Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (13 page)

“I overhead some people at the game yesterday talking about how mad you’d get when Humphrey flirted with Marie.”

Sid’s brown eyes flashed. “How would you like some woman fawning all over your husband? Do you have a husband?”

“Yes, I’m married and I guess I wouldn’t like it too much, but at the same time, I trust John, that’s my husband, completely so it would be annoying, but we’d probably laugh it off. I assume you trust Marie, too. I can’t believe you were really jealous about Humphrey.” I gave Sid a small smile. I didn’t want him having any outbursts here in the coffee shop like he had had at the supper, but I needed to introduce Cyril’s comments.

“Someone mentioned to me that after I stopped the fight between you and Humphrey, you confronted him again. There was some pushing involved.”

Sid was perilously close to crushing his cup of coffee. I pushed back a bit from the table hoping to avoid hot coffee spray, but then he calmed down.

“It wasn’t about Marie the second time. I told him he better stop messing around with my business.”

“But you just told me you were certain you would get it back because the New Jersey deal wasn’t legit.”

“True. But in the meantime I had a staff on hand. The maintenance guys. What was I going to do with them until we got the snow plow contract back? Humphrey butting into my business caused a lot of time and effort on my part and down time for my team, at least some of them, and I was tired of it. So I pushed him and told him to knock it off.”

“And what did Humphrey say to that?” I asked.

Sid scratched his head. “He said, sure, he’d talk with Marie and the contract would be mine again soon. I asked him what Marie had to do with anything and he just laughed.”

“Did you mention any of this to your wife?”

“Sure. She said she had no idea what the heck Humph was talking about.”

I sat there sipping my tea wondering if Sid was really that naïve about Marie and her men or if he knew all along what his wife and Humphrey were up to and had finally had enough. And then another thought occurred to me—Marie may have overheard the exchange at the supper and got nervous Humphrey would spill the beans about what she and he had been up to. I had two very good suspects in one family. And then another thought hit me—maybe they did it together.

I picked my mom up at eight the next morning. She had made us each a sandwich and filled two thermos bottles with hot tea. You’d think we were going off to battle, and in a way, I guess, we were. It was my first day of treatment to battle this disease, which had invaded my body. Autoimmune diseases seemed to run in my family with a couple of aunts and uncles having diabetes. I would have preferred my mother passing on the genes for her luscious thick hair instead of her RA, but no one goes through life unscathed by something, and if this was the worst it got for me, I really have to count myself lucky.

“They’re going to do a blood test first and then give you an antihistamine before the treatment starts,” my mother said as she buckled herself into my front seat.

“What’s the pill for?” I asked.

“An allergy tablet. Just in case you have an adverse reaction.”

An adverse reaction? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what kind of adverse reaction that might be. I had seen too many TV commercials for various drugs and the possible side effects always sounded far worse than the disease. You usually got a few seconds touting the virtues of the medication and about sixty seconds telling you all the things you needed to be afraid of. Maybe I was being lax about my own health, but some things are just better left unexplored. At this point I didn’t seem to have much of a choice, and I had seen firsthand how the treatment had helped my mom all these years, thank god, with none of the dreaded adverse reactions.

We arrived at the clinic, which was attached to the local community hospital, and found a parking spot in an already-full lot. I guess lots of people had autoimmune diseases and cancer. Not a happy thought, but at least there was help.

“We have a full house this morning,” Kathy, a cheery nurse said to my mom. “Would you two mind sharing a small room we have at the back? We only use it on very busy days.”

We followed Kathy down a hall to the back room, passing other patients already hooked up to IV bottles.

“Lots of chemo patients today. People put stuff off over the holidays and we’re playing catch up,” Kathy said to me. “Your first time?” I nodded. “You’ll do fine and isn’t it nice you can be with your mom.”

After we were settled into very comfy recliners, made more so by a warm blanket placed over me, Kathy brought in IVs of saline solution. She hooked my mom up first and then it was my turn.

“How about if I use your right hand,” Kathy said. “I see a nice vein. You’ll just feel a pinch.”

I turned my head and winced when the needle went in and a second later she was taping the line to my arm and hooking me up to the IV bag.

“I’ll be right back with the rest shortly.”

“Why the saline solution?” I asked my mom.

“They just started that about a year ago. Not sure why. She’ll hook the treatment right to your IV line so you won’t be getting another poke.”

My mother handed me a thermos and I took a sip of the warm tea. Kathy came back, attached the other bag of solution to my IV, did the same for my mom, and was gone.

“They drip it slowly so she’ll be back every fifteen minutes to increase the speed. Don’t worry when you hear the alarm go off.”

I watched the clear liquid drip into the line. I felt anxious and was glad my first treatment was with my mom. With any luck, all of our treatments could be on the same day.

“Just sit back, dear,” my mom said. “It’ll be fine. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me how you’re progressing with the pickle murder.”

I realized I wasn’t the only one who felt anxious. My mom had been receiving these treatments for years, but I had a feeling it was something she never got used to—watching poison drip into her body and the fear of adverse reactions, whatever they might be. We needed a diversion and murder sounded like a good one to me.

My mother had worked as a secretary and office manager before she retired so it was no surprise when she put up her hand to stop my ramblings and pulled a pad and pen from her tote bag.

“Alex, you have too many suspects. That’s why you can’t get a handle on this case. Now, start at the beginning and give me all the names and why you think they might have killed Mr. Bryson and maybe we can weed some of them out.”

“Well, I guess the first two suspects would be Mr. and Mrs. Dupre. Sid and Marie. Sid because Humphrey was always touching Marie and rubbing it in, and also because Humphrey was trying to ruin his business; and Marie because she was sick of having to meet Humph down at the beach. She may also have known Humphrey was having her followed and knew about the other guys. I don’t think she did until I told her, but you never know.”

“No, we mustn’t assume anything. If she’s a killer, she’d have her cover story in place. Okay, who else?”

My mother was having a lot of fun with this. I didn’t know if I should be happy about it or upset that I had created yet another monster. I seemed to drag my entire family into my sleuthing, what with my grandmother and her gang and my sister and even Millie and Marla. But what the heck, the more the merrier, and I did need another set of eyes on this one because I really had no idea who did Humphrey in.

“Then there’s another couple, Phyllis and Lester Holt. Humphrey was blackmailing Phyllis into meeting him because he found out somehow that she had had a drinking problem at some point. I’m not too sure of a motive for Lester except he may have found out what Humphrey was doing to Phyllis. Also, Lester had plans to run against Humph in the next city election and maybe he just wanted to do away with the competition.”

“This is good.” My mother was positively giddy. Geesh.

“Okay, who else?” I took a deep breath. “Well, of course the widow because the spouse is always the guilty party. She wanted a divorce and she says she was okay with getting her share of Humphrey’s legal businesses, but who knows. Maybe she found out he had extensive wealth he had kept hidden all these years and she wanted her share of that too.”

The alarm on the IV machine sounded causing me to slosh tea onto the blanket. Kathy came in and adjusted our IVs and then left us alone.

“There’s also the PI, Terry Roder. He started out following Humphrey, but then ended up working for him by following Marie. Maybe he and Humphrey got into a fight over payment or something. I also met a couple guys over at the pickleball game on Tuesday. One was Tony Moretti. He’s one of the men Marie was sleeping with. Humphrey was blackmailing him over it, so he certainly had a motive.”

“How about the other guy?” my mother asked.

“Cyril Mayfair. I don’t think he was being blackmailed, but he was most likely being bullied by Humphrey.”

My mother took a sip of her tea and then looked at me. “Are you thinking it had to be someone from the pickleball group?”

I shook my head. “You know, Mom, at first I thought so, but Shirley Reynolds and I went to New York yesterday. We wanted to check out a gallery where Humphrey went a couple weeks ago.”

“Shirley Reynolds?”

I explained the story around the gallery and the dubious background of its owner to my mom.

“I also talked with Meme’s group—Fred, Walter, and Howard. I hated doing it, but they were at the supper. They all thought Humphrey was a pain in the neck, but kill him? I just can’t see it.”

“I hope it doesn’t come down to that for your grandmother’s sake,” my mother added. “Do you think the calendar had anything to do with the murder?”

I thought about this for a moment while I sipped my tea. “I don’t really see how. Seymour did tell me Humphrey asked if he could take some pictures for a calendar Humphrey wanted to pass out during the next city election campaign. Seymour refused and that was that. Humphrey may have been jealous of the attention all the guys were getting over the calendar, but why would that get him killed?”

My mother sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t see any connection.”

“There are still a few people from the party I haven’t spoken to yet, like Norbert Meyer, and then there’s the son and granddaughter, so I’ve by no means finished with my investigation. Hold on for a minute. I need to use the restroom.”

All the liquid dripping into my arm needed to come out, so I tossed the blanket off and unplugged the IV machine and dragged it down the hall to the restroom. After I washed and dried my hands I ran my fingers through my hair thinking another cut was needed. I was just about to leave when I heard a familiar voice outside the restroom door.

“Thanks, Pat. No, the police haven’t found out anything yet.”

I was pretty sure the voice belonged to Janet, Humphrey’s granddaughter.

“You two were close?” the other female voice, which I assumed belonged to Pat, asked.

Janet gave a snort. “Hell no. The man was awful. He had no use for either me or my father and we didn’t care about him.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard growing up like that.”

“Not really. Humphrey liked to show me how successful he was so every once in a while he’d give me some money. Not a lot. A thousand or so, and not because he cared for me, mind you, but because he liked throwing it in my face that he had it and I didn’t. With any luck, now that he’s dead, I’ll get a pile and can buy that little cottage I’ve had my eye on.”

“I thought you already asked him for the down payment and he said no?”

I could hear Janet give a little laugh. At any moment my IV machine would start beeping again and I would be found out. I needed them to move away, but then maybe they were waiting for the restroom. Damn.

“Well, now that he’s dead, I’m hoping I can get the money before the house gets sold to someone else,” Janet said. “Listen. I better get back upstairs. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I heard footsteps, counted to ten, and then opened the door. So Janet had her eye on a nice home and Humphrey refused to help. It still didn’t sound like a strong motive to me, but then I didn’t come from a family with tons of money so I had no idea what having it just out of reach might do to a person. I hadn’t thought too much about putting Janet on my list yesterday, but despite my mother’s hope that I could whittle down my suspects, I had just added another.

By noon my first treatment was done. Other than feeling a bit tired from the antihistamine, I thought everything went well. Appointments were set for the next treatment, which would take place in eight weeks, and my mother and I would once again go together.

I needed to get back to my office for a meeting with Parminder Goel. Pammie, as she preferred to be called, was one of our best temps. She liked working sporadically so she could have plenty of time to get her Indian food catering business off the ground, and today she wanted to talk about hiring some of our junior temps to help her with marketing and email blasts for her new venture. If I hurried, I could stop off at the German Deli and pick up something for dinner along with some strudel for the office before my meeting with Pammie. I knew by time I got home tonight I would be much too tired to cook, and besides German potato salad and some spätzle with chunks of beef sounded good. I was eating far too much lately and not getting enough exercise. I needed to remedy that fast. I also needed to wean myself off my new addiction—apple strudel.

The deli was in full swing with the lunch crowd picking up sandwiches, but Astrid saw me and pulled me aside.

“What brings you here today? More questions?” She gave me a warm smile while at the same time keeping an eye on the customers.

“No. I wanted to pick up some things for dinner and some strudel for my office.”

“Your timing is perfect, Alex. I just made a batch. Sophie cleaned me out this morning.”