by Elaine Macko
“When was this, again?”
“About two months now, give or take.”
Two more guys came in so I left Seymour to his customers and walked out to my car, wondering what the heck pickleball, art theft and tattoos had to do with each other.
Chapter 52
I had a full day planned in Pirates Cove. Last night I had managed to track down an address for Suzanne Holt. I remembered seeing a notice on the gallery door that they were closed on Sunday and Monday, and hopefully Suzanne was home and not spending the weekend with Mr. Hildebrand. This case seemed to be full of coincidences and one of them was that art, supposedly the same art Humphrey planned to give to the gallery to sell, went missing in the same town where one of the gallery owners lived. Maybe Suzanne, with or without Alastair Hildebrand’s participation, caved to curiosity and stole the items Humphrey wanted sold.
But before I confronted the lovely Suzanne, I drove over to the Dupre home. Marie had already confirmed Norbert’s story, but I wanted to talk to Sid again. I didn’t buy his total unawareness of his wife’s dalliances with Humphrey, Norbert, and Tony. How could he be so oblivious? Everyone else seemed to know, or at least suspect, so why didn’t Sid?
But as I drove through the quiet streets of Pirates Cove, thoughts of Humphrey came back to me. Why did the man want to know about the age of tattoos, and why all of a sudden did he want a divorce? The timing of the two things seemed to coincide. Coincidence? And I could add another element into the mix—Humphrey’s visit to the gallery. Tattoos, divorce, and a visit to a gallery in the hopes of selling off some art. What did one have to do with the others? And now the art was gone, stolen right from Humphrey’s home. At least I assumed it was the same stuff he planned to give to Alastair Hildebrand to sell, but who knew.
Hopefully, by time I was done running around, Sophie would be back and I could get some answers from her.
I arrived at the Dupre’s and was ushered in by Marie.
“Sid just ran to the store. What can I get you?”
“A tea would be nice.” I followed Marie into a cozy kitchen with a maple table and four captain chairs and a lot of pewter ware placed on the sideboard. The appliances had been updated but the curtains and table gave it an old New England feel. It was a bit dated, but still warm and inviting.
“I’m glad you’re alone. I wanted to ask you again about the night of the supper and your conversation with Norbert.”
Marie’s back was to me while she grabbed mugs out of the cupboard and I could see her go rigid. A moment later she turned to me with a big smile on her pretty face.
“What about it?”
“Are you sure Humphrey didn’t tell Sid?”
“Of course he didn’t. I told you I got to Humph first and promised him a romp down at the beach.” Marie placed her manicured hands on the counter. “And besides, Tony’s not coming around anymore and Norbert broke it off with me. He didn’t feel right about what we were doing.” Marie shook her head slowly. “He was right, of course. It was just all fun and games, and Lord knows I love my fun and games, but even I couldn’t keep three men plus Sid straight.”
“And you’re absolutely sure Humphrey didn’t tell Sid anything?”
Marie’s hand went to her heart. “Of course I’m sure. If he had, well, Sid would have said something, and he hasn’t.”
“Then what happened?” I asked.
Marie stared at me. “When? After I talked with Norbert?” I nodded. “Nothing. You set up your table with those calendars and I went over to have a look. You know, Mr. June, Howard, is it? He’s really something. I see him all the time at the games, but never had a chance to talk with him. He isn’t married is he?”
I gave a mental eye roll. “Did you happen to see Norbert again that night?”
“No, I already told you that on Friday. After I got my calendars, I went back to our table and then Humphrey asked me to dance. He must have had an extra slice of that spiked cake because he was all limber and in a good mood. Then he grabbed my butt and you know the rest.”
“And after the fight, when everyone was leaving, did you walk out with Sid?”
“I walked out with one of the single gals. Sid was so mad at Humphrey he wanted to go splash some cold water on his face to calm down. He gets so worked up over nothing.”
“And Norbert? Has he contacted you since the supper?”
Marie sighed. “No. I’m going to miss him. Out of all of them, he had the most, well, you know, get up and go. If Humph was a gherkin, Norbert was a kosher dill.”
Geesh.
“And Tony?” I asked, thinking I would probably burn in hell, but I was caught up with her pickle analogy and curiosity got the best of me.
“Tony? I guess you could call Tony pickle relish.”
Pickle relish? I didn’t know what to make of that, and didn’t dare ask. I liked pickles in all their forms, and right now I wasn’t so sure I could ever look at a gherkin again. I needed to at least preserve my relationship with the relish.
Marie, with a forlorn look, plopped herself down in the chair next to mine. “Humph’s dead, Norbert took the moral high ground, and Tony has his nose out of joint because he found out he wasn’t my only lover. Tell me about Mr. February. I like the way he has that heart strategically placed, and if the size of the heart represents the size of what he’s hiding, he might be a good time.”
“Yes, Alex, tell us all about Mr. February,” Sid Dupre said from the doorway.
Chapter 53
Marie Dupre had obviously been hitting the hormone replacement pills pretty heavily. I wanted to walk out right then and there and leave the husband and his sex-deprived wife to argue it out, but I had a murder to solve and the cat finally seemed to be out of the bag, so hopefully I didn’t have to pussyfoot around anymore where Sid was concerned.
Marie rushed to her husband’s side and placed a hand on Sid’s arm and stroked it up and down. “Exactly what did you hear, honey?”
“I heard enough to know I’m probably the laughing stock of this community. Tell me you didn’t sleep with that vile man?”
“Ah, which one would that be?”
“Humphrey!!”
“Oh, no, honey, I didn’t. He couldn’t. He just liked to touch.”
Sid looked like he needed to be taken to the emergency room. I felt sorry for the man, but at least I finally had the answer to the question of whether he knew all along what Marie was up to. Clearly he did not, because this newly gained knowledge was on the verge of killing him. No one could fake their reaction that well. And somewhere in the back of my mind I had wondered whether Terry Roder might have contacted Sid with the information about his wife’s indiscretions, but again, with Sid’s reaction now, there was no way he knew about Marie’s dalliances.
I got up and filled a glass with water and brought it back to the table. “Here, drink some of this.”
Sid grabbed the glass. For a moment I thought he would fling it at his wife, but he finally eased his grip and took a few sips.
“If you feel up to it, I have a couple of questions and then I’ll let you two, well, um, talk things out,” I said.
“What do you want to know? Ask me anything. My life is clearly an open book.”
“First, I just want to verify, now that things are out in the open that you never knew about any of the men in your wife’s life?”
Sid’s face turned a beet-red color again. “Do I look like I knew what was going on? Can’t you see I’m in some kind of shock here?”
The man was really in a bad state, but this was my window of opportunity and I couldn’t let it close. “Marie told me you went to the restroom before you left the party.”
“I did. I splashed some water on my face and used the facilities.”
“Did you see or hear anything in the hall or coming from the women’s room?”
Sid took a couple more sips. “No, not that I recall. I was pretty upset at the time.” He cut his eyes toward Marie.
&nbs
p; “How about the door to the outside? Was it open?”
“The door? I don’t remember it being open when I went in, but—” Sid paused and took a few more sips of water, his eyes locked on Marie.
“But what?” I prodded.
He put the glass back on the table and turned toward me. “When I came out, it was closing, the door. It was almost closed and then locked into place as I walked out of the men’s room.”
“So, did you see anyone?”
“No, just the door closing, and then I went back out into the main hall.”
This was good. Someone had obviously just come in or out as Sid walked out of the men’s room. The more I thought about it, I was certain they must have been leaving. If the door was closed when Sid got there, they couldn’t get in because the door locked automatically and had no handle on the outside. Someone must have just left and Sid missed seeing the killer by seconds, which, when I thought about it, probably saved his life. Or, maybe Sid was mistaken. Maybe the door was still ajar when he went into the restroom and he didn’t notice because of his agitated state. Or maybe Sid was lying and he never washed his face at all, and just used that as an excuse to kill Humphrey.
“What time was this?” I asked.
Sid looked at Marie and shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe close to ten, maybe a bit after.”
This latest bit of information corroborated what the guard had told me, which was that he came by around ten to lock up the side door. Maybe Sid didn’t hear the killer after all; maybe all he heard was the guard pulling the door firmly closed.
“One more thing,” I began. “Did either of you know anything about Humphrey’s art collection?”
“Humphrey had an art collection?” Sid asked. “First I heard of it. He had some paintings on the walls of his house, but most people have something on their walls. We have stuff on our walls. Are you saying his stuff was worth something?”
“They were worth something to someone. Someone broke in last night and took a couple of things.”
Marie had been strangely quiet through this exchange. “Marie, do you know anything about this?” I asked.
“Yes. Well, no, not really. I heard Humph say he had some major funds coming his way a couple of weeks ago. It was at one of the games and he was bragging to a few guys about money again, which he did often, so I paid no attention to it really. But I did hear him say good things come to those who wait. I don’t see how this relates to art, though.”
I shrugged. “Neither do I.” But I did. Humphrey must have been talking about the money he hoped to get once Alastair Hildebrand sold his items.
Sid seemed sufficiently calmed down to the point where I felt I could leave the two spouses together to talk things out without Sid having a stroke. I said my good-byes and walked out to my car.
So what had I just learned? I believed Sid truly had no idea what Marie had been up to, and if he didn’t know, there would be no reason for him to want Humphrey dead, except for the snow plow debacle, but was that really a good enough motive to shove a pickle down Humphrey’s throat? Seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. A person certainly wouldn’t be still for something like that, but then I remembered the muscle relaxant. Did Humphrey take them himself? Did someone bring them along for the sole purpose of drugging him before they killed him? Or did the killer just happened to know the man took relaxants and would be easy to hold down? And was the pickle always the preferred mode of death, or was it just handy?
I pulled my car out onto the road and turned right. The sky was dark and ominous looking and more snow was expected. I liked the stuff, but I wasn’t too keen on driving in it. I still had a few people to speak with and, if I hurried, maybe I could get everything done before the next storm hit. I made another right at the next corner and headed to the home of the lovely Suzanne.
Chapter 54
Like Nicole Kidman, I had a feeling the sun never touched the face of Suzanne Holt. She probably had gallons of sun block under her bathroom sink and a great supply of hats. She answered her door dressed in a pair of black leggings, an over-sized bulky white sweater, and a pair of black Ugg boots. She wasn’t as tall as I remembered, but then she wasn’t wearing spiked heels today. Her skin was as white as the first day I had seen her, but today the dark hair fell softly around her face.
She stared at me blankly, and then recognition dawned and she stiffened.
“How did you know where I live?”
“Mr. Hildebrand mentioned you live in Pirates Cove and then I saw you with your mother the other day when you came to pick her up at the Community Center.”
“You know my mother?” Suzanne seemed to relax.
“I only met her recently, since I’ve been looking into the death of Humphrey Bryson. I didn’t know she was your mother until you came to the center. May I come in?”
Suzanne lived in an adorable cottage on a tree-lined street only a couple of blocks from the Sound.
“Have a seat.” She saw me looking around the room. “This used to be a guest house for the people who own the large home next door, but they hardly ever have guests anymore so they rented it to me. Can I offer you something to drink?”
A large china tea pot sat on a coffee table along with a mug in the same pattern. “I’ll take some tea if there’s any left.”
I looked around the cottage again, which turned out to be one very large room Suzanne had artfully divided using shelving units. I could see a cozy bedroom with a bed covered in a thick white duvet. The living portion was filled with a small forest green sectional sofa forming an L and a chair in a bright chintz pattern. There were several lovely water colors hung on the pale gray walls and a large oil that looked like a frenzied toddler colored it. The room was lovely in a soft, girly way, which didn’t seem to fit with the Suzanne from the gallery who wore a severe suit and tight bun. I spied a door, which I assumed was the bathroom, and another that was probably a closet. The kitchen was the only modern area, with shiny new appliances and a tiny café table with two chairs.
Suzanne poured a cup of tea into a mug she fetched from a small china cabinet and then went to the kitchen and came back with a plate of muffins and scones.
“Has your mother told you anything about my investigation?”
Suzanne shook her head. “No. Well, yes, actually, but I didn’t realize it was the same thing. She told me a man from her pickleball group was killed. I had no idea it was the same man who came to the gallery. That’s who we’re talking about, correct?”
“Yes. Humphrey Bryson. Mr. Hildebrand told me Humphrey came into your gallery and wanted you to sell some items for him.”
Suzanne put her mug down on the table. “Mm. That’s correct. We didn’t get a good feeling from him so Alastair told him we didn’t do that sort of thing. I mean, we do, of course. We sell art and have showings for the public and we usually hold a vernissage, a reception of sorts, for our private clients prior to the grand opening, and of course we get our commission on sold works, but that’s not what Mr. Bryson wanted. As a matter of fact, he never told us his name. He didn’t want to have a showing or a vernissage, he wanted us to find him a buyer, a certain kind of buyer.”
“A certain kind of buyer? What does that mean?” I asked, while picking at the top of a chocolate chip muffin. There’s nothing better than a crispy muffin top, and this one must have come from a very expensive bakery.
“From his attitude, Alastair and I assumed whatever it was he wanted sold, it probably didn’t belong to him rightfully. There’s no other reason for him to be, well, clandestine about the whole thing. We told him to leave, but he said he would be back.”
“But he never came back?”
Suzanne nodded her head quickly. “One more time, with some threats. We got rid of him again, but not before he smiled this sinister smile. Every time we heard the front door open we held our breath, but we never saw him again, and then you came in with his picture and said he was dead.”
“What kind of threa
ts?” I asked. Of course I already knew, but I wanted to see how much of Mr. Hildebrand’s past Suzanne knew.
Suzanne took a long sip of tea. “You’ve talked with Alastair and I believe he told you everything, so I don’t feel like I’m breaking a confidence, but still, I don’t feel right saying these things. He’s a good man. He’s smart and we have a business that’s starting to take off. But,” she took a deep breath, “he got caught up in some unsavory ventures and he paid a hefty price. This was in London, a long time ago. Somehow that man found out and threatened to bring it all up again.”
“And if Mr. Bryson had, do you think it would have done irreparable harm to your gallery?”
Suzanne shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not, who knows. Alastair and I together know a lot about art. We’re good at what we do. It’s not just hanging stuff on walls. Alastair especially has a knack for group exhibitions, pairing artists that complement each other, or putting together specialized shows such as an ethnically focused exhibition. A lot of artists have huge portfolios and we help them put together the best possible grouping. And we’re very good at promotion before the event. I design all our promotional materials and get it printed and distributed, and help the artist pick a name for the exhibition. It’s a lot of work.”
“So there’d be a lot to lose if Humphrey Bryson started talking.”
Light seemed to dawn in Suzanne’s hazel eyes. “Certainly you don’t think either one of us had anything to do with his death. How could we? We had no idea who the man was until you showed up. I know I’m not a killer and Alastair is a kind and gentle man. He could never do anything like that. Is this why you were talking to my mother? Surely you don’t think she or my father had anything to do with it either.” Suzanne looked aghast.
Phyllis had indicated her daughter didn’t know the full impact of her drinking problem, or at least the DUI, and I didn’t want to be the one to provide that sort of information, so I just smiled and said, “Your parents were at the pickleball supper the night Humphrey was killed. I’m speaking with everyone who attended in case someone saw something, that’s all.”
