by Elaine Macko
“Oh, okay. I can understand that. All my mom told me was some guy got killed, but she was gone before anyone found him. I never told my parents about the visit from this Mr. Bryson to my gallery. That’s why I never put the two things together. They worry about me traveling into the city, and if they knew Alastair and I had been threatened, well, there’s no reason to add to their worries.”
“Worries? Are your parents worried about something?”
“My mom’s been a bit preoccupied lately, but she’s trying to get her tutoring business off the ground, and I think it’s more work than she expected. She’s coming over later so I can help her with some promotional material she can pass out and put up on the various social media sites.”
Clearly Phyllis had not shared with her daughter any of the details about her evenings at the beach with the repugnant Humphrey. Or maybe she had and Suzanne was a really good liar. But the problem I had with Suzanne killing Humphrey, either to stop the threats to her gallery or to avenger her mother, was that Suzanne wasn’t very big. I didn’t see any way she could have held Humphrey down, even with muscle relaxers running through his body. She could have had help from Mr. Hildebrand, but that would be two total strangers coming into the hall. The chance of them going unnoticed by at least one person was slim. But then I thought of Lester. The two women in his life were being tormented by a bully, and a bully with whom Lester had had a few issues. Maybe Lester wanted to protect his wife and daughter and took the opportunity of a venue filled with a lot of people and chaos to eliminate the threat.
I had no way of proving this and I wasn’t about to ask Suzanne questions that might tip her off to her mother’s problems, so I left it at that for now and moved on to the robbery at the Bryson home.
“Before I go, there was one more thing. Last night the Bryson home was burglarized.”
Suzanne wiped some muffin crumbs from her mouth with a paper napkin. “Someone probably heard on the news that he died. The same thing happened to a friend of mine. Her uncle died and while everyone was at the funeral, they robbed his home.”
“No, this was specific. The robber, or robbers, took two items, a small painting and a vase.”
“Are you thinking these are the same items he wanted to sell?” Suzanne asked.
“You tell me.”
Suzanne clasped her hands on her lap. “He never said, but I can tell you it was more than two things.”
I sat up straighter. “Really? How do you know that?”
“Because of what he said. If he just had a painting and a vase, he would have said just that, I have a painting and a vase I want sold. But he didn’t. He told us he had a bunch of stuff. Stuff! That’s how he referred to art.” Suzanne shook her head in dismay.
I left Suzanne, wondering if she had misinterpreted Humphrey’s description, or were there really more pieces than just the vase and the small painting? And if so, where the heck were they?
Chapter 55
I wanted to talk with Lester, but not with Phyllis around, and I had no idea when she would be going over to Suzanne’s.
I was cold and tired from staying up all night and would like nothing better than to be home with a big bowl of soup and some crusty bread. I really don’t know how I get myself caught up in this stuff. All I wanted to do was sell some calendars of hot old guys to women who found man boobs a turn on, but somehow I ended up investigating a murder of someone I had never even met. But I also knew I wouldn’t give up until the killer was caught.
I looked at my watch and figured I’d give Phyllis an hour before she headed over to Suzanne’s. In the meantime I wanted to talk with Howard again. He was from the Chicago area and perhaps had crossed paths with Humphrey before. The snow was starting to come down again, albeit very lightly, but I still didn’t relish driving. The turnpike was clear, and so with resigned resolve, I drove up the onramp and made my way back to Indian Cove.
I found Howard thirty minutes later sitting by his computer with a pot of tea, pinning pictures on Pinterest.
“Meme told me about it and I didn’t see the attraction at first, but you’d be surprised how many pictures there are of trains and stations and bridges and clocks.”
I, too, was hooked on the site. Like Howard, I had been reluctant to get involved with another social site, but quickly got hooked pinning all things related to tea, England, and travel in general. It was like scrapbooking but without all the fuss.
“Howard, you never told me you were from Chicago?”
“You never asked?”
Okay, so he had me there.
“And I’m not. I grew up in Cicero.”
“Did you know Humphrey lived in Chicago many years ago?”
“I believe I may have heard him mention it at some point.”
“And?”
“And what? I’m not the chit-chatty type, and I certainly wouldn’t encourage banter of a personal nature with that oaf.”
“So you never ran into him back in the day?”
“Alex, Chicago is a big place and I didn’t live there anyway. Why on earth would you think I knew Humphrey back then?” Howard got a serious look on his face and his lips pursed into a thin line. “Am I on your list? I know about your suspect list, young lady, and I can’t believe you have me on it.”
I ran a hand through my hair then tugged at the scarf around my neck. Howard obviously liked a warm house. “Okay, look, I’m grasping at straws here. I can’t fit anything together so I thought maybe something in Humphrey’s past might be a connection.”
“And we both lived in Illinois around the same time, ergo I killed him.” Howard sat there, ramrod straight, his prissy pout in place and I had to smile.
“Well, when you say it like that, I see how silly it is. I’m sorry, Howard, to have barged in here and disrupted your Sunday.” I stood up to leave.
Howard got up and followed me to the front door. “It’s okay. Meme says this one’s got you stumped. But you may not be too far off base with your theory about his past coming back to haunt him.
“Really? How so?” Maybe my trip back to Indian Cove wasn’t such a waste after all.
“It was at one of the games. Humphrey was being, well, Humphrey, so I’m not sure how much anyone paid attention to him, but we were standing around waiting for our turn. I was with Fred and Walter and Theresa. Humphrey was next to us in his own little group talking about something.” Howard waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “But then I heard him say,
‘We all do things we shouldn’t when we’re younger, so you need to make sure you cover your tracks well.’ Yes! I remember now,” Howard started talking faster. “One of the guys in the group with Humphrey was going on about how his grandson got a ticket for reckless driving and his parents hoped it wouldn’t cost him his scholarship. That’s when Humphrey said the remark about covering your tracks.”
“When was this?” I asked.
Howard crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m going to say about three, maybe four months ago. I guess that’s why I never mentioned it to you.”
“Not to worry, Howard.” I gave Howard’s arm a firm pat.
“Does it help?” he asked, looking hopeful.
“I’m not sure how exactly, but yes, I think it does.” Now I just had to put it all together.
Chapter 56
I knew what Howard just told me was a clue. I could feel it. I just didn’t know how it fit; though the fact Humphrey had had plastic surgery could be taken as a sign of covering one’s tracks. Plastic surgery wasn’t that big a deal; after all, millions of people have cosmetic surgery, but that’s the difference—cosmetic and plastic. Humphrey had had some major work and I found the fact his wife didn’t know somewhat telling. Of course, maybe the man was just vain, but I didn’t think that was the reason. I think he altered his appearance to cover his tracks. Now all I had to do was find those tracks. And then another thought popped into my head. What if those tracks weren’t so covered anymore
.
I headed back to Pirates Cove. It was late afternoon and if Phyllis was going over to Suzanne’s house I figured she must be there by now. I had no plan on how I would confront Lester, but I felt being direct would be the best course of action.
Lester Holt ushered me in saying his wife had just left.
“That’s fine. I actually wanted to speak with you.”
Lester chewed the piece of gum he had just pushed into his mouth and then smacked it loudly. “Me? I pretty much told you all I know.”
“Mr. Holt. Lester. In the course of my investigation on behalf of Sophie Bryson, I’ve heard a lot of things. Really, a lot of stuff. So, if there’s anything else you’d like to add, I would greatly appreciate it.”
I sat back in the chair, my coat still on, watching the wheels turn in Lester’s bald head.
“You’ve talked to my wife already; I mean she’s told you everything she knows, right?” Lester leaned forward on the sofa and clasped his hands together, elbows resting on his knees.
“Why don’t you just tell me what you know,” I gently prodded.
“I know Phyllis told you she had a drinking problem and somehow Humphrey found out.” I nodded. “And she told you about the blackmail, how he made her go down to the beach with him?”
I nodded again while I watched Lester’s bald head take on a red bell pepper hue.
“So you knew everything as well?” I asked.
“No, not at first. But I could tell something was very wrong with my wife, and whatever it was, I didn’t want it to cause her to start drinking again. As a matter of fact, I thought that was the problem, that she had started drinking.”
I hadn’t thought of that possibility, but I could see how being blackmailed might cause Phyllis to fall back into her addiction. “And had she?”
Lester shook his head. “No, thank God. But I made her stop meeting him right then and there. I told her I didn’t care if Humphrey told the entire community. Her drinking is well in the past and I’ll bet there are a lot of people in this community with their own secrets. I can’t believe anyone would hold it against Phyllis. She’s a wonderful person and she’s starting to pick up some clients with her new business venture. The kids love her and so do the parents. She said she would keep meeting him because she didn’t want her problems to hurt my chances in the election. Hell, who cares about the election. It’s a small-town town council position.” Lester smacked the gum several times before continuing. “Anyway, I told her to stop and I would handle Humphrey.”
“And did you?”
“I certainly did, but not the way you think. I ran into him at the coffee shop here in town and told him in no uncertain terms to leave my wife alone or he’d be sorry.”
“When was this?”
“The afternoon of the supper. He laughed and said I’d be sorry. He’d make our lives miserable. I told him I didn’t care and to leave Phyllis alone and if I heard of anymore nonsense, I’d be contacting the authorities.”
“And what happened then?”
“He died. We all went to the supper and next morning we find out he’s dead.”
Lester looked off across the room and the same pained expression I had seen on Phyllis at the pickleball game while she waited for her daughter, clouded Lester’s face. But it was more than that, it was fear, just like Phyllis.
“Lester, are you afraid Phyllis killed him?”
“Oh my God, I don’t know. At first I thought she must have killed him to save me, but how could she? I mean physically, how could she. You’d have to hold him down and Humphrey wasn’t tall, but he was broad and men just have so much more upper body strength, you know.”
“Have you asked her?”
Lester got up and walked to the window. “No. I’m afraid of what she might say.”
I thought back to Phyllis’s own look of fear and felt certain she thought Lester had killed Humphrey.
“Talk to your wife,” I smiled. “She thinks you killed him to protect her and you think she killed him to protect you.”
Lester turned and looked at me. “Oh for God’s sake. So neither one of us killed him? How about that.” His face lit up and he smiled broadly.
I was about to leave, but thought of one more thing. “Have you spoken with your daughter lately?”
“Suzanne? Phyllis is over there now. I haven’t talked with her in a few days. Why?”
“Humphrey went to her gallery. He wanted her partner, Mr. Hildebrand, to sell some stuff for him. Both Mr. Hildebrand and Suzanne felt there was something fishy about him so they refused, but true to form, Humphrey said he would be back and they would do what he asked.”
Lester ran a hand over his bald head. “That son of bitch! How dare he threaten my daughter.” He glared at me for a moment and then said, “You’re not accusing my daughter of this are you?”
I quickly shook my head. “No, she had no idea who he was. According to Mr. Hildebrand, Humphrey never identified himself. He just showed up with some unsavory background information on the gallery owner and said he would be back with some items that he wanted them to sell. And then he died. So you didn’t know anything about this?”
“No, of course not. After what the man did to my wife, if I had known he was threatening my daughter, well, I may very well have taken things into my own hands. Luckily someone else did it for me.”
I left Lester and headed over to the Bryson home. Sophie should be back by now and this time I needed to get some answers. It was time to put the screws to the widow Bryson.
Chapter 57
By time I arrived at Sophie’s it was just about dark. I didn’t see any cars in the driveway, but there was a light burning in the living room and another in an upstairs window.
It had been a long time since breakfast and despite the snack Suzanne had provided, I was getting hungry. I opened up the glove compartment and pulled out a small bag of M&M’s. God knows I love the darned things, but right now they were what I had, not what I wanted. Something warm and substantial with lots of vegetables sounded good. But nevertheless, I tossed a small handful of candies into my mouth.
While I munched on a few more, I ran over the facts about the widow Bryson. She initially told me Humphrey wanted a divorce, but she had planned to ask for one long before. She misled me about the private investigator, holding back the fact she had hired two. She never mentioned her own affair with Peter Gaffney. She insisted she wasn’t interested in money, she just wanted her fair share, but it didn’t sound that way to me at all. And she claimed she didn’t know her husband had plastic surgery. Wouldn’t a wife see some telltale sign of scars? I needed to get some straight answers from her. I was beginning to think she had sent me on a wild goose chase because she was well aware I was married to the detective in charge and maybe wanted me to supply him with false leads. And wasn’t it a bit of a coincidence her house was robbed while she was away? In truth, I guess that’s how it usually happens; someone finds out a house is vacant and a robbery occurs, but it just seemed too staged to me. So I had to wonder, did she set me up?
I left the empty candy bag on the car seat and made my way to Sophie’s front door for the second time in one day and rang the bell.
“Alex, come in. My son told me you wanted to speak to me. I was just about to make a light dinner. Would you care to join me?”
I had to give this a quick thought. Yes, I needed food, but I wasn’t about to be plied again with her chocolate bribes, or anything else she might whip up, and besides, I was tired and just wanted to get home. “No, thank you, Sophie. What I need are some answers.”
“Oh, my. It sounds like you have some things on your mind.”
“I do. And I’d like some straight answers.”
Sophie took a seat on the sofa and I sat in the over-stuffed chair opposite her.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Peter Gaffney? Is he the reason for your wanting a divorce?”
“My reason for wanting a divorce is I found Humphrey insufferab
le. I loved him at one time, yes, but a lifetime of his manipulating and his affairs had taken a toll, not to mention the constant jingling of coins in his pocket.” She gave a shudder. “You have no idea how crazy that can make a person. I have no plans to marry Peter, or anyone else for that matter. Peter is a lovely man, a sweet diversion, if you will. And I’m sure he feels the same. I’m well aware part of his attraction to me is the fact I was married to Humphrey. I was just one more thing he took away from my husband, but who cares. We have fun together, a certain kind of fun I haven’t received from Humphrey in a long, long time. What else is on your mind?”
“Did Humphrey take tranquilizers?”
Sophie started to laugh and then covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggles. “Wouldn’t that have been nice, but no. The man never sat still and had a quick temper.”
“I’m sure the police will want to talk to you, but it looks like the night he was killed he had some sort of muscle relaxer or tranquilizer in him.”
“He didn’t get it from this house. Are you saying someone drugged him first?”
“It looks that way.”
Sophie became quiet and looked away, out into the darkening sky. “I didn’t love him anymore, at least not in the way a wife should love her husband, but, well, he didn’t deserve this.”
I remained quiet out of respect and waited for her to compose herself.
“Was there anything else?” she eventually asked.
“Just a couple more things if you don’t mind. Humphrey had plastic surgery.”
“Yes, you and the police already told me that.”
“And you didn’t know? How is that possible?”
Sophie patted a strand of hair back into place. “I saw a scar, yes, and I asked him about it. He said he was in a car accident. That’s it. Why is it so important?”
