Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (23 page)

“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.

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.

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 insufferable. 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?”

“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.