sake,” my mother added. “Do you think the calendar had anything to do with the murder?”
I thought about this for a moment while I sipped my tea. “I don’t really see how. Seymour did tell me Humphrey asked if he could take some pictures for a calendar Humphrey wanted to pass out during the next city election campaign. Seymour refused and that was that. Humphrey may have been jealous of the attention all the guys were getting over the calendar, but why would that get him killed?”