by Elaine Macko
“And her fair share of the pie,” I added.
Robert treated me to his snarky smile again. “Exactly. She has a good lawyer and things were falling into place.”
“Okay. I’m ready. Shall we take your car, Robert?” Sophie asked. She had put on a fresh coat of lipstick and a beautiful tweed coat.
“Certainly. I’m just going to need some money for gas.” Robert smiled at his mother.
“Of course you are.”
Chapter 16
Terry Roder was a nasty piece of work. He lived in a one-room apartment in an older and somewhat seedier part of Pirates Cove. The place reeked of grease and onions and whether he got a lot of take-out or liked frying stuff up on his one-burner stove, I had no idea. I placed Mr. Roder in his late forties and even though he seemed to have questionable eating habits, he was well built with strong arm muscles bulging from under his shirt. He obviously got more exercise than sitting in a car taking pictures of philandering husbands would provide.
“So, you’re helping Sophie look into her husband’s death. Aren’t the police doing that?” Mr. Roder leaned back in the only other chair in the room beside the one I currently occupied.
“Well, yes, of course they are. A murder was committed after all, but she was hoping I might be able to get to the bottom of things more quickly and keep certain, shall we say unsavory, aspects of her life out of the papers.”
“You mean like her husband bonking a few women down at the beach?”
“So you saw him?”
“Yeah, that’s what the wife was paying me to do and I got the pictures, but there wasn’t a lot of bonking going on. The old geezer didn’t have it in him, you know what I mean, but he still managed to get those women into his car. So I got to thinking, why would they do that? These were some good looking broads, you know what I mean?”
“So you followed those women?” I asked.
“For a while. But the one with red hair wasn’t doing anything. Just working with a bunch of kids. Tutoring or something. Now, the other one, the real looker, she likes men and they like her. Her husband owns a dealership and I figured she’d have a lot to lose if he found out what his wife was up to after those yoga classes or whatever they are, you know what I mean?”
I tried to keep judgment out of my voice. “Yes, I think I’m beginning to understand. So you threatened to tell her husband if she, what? Didn’t pay you? You were blackmailing her?”
Terry Roder ran his hands through his thick rust-colored hair and then clasped them behind his head. “That was my initial plan, but no. I got a call from Humphrey Bryson himself. He knew I was following him and knew I was following the two broads and wanted to know what I had on them. Wanted me to find out some stuff on some guy, too, a Mr. Wronkovich.
“Why Mr. Wronkovich?”
Mr. Roder shrugged. “Who knows. As long as I get paid, I’ll dig up dirt on anyone he wants. The guy’s in some calendar and if you ask me, I think Humphrey was pissed he wasn’t asked to be in it. So anyway, he started to pay me to feed him information on the looker. Marie. Marie Dupre. He already knew she was meeting some other guy on the side, but he wanted as much dirt as I could find.”
I put up my hand. “Stop. Wait a minute. Mrs. Bryson hires you to spy on her husband and then you turn around and give him all the information?”
“Hey, it wasn’t like I went to him. He called me. I guess I got a few things to learn about surveillance. But like I said, he found out I was watching him, gives me a call, and pays me to keep following Marie.”
“And are you still getting paid by Mrs. Bryson?” I asked incredulously.
“Sure. I’m not a total idiot. She’s the one who hired me, though now he’s dead I guess I can kiss that gig good-bye.”
“And you won’t be getting anything more from Humphrey either,” I said.
Terry Roder sat there staring at me and then it dawned on him. “Gee, I guess you’re right. I’m outta two jobs.”
“So when exactly did Mrs. Bryson first hire you?”
“About three months ago,” Terry said without missing a beat.
“And how long did it take Humphrey to catch on?”
Mr. Roder leaned forward, hung his head and laced his fingers together. “About two months, three and a half weeks ago.”
“So what exactly have you been giving to Mrs. Bryson all this time?”
“She got the pictures I took the first week and then I’ve kind of been telling her that her husband wasn’t doing anything. Just going to work and pickleball and that was about it. Sometimes lunch with friends.”
“And what exactly was Mr. Bryson doing all this time?” I asked then.
“The usual. Stuff with the broads at the beach, pickleball, work. And he did take a trip to New York on the train. At least I think he went to New York. I only followed him to the station and he got on. Doesn’t mean he got off in New York, but I’m just assuming.”
“Did Mr. Bryson know you were still following him?”
Mr. Roder shook his head. “Nah. He told me to follow the broads and feed a line of crap to his wife.”
“Then why did you keep following him?”
“Look, the old guy was up to no good. So maybe I follow him and find out some stuff I can use, you know what I mean?”
I did know what Mr. Roder meant and maybe Humphrey found out and didn’t like being double crossed. Plus, if Terry Roder was still following Humphrey, then he was probably outside the hall the whole time we were all inside enjoying the German supper. It would have been very easy for Mr. Roder to sneak inside, lure Humphrey to the back under the pretense of some good dirt he dug up on one of the ladies, and shove a pickle in a most inconvenient place.
Chapter 17
I needed to speak with Sophie Bryson yet again. She lied to me about when she hired Terry Roder and if he fed her a bunch of lies, I wanted to know if she bought it. Plus, I still had no idea what Humphrey actually did for a living. I mean, the man was in his eighties, but he seemed to be busy all the time, so what did he do all day and why did he go to New York?
But right now it was getting late and I needed to get back to Indian Cove to meet John for dinner. It had been a hard day and I looked forward to some good pasta and conversation with my husband.
Forty-five minutes later I walked in Gianelli’s, one of our favorite restaurants. John was already seated at a booth by the fireplace and had ordered some fried dough and butter.
“This looks wonderful,” I said, as I took a piece and smeared it with some warm butter.
“You look good,” John smiled. “The talk with your mom obviously helped. And she put your mind at ease about the treatments?”
“She did. Meme was there and Sam stopped by with Henry, so I was surrounded by support and love.”
“You’re going to be fine. The doctor said you should have mostly good days. And sometimes you’ll wake up with a lot of pain and stiffness and we’ll just get through it.” My eyes misted and John took my hand. “What? Tell me.”
I placed my other hand over his. “I’ve been so afraid it was something more; that I would never walk again or would be totally dependent and you would leave me. I’m so relieved it’s RA. I’ve seen it up close with my mom since I was a kid and now I see how well she’s doing and I’m just so grateful it’s not more serious.”
“Alex, it is serious, and you’ll be taking some pretty strong drugs for it. They’ll have to monitor your blood and you’ll have regular checkups so we have to be diligent. I’m not trying to scare you, but I know how you try to ignore things. If you’re having a bad day, then you’re having a bad day and it’s okay to lean on people. And as for me leaving you, don’t ever think so little of me again. We’re a team. You’re stuck with me for life. Got it?”
I sniffled and wiped my nose on a tissue I pulled from my pocket. “Got it. My mom and I will be going to the infusion center together on Thursday and she told me how some foods, like all those good French cheeses, bother her. John
, I can’t give up cheese.”
“Let’s just take it one day at a time. We’ll work through it and find what works and what doesn’t, okay?”
I nodded. “Okay. So, did you really mean it about us being a team?”
John rolled his eyes. “I know I’m going to regret it, but yes, we’re a team. What do you want to know? I assume the subject has changed to murder?” He buttered another piece of fried dough and handed it to me with a grin.
“Terry Roder. Have you ever heard of him?”
“No, I don’t think so. Who is he?”
Our waiter came and we both ordered the pumpkin-filled ravioli and some more fried dough.
“A private investigator Mrs. Bryson hired to follow Mr. Bryson,” I began when the waiter had moved away, “but then Mr. Bryson found out and paid Terry to give his wife a bunch of bull and to start following a couple of women he was blackmailing.”
“Humphrey Bryson was blackmailing women?”
“Oh, yeah, and he was planning on divorcing his wife and said he wouldn’t give her a thing. Told her he would sooner kill her than see her get his money. But back to Terry Roder. Mrs. Bryson said he’s an ex cop. Could you check that out and let me know?”
“Sure. No problem. The Indian Cove police department is at your service.”
“Hey, we’re all on the same team, right? So that’s what I know so far. How about you? Anything you care to share with your wife?” I didn’t feel right sharing the private story Howard had told me. If it looked like the man might be a killer, I’d spill the beans to John, but for right now I felt safe keeping that information to myself, along with the fact that Humphrey paid Roder to look into Howard’s past.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact. I’m not sure it has anything at all to do with his murder, but it seems Humphrey Bryson had quite a bit of plastic surgery.”
Our plates arrived and I waited until the waiter left before commenting on this newest tidbit.
“You mean he had a face lift? I guess even men feel their age and want to look good.”
John shook his head. “No, it wasn’t recent and it wasn’t cosmetic. It was some major stuff. He had a nose job, and it looks like his chin was reshaped.”
“Maybe he was in a terrible accident,” I said. Another thing I planned on asking Sophie.
“And he was eighty-nine. I gotta tell you,” John said, as he blew on a hot ravioli, “the guy didn’t look that old to me.”
“I’m sure the plastic surgery helped with that,” I said, as I rolled around some ideas about botoxing a few lines in my forehead.
“Maybe. This is really good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” my husband said, as he speared another ravioli with his fork.
I munched on another piece of bread while I thought about Humphrey Bryson’s surgery. And I had to wonder, was the man just vain or was there something more sinister behind his face alterations?
Chapter 18
I stopped by my office because I didn’t think Sophie Bryson would appreciate my coming by at seven-thirty in the morning. To my surprise Sam was already there and I found her in the kitchen making a pot of coffee.
“You’re here early,” I said, as I reached behind her and grabbed the tea kettle.
“Michael’s taking the kids to school and I have a proposal to finish.”
“Need any help?” I asked.
“Nope. Millie should be in shortly and we’ve got it under control.”
“Sam, look at me. Listen, I feel fine so I don’t want you treating me differently. Nothing’s going to change and I’m fully capable of pulling my own weight. Unless of course, someone gets killed then you’re on your own.” I gave her a smile.
“Yeah, okay. Since mom started her treatment years ago, we can’t even tell anymore that she has RA. It’s not like it was when we were kids. That was horrible.”
I thought back to times when my mother was so sore she could hardly get out of bed. Sam and I would make her lunch and bring it to her, and while we tried to act all grown up, it was scary to see our own mother so incapacitated. But things had progressed and even though I wasn’t too keen on all the crap I had to put into my body, it was better than the alternative.
“I’ll treat you like normal if you just let me give you a little gift I picked up last night,” my sister continued.
I waited while she went to her office and then handed me a bag from Target. “This is nice,” I said, pulling out one of those rubber things you use to open jars.
“It’s for your M&M’s jar. Just in case you’re having a bad day. You’ll still need to open it.”
I nodded. “Very thoughtful. And you’re right, getting into the candy jar is very important.”
We took our mugs and went to my office and I gave Sam the rosary beads for Kendall.
“Thank you. She’ll love them. Seymour does great work. So how’s the investigation going?”
“Well, John told me Humphrey had extensive plastic surgery.”
“Really? Interesting. What kind? Botox? Eye lift? Nose job?”
“No, more like reconstructive surgery. Major stuff,” I said.
“Maybe he threatened to sue the plastic surgeon so the doc killed him. Any of the players a surgeon?” my sister asked.
“Not that I know of. And besides, whatever he had done, it was a long time ago.”
“So why is it important?”
“It’s probably not. But that doesn’t mean I’m not curious and you can bet I’ll ask the widow about it. I did find out Mrs. Bryson was having her husband followed, he found out and turned the tables having the private detective do some investigating for him on a few women from the pickleball team.”
“Okay, again, interesting, but how does that help?” my sister asked.
“Maybe the PI did a double cross of his own somehow by telling Mrs. Bryson that Humphrey was on to her. Or maybe he went to the other women Humphrey was spying on, told them what Humphrey was up to and they in turn told their husbands, who, by the way just happened to be at the supper. You know, I like it. I can see Lester Holt or Sid Dupre being so revolted by what Humphrey did to their wives down at the beach that they felt a need to shove a pickle down his throat.” I sat back looking pleased with my theory and decided to reward myself with some M&M’s.
“Or,” my sister said, sounding more interested than she was a minute ago, “the PI finds out even more dirt on Humphrey and blackmails him. Then he showed up at the Saturday supper to pick up a payment, but Humphrey refused to fork over any more money, they got into a fight and pickle down the throat.”
“I suppose, but no one mentioned seeing Terry Roder at the supper and he used to play pickleball, so people would recognize him. And Meme and I didn’t see him come in.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s just a theory. Maybe there’s another door and he snuck in.”
“I gotta tell ya, those were some powerful pickles,” I said, making a puckering face. “Good, but deadly. Mrs. Kaufman, she’s the lady from the deli, used her special recipe, which includes dried hot pepper. Whoever did it really got their revenge using one of those pickles.”
“That had to hurt,” my sister winced. “Poor guy.”
“Yeah, poor lying, cheating, bullying bastard.”
Chapter 19
Sophie Bryson was just coming back from a walk on the beach when I drove up. If I was ever lucky enough to have a house on the ocean, I like to think I would take advantage of it and go for long walks every day. I couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of doing so.
“Good morning, Alex,” she called to me as she made her way over a mound of snow pushed along the driveway. “Come on in. Do you like hot chocolate?”
I followed Sophie into the house thinking for a woman her age and so frail looking, she was obviously very strong and kept in good shape. But was she strong enough to hold her husband down? She had several inches on the man, but he had had quite a few pounds on her. Of course, she could have had some help.
“A cup of h
ot chocolate sounds wonderful.” I followed her into the kitchen where we took off out coats and draped them over a chair by the table.
Sophie pulled out a large bar of dark chocolate from the pantry and put a small pan on the stove. I watched, fascinated, while she added the chocolate, a bit of sugar and a dash of salt. Then she stirred in some milk and lots of half & half, and deftly blended it all together. When it was done she poured it into two mugs, added some whipped cream and handed me a cup.
“Gee, I was expecting you to tear open a couple of those instant packets and add some hot water. This looks, well, almost decadent.”
She smiled and nodded at my mug. “Try it.”
I took a sip and made a mental note to pick up some cream and a few pounds of rich chocolate on my way home. “Okay. I’m never having instant again.” I took another sip savoring the creamy chocolate taste.
“Humphrey loved it this way. Very European. He told me his mother always made it from the best chocolate available. She was English. A cold woman, but she evidently made a great cup of cocoa.”
The stuff was so good I felt guilty I was here to ask her why she lied to me, but she wanted my help finding Humphrey’s killer and I couldn’t let the woman sway me with a bar of chocolate, no matter how dark and rich.
Sophie took a seat on the other bar stool next to me and opened up the conversation. “What have you found out so far?”
“A few things. You were right. The list of suspects is growing.” I put my mug down. “Mrs. Bryson. Sophie. You told me you hired Terry Roder a month ago, but he said you hired him several months ago.”
“Did I? I must have been confused. Yes, I believe I did hire him a while back. Is it important?”
I watched the woman over the rim of my cup. I was so used to my grandmother and her friends who were all so much fun and at times amusingly scattered-brained. I guess I had a tendency to look at the elderly as being fun-loving and harmless. But Sophie Bryson was calculating and, despite living with a bully, I don’t think she put up with much.
