by Elaine Macko
“I think Humphrey changed his appearance to cover his tracks.”
“To cover his tracks? What are you talking about?”
“Art. I think Humphrey was killed over art. I don’t think pickleball arguments had anything to do with it.”
Sophie sat up straighter, if that was possible. “You think the robbery while I was gone is connected to Humphrey’s murder? How? Only two things were taken. They were worth nothing, except to Humphrey. They belonged to his parents and held sentimental value. It was probably some local kids. They saw me leave, they know my husband is dead and thought they could steal some stuff and pawn it.”
“Did Humphrey strike you as a sentimental man?” I asked.
Sophie thought about this. “Well, no, not that I ever saw.”
“Was he close to his parents?”
She let out a sigh. “No. I never met them, mind you. They were both dead when I met him. But he told me they were cold and mean. He was an only child, but only because a sister had died when she was about two or three. They doted on her and were devastated by her death. They were never the same people again. I suppose that’s why Humphrey was Humphrey.” Sophie looked down at her clasped hands. When she looked up again her eyes were moist. “Maybe he would have been much different, kinder, if she had lived.”
I gave her a moment before continuing. “So the items that were stolen meant something to him, but probably not for the reason you thought.”
“Then what?”
“I think they came to him by ill-gotten means. They must be very valuable.”
Sophie shook her head. “No, we didn’t even have them insured. Humphrey said they were worthless other than to him.”
“Are there more paintings?”
“A large landscape in the hallway and one in his office. The rest of the things on the walls are pieces we bought together over the years.”
“May I see them?”
Sophie stood and I followed her into the hall.
“This is the biggest. I suppose it’s nice enough, but a bit cold,” she said, as she tilted her head and stared at the canvas.
The painting was a coastal scene during a storm. It was done in cold shades of grays and blues. The signature was hard to read, but didn’t look like anyone I would recognize. Art history wasn’t my thing. I know what the Mona Lisa looks like, and some of Van Gogh’s most famous works, but it wasn’t in my area of expertise to look at a painting and immediately know the artist.
“The other one is down this way.”
I followed Sophie further down the hall and then into a room on the right. She walked over to the desk and turned on a small lamp.
“There it is.” She pointed to a small still-life on the far wood-paneled wall. This one was much smaller than the one in the hall. It depicted a kitchen scene of a table, with a single place setting; dark browns, grays, and black. I much preferred the one in the hallway. I glanced at the small signature in the corner, but once again couldn’t make it out, except to see it was a different artist than the seascape.
“I wonder why the thief didn’t take these?” I asked.
Sophie shrugged. “The one in the hall is heavy and bulky, especially if it were kids. And this one, well, maybe they never made it this far.”
Sophie turned to the desk lamp and reached for the switch just as something large and black caught my eye. Whatever it was leapt onto the desk and then launched itself at me before I had time to think.
Chapter 58
“Rudolfo!” Sophie screeched.
In slow motion I watched Rudolfo, a rather large black cat, which at the moment looked more like a panther, fly through the air headed straight for me. I threw myself back while at the same time stepping slightly to the left. Rudolfo landed on the credenza below the small painting, found his footing, and then curled up into a furry ball, while in my attempt to get out of his way I landed hard against the paneled wall.
“Ow!” I said as my forehead bounced off the paneling. My foot turned and I landed on my butt.
Sophie grabbed the cat, tossed him out in the hall and slammed the door shut. She ran over to my side and knelt beside me.
“Are you okay? That damned cat. It belongs to my granddaughter. I hate cats. If I wanted a cat, I would get a cat. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I turned slightly and rested my back against the wall. I felt a bit dazed, but otherwise unscathed by the ordeal. I touched Sophie’s hand. “Yes, thank you. I think I’m fine. I’m afraid of cats and when I saw it coming at me, well, I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t break anything.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s me who’s sorry. Maybe we should have you checked out at the hospital.” Sophie looked down at my hand. “Goodness, you’re bleeding.”
“I am?” I looked at the scraped knuckles on my left hand.
“Let me get a wet cloth.” Sophie left the room and returned a minute later with a damp washcloth and some antiseptic spray. She gently wiped my hand and then spritzed it with the spray. “It’s just a scrape. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, really, I’m fine.” I put my right hand to my forehead and felt around. I didn’t feel any lump. “Do you see anything?” I asked.
Sophie gently turned my head toward the light. “No. Nothing. It’s a bit pink but I don’t see any bump.” She used the credenza to push herself up.
I sat still for another minute, then pushed off from the wall and heard a faint click. Sophie heard it, too, and turned back toward me while I turned around and faced the wall. “Is that a door?”
Sophie craned her head around me for a better look. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.”
“What’s on the other side of this room?” I asked.
Sophie shrugged. “The garage. There’s a powder room next door, but right behind here is the garage. There’s a door from there that leads into the mud room off the kitchen.”
“Maybe this door leads to the garage.” I looked at the edge. It had been ingeniously concealed by aligning perfectly with the groove in the paneling; whether on purpose or just a coincidence, I didn’t know. The door ran all the way up to the low ceiling further hiding its existence.
“Should I open it?” I asked.
Sophie snapped her head around and gave me a look as if to say I must be crazy. “If you don’t, I will.”
I got myself upright and, using both hands, I grabbed the edge of the door and gave it a good tug easing it open. We both stared into the dark recess.
Sophie gently pushed past me. “There must be a light.”
I took a tentative step back. I didn’t know the layout of the house and God forbid Rudolfo had managed to go around somehow and made his way behind this door.
Sophie felt around on the inside to the right of the opening. “Here we go.” She flicked a switch and opened the door wide and then just stood there silently.
“What is it? Is there anything in there?” I asked from a few steps behind her.
Sophie’s hands went up to her mouth and she let out a soft moan. “Oh my God! What is all this stuff?”
“Let me see.” Sophie had taken a step inside and I moved next to her for a better look. “Oh my God,” I said, echoing Sophie’s words. “Did you know about this?”
Sophie’s eyes took in the contents of the room, from one side to the other and back again. “That son of a bitch.”
Chapter 59
Sophie took off out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen. She turned right and walked through the mud room and then made another right into the garage. I was right on her heels.
“I knew it,” she said. “Do you know how many times I asked Humphrey why the garage wasn’t extended further back? Do you know what he told me?” I shook my head. “He told me that the workings for the furnace and the air conditioner and electrical stuff were in here.” She pointed to a wall, which I assumed was the back wall of the small room we were just in. “And I asked him many times if all those things were in there, then h
ow would a repairman ever get to them. Do you know what he said?” Once again I shook my head. “He said if anything ever broke, we’d have to punch a hole through the wall. And I believed him!” This last was said in a tone resembling nails on a blackboard. “The furnace is in the cellar! How could I be so stupid?”
“Why don’t we go back to the study,” I said as I gently led Sophie back into the mud room and closed the door on the garage, wondering where the heck Rudolfo was.
We made our way back to the study and Sophie plopped herself down into a comfortable looking chair by the credenza.
“What a fool I’ve been. I should have left him a long time ago. No, I should have never married him in the first place. If he’s been hiding all this stuff from me all these years, what else am I going to find?”
I didn’t have an answer for her. I moved over to the hidden door we had left open and stared into the room. It must have been about eight feet wide and at least fifteen feet long. Along one wall, from floor to ceiling, was wooden shelving about four feet deep. Each shelf held paintings, some framed, some not. I pulled a large box forward and looked inside. There were several things that looked like ornate vases and small figurines. I had no idea what I was looking at. Was this stuff worth something, or was it just more stuff that had belonged to Humphrey’s family? But if so, why hide it?
I stepped out of the room and looked at Sophie. “Do you think we should call someone?”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. The police maybe?”
Sophie shook her head quickly. “No. Not the police. Not yet. I want to know what I’m dealing with first.”
I thought about this for a few minutes and then said, “I may know someone. They can tell us if it’s junk or, well, worth something.”
“I don’t want anyone coming in here and seeing this.” Sophie was quickly becoming agitated.
A plan formed in my head. “Okay, what about this. I’ll take a couple of the small paintings to a friend of mine. She works at an art gallery in New York and she may be able to tell us something about their origin.”
“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. Let’s keep this to ourselves. I don’t want all of Pirates Cove knowing, well, knowing…I’m not sure what there is to know.” Sophie looked up at me with a bewildered look. “But until I know where Humphrey got all this stuff and why he had it hidden away, I must ask that you tell no one.”
I reluctantly agreed. I completely understood Sophie’s reasoning, and even sided with her, but I knew a certain detective who would be livid once he found out about Humphrey’s hidden treasure. I quickly rationalized that for now, neither Sophie nor I had any idea what we had here. If it turned out the stuff was stolen, I would bring it to John’s attention immediately, but for now, all we knew was that Humphrey had an extensive art collection. No crime in that.
I looked at the clock on Humphrey’s desk. It was getting late and I still had to drive back to Indian Cove. Sophie and I picked out a couple of small paintings and we wrapped them up in an afghan we took from the living room sofa.
“I’ll call you as soon as I know something,” I said as I gathered up my purse and walked to the front door.
“And not a word to anyone but your friend. Promise?”
I gave Sophie a quick nod. “Promise.”
I hurried out into the night and I had to wonder, was I holding the thing that got Humphrey killed and if so would I be next?
Chapter 60
The sound of the snow plows out in full force woke me up long before I should have been woken up. I tried to fall back to sleep, but knew it was a useless battle. I showered and dressed in a pair of wool slacks and a turtleneck sweater and met John in the kitchen for a leisurely breakfast.
I felt certain he could see the guilt on my face, but he never asked me point blank if I had what I assumed was stolen art in my trunk, so who was I to confess. Despite arriving home late the prior evening, I had still managed to beat John home and had taken the opportunity to call Suzanne and arrange a meeting for this morning. The sooner I could take the stuff out of my car, the happier I would be. And safer, because I was pretty sure it was Humphrey’s secret treasure that got him killed and now I had it—or at least some of it.
“How’s the cellar coming along?” I asked John before he could think of something to ask me.
“The walls are primed and now they just need to be painted, but your sister is still trying to decide on a color.”
“Well, good, then you won’t be needed over there for at least another month,” I smiled. My sister would stop at every paint store in Indian Cove and the surrounding towns, collect samples, and drive us all crazy as she vacillated between swatches.
John took a sip of his coffee and looked at me across the table. “I don’t mind. It’s a nice escape from murder and thievery.”
“Thievery?” I asked, while a chill crept up my back, despite the thick sweater and a furnace working overtime. John couldn’t possibly know about the treasure trove Sophie and I had uncovered and the stuff hidden in my trunk.
“Someone’s stealing catalytic converters off cars left outside.” John shook his head of thick hair. “There’s nothing someone won’t steal if they can get their hands on it.”
“What do they do with them?” I asked, more out of a desire to keep the subject on car parts lest John start asking me what I had been up to.
“They sell them for the metal. They’re easy to steal, and have no identifying marks. I’m telling you, if people would put their entrepreneurial skills to better use instead of ripping other people off, the economy would be booming.”
“But then you would be out of a job.” I reached across the table and covered John’s hand with mine.
“Maybe, but then there’s always murder. Speaking of which, I have to get going.” John finished his coffee, took the last bite of English muffin, and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you tonight.”
It was way too early for my meeting with Suzanne, and I didn’t feel like rushing to the office, so I tidied up the kitchen, grabbed my bag and headed over to the one person I knew would be up.
“Hey, kiddo,” my grandmother said to me twenty minutes later. “I thought for sure you’d stop by yesterday and tell me how you were getting on.”
Meme handed me a cup of tea and I curled up on her small sofa while she settled into her comfy chair.
“That was my plan but time just got away from me.” I proceeded to tell my grandmother a detailed description of Sunday’s events ending with the discovery of the art. Yes, I know, I promised Sophie I wouldn’t tell anyone, but Meme wasn’t just anyone. She was my confident, my partner; probably more so than my sister only because Meme could keep her mouth shut and Samantha would tell my mother, Millie, and Marla. I liked talking things through and John and Sam weren’t viable candidates in this situation.
“You think the stuff you found is the reason he got killed?” Meme asked.
“Maybe. According to the gallery owner, Humphrey wanted him to sell a bunch of stuff and he picked Mr. Hildebrand specifically because of his past problems, I’m sure of it. Why would he pick someone with a dubious work history if not because what he wanted done was something of a dubious nature?”
Meme nodded. “I agree.”
“What’s wrong? You look disappointed.”
“I guess I was hoping it had something to do with the pickleball group. That would get us some good publicity and we could sell a bunch more calendars.”
“Pickleball may not have been the motive, but someone in the group is the killer, I’m certain of it so we probably better order another batch of calendars.” Were we two ghouls, or what?
Meme’s eyes brightened. “Do you know who it is?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, but I’m working on a plan to flush the killer out and I’m going to need your help.” I told her what I had in mind.
“Whatever you need, kiddo, just let me know where and when. Theresa and Francis will probabl
y want in, too.”
“Okay, but remember, not a word about any of this until I’m ready to go forward, especially not to my mom, and for certain, don’t say a word to John.”
Meme nodded her head enthusiastically, but I was already regretting getting her involved. If anything happened to her, I would never forgive myself.
Chapter 61
It was nine-thirty and a cold twenty-eight degrees when I entered the small cottage carrying the afghan with the paintings. I set them on the floor beside the same chair I had sat in yesterday and took off my coat and scarf. I had briefly told Suzanne Holt what I wanted over the phone the night before, but without giving her a lot of details. I didn’t want her running to her mother and telling her what was found at the Bryson home, at least not before I had my plan in place.
Suzanne brought over a tray with a tea pot and three cups and placed it on the small coffee table.
“Is someone else coming?” I asked.
“Alastair. I mean Mr. Hildebrand. I’m good, but he’s much better. You don’t mind?” Suzanne asked, looking adorable in a pair of low cut jeans and a black turtleneck.
“Not at all,” I said. The truth was I still had no idea if Suzanne or Mr. Hildebrand, or perhaps the two of them together, had killed Humphrey, but it didn’t matter as far as my plans went. As a matter of fact, I had hoped to pull them into my scheme as well, and this would save me another trip out to New York.
I sat down and reached for the afghan.
“No!” Suzanne said quickly. “I mean, can we wait until Alastair gets here? I’m dying to see them, but I think he should be here, too.”
“Of course,” I said and sat back in my chair just as we heard a soft knock at the door.
“Help yourself to some tea while I let him in.” Suzanne walked across the small room and opened the door.
Alastair Hildebrand kissed Suzanne lightly on the lips, said hello to me, and then the two of them moved to the sofa and sat down.
