Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery)

by Elaine Macko

  I thought about this for a minute while I watched Fred chase a ball across the gym. “Why do you think Humphrey wanted a divorce if it wasn’t because he found out about the affair?”

  “Who knows? Humphrey was a vicious little man. And the truth is they should have divorced years ago. Probably should have never married in the first place, if you ask me. Sophie told me she thought he was up to something.”

  “Like what?”

  Peter shrugged. “Most of his money is tied up in property. He wanted to sell some stuff off, but because it’s in both their names he needed Sophie’s okay and she said no. First, they’d take a loss if they sold certain properties now, and second, they get good money from the rents they collect off the properties. She got the impression he needed cash. The weird thing is a while ago we both bid on some property. I won the bid, but I shouldn’t have. Humphrey could have outbid me for those properties and he didn’t. I never expected to get them. He made a show of getting mad that I got the deal, but it was all bluster. I remember thinking then that he must need his cash for something else if he was willing to pass up a great deal like the one I got.

  “And you have absolutely no idea what he had planned?”

  “None. The logical explanation is he wanted to invest in something, but I have no idea what it could be. We compete for a lot of the same real estate deals in the area and I haven’t heard of anything enticing out there. I don’t think it was real estate, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to have to share with Sophie, I’m certain of that, and I think that’s why he wanted a divorce. As soon as he was free, he’d put all of his cash into the deal, whatever it was, and become richer.”

  “But why?” I asked. “He had plenty already.”

  “Because that’s what he liked to do. Money was power and he loved holding it over people, especially his son. Poor guy. I can’t think of anything worse than having Humphrey Bryson as a father.”

  Nothing worse than having Humphrey for a father. I still hadn’t talked with Robert Bryson yet. I mentally added him to the top of my list.

  Peter Gaffney said good-bye and I went back to where everyone was sitting.

  “Here, take my seat,” Astrid Kaufman offered. “I’ve got to get back to the deli. With the storm headed our way, I’m expecting a big turnout tonight of people stocking up on supplies. Come by if you can. I made several kinds of strudel. I’ll set some aside for you.”

  “I don’t suppose you thought of anything else that might help my investigation?” I asked Astrid.

  “No, I’m sorry. Just Humphrey being Humphrey. Bragging about his deals, bragging about his art. And always jingling those coins in his pocket. What an irritating man.”

  “What about his art?”

  “Huh? Oh, nothing much, just that he had some nice pieces he thought might fetch a good price. More bragging. They were probably reproductions he picked up at Aaron Brothers.”

  “He told you this?”

  Astrid shook her head quickly. “No. Humphrey didn’t exactly share things with me. It’s not like we chit-chatted, God forbid. He was talking with a group of men. They were standing around talking before a game a few nights before the supper. I was waiting for Carl to finish and I overheard them. I mean it was all out in the open. They were by the water fountain and that’s where I was sitting. I don’t know what he planned to sell, he just said some pieces and, the truth is, I don’t know a lot about artsy stuff, so I kind of tuned him out. That’s what most people did with him, tune him out as often as possible.”

  “Do you remember who was in the group?” I didn’t know if it mattered, but I would add it to my pile of seemingly useless information anyway, just in case it might have some relevance later.

  Astrid looked off into the distance. “My brother was there and Lester and Peter and, I think, another man, but I don’t know his name.” Astrid looked at her watch. “I really have to go. The after-work crowd will be coming in soon. Don’t forget to come by for the strudel.”

  “Theresa and I are going to leave, Alex.” My grandmother stood by my side, startling me. “We gotta stop off and pick up Francis. We’re all staying at your parents’ tonight. Mable was worried about me being alone in the storm. You should come by tomorrow. It’s going to be a humdinger and we can stay inside and play games all day.”

  “John will most likely be working ,so I’ll have him drop me off in the morning.”

  “Great! I’ll have Francis bring her laptop.”

  “Laptop?” I asked, wondering what Meme was up to now.

  “Sure. She can help you sort out all the clues you got so far. She was a big help on that mahjong case.”

  “She’s going to have to help me find some clues first.”

  I walked Meme and Theresa out to their car and said good-bye.

  “Where’re you going now?” Meme called out as I walked away.

  “Reinforcements. I think we’re going to need lots and lots of strudel.”

  Chapter 43

  I’ve always loved snow. I love the silence of it. I love the way everything goes quiet. Sounds seem to turn off. Even traffic noise is muted when it snows. And I love the smell. I can always tell when it’s going to snow well before it does because of the scent in the air.

  When I was younger there was nothing better than waking up to find that the world—or at least the bit of world outside my bedroom window—was white. And that’s how it was this morning. Our yard and the woods beyond our property were bathed in white powder at least a foot deep.

  “I’m going to call Sam and maybe we can stop by and pick her and the kids up, too,” I said to John, who had a large bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee in front of him.

  “Are you sure you want to go out in this? It’s supposed to snow all day.”

  I kissed the top of John’s head. “I know. That’s the fun part. We’re having a snow party. Dad’s going over to help Michael pull that horrible wood paneling off the walls in the cellar and we women folk will be playing cards and Scrabble and eating.” And sleuthing, but I kept that bit to myself. John had been keeping things from me and I wasn’t so sure how much information I wanted to toss his way at this point, at least without getting something from him in return.

  “I’ve got a couple hours of paperwork to do at the station and then maybe I’ll go help Michael. Let me grab some sweats and my other shoes and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Thirty minutes later Sam and I, along with Henry and Kendall, marched into my parents’ warm and inviting kitchen. I was loaded down with bags of food, DVDs and books for the kids, and pajamas and toothbrushes in case we had to spend the night.

  “How are the roads?” my mother asked as she took a bag from my arms and kissed Henry and Kendall on their cheeks.

  “The plows must have come by this morning, but it’s building up again,” I said.

  My grandmother, Theresa and Francis sat at the kitchen table, a deck of cards firmly placed in the center. My mother had added the extra table leaf making it big enough for Sam and me to join in.

  “It’s a good thing we came last night. We couldn’t all fit in John’s car and Theresa doesn’t like driving in a storm. And besides, I’m not sure I could get out my front door with all this snow,” Meme said. “Gin.”

  Theresa and Francis groaned and they each placed a quarter in front of Meme.

  “Okay. Kids are settled,” my sister said. “They’re working on a puzzle at the dining room table. I’m ready for some strudel and tea.”

  “Didn’t you just eat breakfast?” I asked my sister.

  “Just some bacon, an English muffin, and a banana.”

  I shook my head and then pulled plates from the cupboard and forks from the drawer. I placed everything on the table and then picked up the tea kettle and filled all the mugs. It just seemed to be a tea kind of day. I had also brought along the ingredients to make Sophie Bryson’s wonderful hot chocolate, but that was for much later.

  I took a seat next to Francis and she han
ded me the deck of cards.

  “Your deal,” she said.

  “I hope you brought along a bunch of quarters, Alex. Meme’s on a roll.” Theresa picked up her cards and tossed my grandmother a disgusted look.

  “When isn’t she?” my mother said, clearly annoyed at my grandmother’s winning streak.

  My mother was very competitive and things could get heated sometimes between the two of them.

  It only took two times around the table before my grandmother won and we all coughed up our quarters to add to her growing pile. We played for another forty-five minutes while the wind picked up and the snow blew into drifts in the backyard. I stared pensively out the kitchen window, thoughts swirling through my head like the snow outside.

  “Okay, everyone, time for a break. Francis, did you bring your laptop?”

  “Right here, Alex.” Francis reached into a tote bag by her feet and pulled out a new, super slim model.

  My grandmother pushed her winnings into a plastic container and then secured the lid. She leaned her elbows on the table and looked across at me with a Cheshire cat smile.

  “Let’s find ourselves a killer.”

  Chapter 44

  Francis Haddock typed in column headings onto an Excel spreadsheet and then looked at me expectantly, fingers poised over the very slim keyboard. She reminded me of a court reporter waiting for one of the lawyers to ask a question.

  I glanced around the table. Everyone was looking at me. I felt like Robin Hood and these women, most of whom had white hair, were my loyal followers. I felt like they were waiting for me to expound on the case and pull a murderer out of thin air. The problem I had with that, and it was a big problem, was that I had a lot of suspects. Some, like the Dupres, were more viable than others, but I needed to do my due diligence on all of them and so I began by giving Francis the names of everyone on my list.

  “Once you have them all typed in, we’ll go through them one by one and fill in as much information for each person as we can.”

  My grandmother started tapping her finger on the table.

  “Yes?” I said, sounding like an impatient teacher calling on a pupil.

  “Are you really going to keep Fred and Walter and Howard on your list?”

  “She has to, Mother,” my mom said. “We can’t just start eliminating people because we like them or because they have great bodies.”

  My sister and I turned to look at my mother, who had walked over to the stove to heat more water.

  “What?” my mother asked us indignantly. “I may be your mother, but I’m not dead. That Howard Wronkovich is a very good looking man.”

  “I’ll tell him that, Mable. He’ll be glad to know you have the hots for him.” My grandmother rolled her eyes and then looked back in my direction.

  “Do I think they’re guilty? No. But we’ll put them on the spreadsheet, add as much information to the list as possible, and hopefully be able to rule them out,” I said. “Does that make you happy?”

  “Just so you know, if it turns out to be one of them, someone’s going to have to drive me to the prison for those conjugal visits.”

  “Good grief,” my mother said. “Can we get back on track, please? Alex, continue.”

  I smiled at my grandmother, wondering if she was serious. Thankfully I had more pressing matters to keep my mind from thinking too much about my grandmother and conjugal visits with the calendar boys.

  “Okay. We might as well start with the calendar boys seeing they seem to be on everybody’s mind.” I cut my eyes to my mom. “Walter. What about Walter?”

  “He always wears his Yankee ball cap,” Theresa volunteered.

  “He has a great butt,” my mother said with a dreamy, or was that idiotic, look on her face.

  “Ladies, something that’s going to help us find a killer. Focus.” I was sounding like that impatient school teacher again.

  “Well, he’s dating Martha Mederios,” Francis said, “and I saw Humphrey chatting her up a few times.”

  “That’s true,” Meme added. “And Walter wasn’t too happy about it. Got into a few tussles with Humphrey.”

  I thought back to my talk with Walter. Humphrey had told Martha about Walter’s need for adult diapers, albeit, temporarily, but I didn’t want to mention that in front of everyone now.

  “Okay, this is good. We know Walter had issues with Humphrey, and jealousy can be a very strong emotion.” I saw the look on my grandmother’s face. “Not that it means he killed Humphrey,” I added quickly, “but it has to be noted and we’ll take it into consideration with everything else. What about Fred?”

  “He accused Humphrey of cheating, which he did,” Meme said. “They got into it, but then so did everyone else. Humphrey always cheated and someone always got mad. Not a match was played where there wasn’t drama. Why do you think me and Theresa and Francis went to all the games?”

  Theresa and Francis nodded their heads in agreement.

  “Way more exciting than daytime TV,” Francis said.

  “And Howard?” I asked. I wasn’t about to mention his being stood up at the altar if no one else said anything. I would keep that information tucked in the back of my mind for use if needed.

  “Same thing. Howard didn’t care for the man at all and I did see them arguing one day, but I don’t know what it was all about.” Theresa shrugged. “That’s all I got on Howard.”

  “Nothing here,” Meme said.

  “Okay, so they all had some kind of motive, they all had opportunity and they could have all dragged Humphrey into the rest room together. Meme, did you notice anything the night of the supper?”

  “Just the fight that you broke up. Then everyone started gathering their things and I never saw the guys again.”

  “Let’s move on to Norbert. He’s one of the calendar boys, too, and he’s got more of a motive.”

  “Really? How so?” Francis asked.

  “He and Marie were having an affair,” I said. “On the night of the supper, Humphrey made a couple of snide remarks about the affair. Norbert told Marie there was a possibility Humphrey might tell Sid the whole sordid story.”

  Francis typed fast, shaking her head a few times as the story unfolded.

  “Norbert’s a nice man, but the affair is more of a motive for Marie to kill Humphrey. Norbert’s got nobody waiting at home for him,” Meme said. “He doesn’t have a motive and I can’t see him killing Humphrey over Marie. She’s just a piece of fluff.”

  I was just about to explain to my grandmother once again that we had to be open and look at everyone, including the calendar boys, fairly when I heard a noise.

  Chapter 45

  I really do hate cell phones. I have one, yes, and I had it turned on because of the storm and the fact John was out in it, but most of the time it lives in a little pocket in my purse and I don’t pay much attention to it. So when it rang, it took me a few seconds to realize what it was.

  I dug it out and flipped it open. Yes, I have an old flip phone, not one of those five or six G things, or whatever number they’re currently up to.

  “Oh, hi, John. What’s up?” I asked into the phone. “Of course we’re playing games. What else did you think we were doing?” I winked at Meme. “Really? That’s interesting. His wife never mentioned anything to me, but then I never asked either. Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

  “What was all that about?” my sister wanted to know.

  I reached for my tea cup and took a sip. “He thinks he’s so smart. He said as long as we were working on the murder today, he had some new information.”

  “What makes him think we’re working on the murder?” Meme asked.

  I gave my grandmother the look Sam uses on the kids. “Because we are.”

  “So what’s the news?” My sister cut another slice of strudel, broke off a piece and popped it in her mouth.

  “The toxicology report came back and Humphrey had some kind of muscle relaxer in him.”

  “So what does tha
t mean?” my mom asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but think about it. Wouldn’t it be difficult to hold a man down and shove a pickle in his mouth?”

  “But maybe not so much if he was relaxed,” my sister offered.

  “Right. So the question is did Humphrey take medication regularly or did someone drug him? And if someone had the foresight to bring along something to give him, then whoever killed him planned to do it all along. It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing.”

  “Which means anything that happened that night, like the fight with Sid, didn’t matter. Humphrey’s fate was already sealed.” Francis typed everything out as she talked.

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Unless he took the stuff all the time,” Meme said, deflating my bubble. “Then it was just a lucky break for the killer. Probably made Humphrey nice and accommodating when they shoved the pickle in. Were there any bite marks on it? Maybe he just thought someone was feeding it to him.”

  I had to think about that for a moment. So far no one mentioned bite marks. It never occurred to me that Humphrey may have simply choked on the pickle in the course of eating it. And I guess it didn’t occur to the coroner either.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sam asked.

  “Just that Humphrey may have simply choked on the pickle, but now I remember that John said he had a lot of bruising, like he put up a good fight.”

  “Okay, but back to the muscle relaxers. The killer may have known Humphrey took muscle relaxers and used it to his or her advantage.”

  I looked at my sister. “True. So now we have a bit more information and we can keep it in mind, but let’s get back to the list. We covered all the calendar boys who attended the supper, and as they all knew Humphrey and played pickleball with him, they may have been aware of any medication he took. Let’s move on to Sid and Marie.”

  “She’s always been real friendly, but she had a lot to lose. I like her for this.” Theresa sat back and folded her arms.