Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (26 page)

I next brought up one of those sites specializing in creating a family tree. I already had an account I had set up a year ago for Meme and I typed in the names of Mr. and Mrs. Brenchley. From the death certificates I already knew they had died in a place called Chelmsford in Essex, not too far from London. After a few false leads, I found a Graham and Anna Brenchley from Chelmsford. They had a daughter, Daisy, who died as an infant, and a son, Hubert. The birth certificate we found in the secret drawer matched up with what I had on the screen before me concerning the son.

I quickly found copies of the death certificates for the parents, but absolutely nothing else on their son Hubert. I next plugged in the name of Ian Pye, the name on the other passport. Ian Pye must be a very common name in the UK because it got a lot of hits. I finished my sandwich and scrolled through all the Ian Pyes, but none of them matched Humphrey’s age or at least the age on the birth certificate for Hubert Brenchley. According to Sophie, her husband was about four years younger than Hubert. I was beginning to think lying about his age was just another secret Humphrey had kept.

“What are you doing in here?” Millie asked, scaring the daylights out of me. “You’re so quiet. Do you need help with anything?”

I brought Millie up to speed with all the bits and pieces I had gathered over the last couple of days.

“So, the little girl Daisy must be Humphrey’s sister, the one his wife told you died when she was a baby,” Millie said.

“Yes, and Humphrey is Hubert Brenchley and Ian Pye. But why? Why change his name, several times, and alter his appearance?”

“Maybe he’s in witness protection,” Millie offered.

Now why didn’t I think of that? “That actually sounds plausible. But he is obviously a citizen of the UK. Do they have a witness protection program? And why send him here?”

Millie played with a piece of her dark hair while she thought about this. “Maybe that’s how it works. We send our witnesses to the UK and they send theirs here. It would make them much harder to find and much safer.”

It sounded like a great idea, but I didn’t think it worked that way.

“So, does this bring you any closer to finding out who the killer is?”

I crumbled up the wrapper from my sandwich and tossed it in the trash. “No, Millie, it doesn’t. I don’t have any concrete suspects. It could be any of the pickleball players because they were all sick of his cheating, it could be Marie or Phyllis or their husbands because of the blackmail stunts Humphrey was pulling. Or maybe that Peter Gaffney guy over some deal gone wrong. Or one of the private eyes Sophie hired or any of Marie’s other lovers because they were jealous and wanted to protect her honor. Or it could be the gallery owner and his partner, Suzanne.”

“Who also happens to be Phyllis’ daughter and might have been avenging Humphrey’s treatment of her mother,” Millie added.

“Right. Or the calendar boys, which would break Meme’s heart.”

“Do you really think one of them did it?” Millie looked like she was on the verge of tears. None of us wanted it to be Fred or Walter or Howard.

“I hope not. But I’m beginning to think there might be a European connection somehow what with Humphrey being British and the art work, and two of the calendar boys are originally from Europe, and so are the deli owners and Mr. Hildebrand from the gallery.”

We heard the front door open and Millie jumped up and went out to the lobby. A few seconds later John walked into my office.

I got up and walked around to give my husband a kiss. “What brings you here?” I smiled.

John took a seat and I walked around my desk and sat back down. I reached over for my jar of M&M’s, grabbed a huge handful and pushed the jar toward John. He took a few, put them in his mouth and just stared at me. And it wasn’t one of those aren’t-I-so-lucky-to-be-married-to-this-woman looks. It was more like a why-did-I-ever-marry-this-broad stare.

“You seem, well, you seem kind of icy, John. Is something wrong?” I was starting to get rather chilly myself.

“I’ve been talking to Sophie for the last couple of hours.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and popped another candy in my mouth. “Really? Good. How’s she doing?”

“She’s well. Now why don’t you hand over what you found in Humphrey’s secret drawer.”

Okay, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep the papers forever, but I still hadn’t managed to make a copy.

“Fine. They’re right here. If you’ll just let me scan them to my computer I’ll be right with you.” I got up to go out to where we keep our copier.

“Sit!”

I don’t like being shouted at and I can give it back as good as I get. I raised my voice and said, “I just found them this morning and I had to get back here for a meeting, but I was planning on bringing them home tonight. Really.” I put a scowl on my face and folded my arms across my chest. I would have added a
so there
, but I figured that would really sound childish.

“And what about all the paintings. Were you bringing them home, too?”

I sat back down and sighed. “So Sophie told you about them, huh?”

“Oh, she more than told me about them. She showed them to me. Quite the collection.”

“Yes it is and the last time I heard there was nothing wrong with collecting art.”

“Unless it gets you killed.”

“And you don’t know the art had anything at all to do with Humphrey’s death,” I said.

John stood up and took off his coat. He sat back down and his gray eyes soften. “No, I don’t. But it’s definitely a lead and you should have told me what you found.”

I leaned back in my chair. “We just found the stuff last night. I had some art gallery people look at it this morning and it seems to be valuable. They think it’s stuff that was taken by the Nazis because it was considered to be grotesque or something. John, what the hell does all this have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know. But I want to see what you found this morning.”

I reluctantly passed the papers to my husband and told him what I had managed to find out on the Internet, which wasn’t much. He gave them a quick look and then tucked them into his pocket. He took another handful of M&M’s, kissed me, and left saying that he would probably be home very late.

I know I should have been bothered my husband wouldn’t be home for dinner, but the truth was I was glad. Meme and I had tossed around some ideas about setting a trap to catch the killer. I thought it was a good plan, but if I told John, he would never let me be in on it. The problem was I knew it could be dangerous, and while I loved playing detective, I had no plans to depart this earth any time soon, so I needed someone with some authority other than a cop. I needed someone with a gun.

“It could work,” Shirley Reynolds said an hour later.

“Have you ever done anything like this before?” I was seated across from her, in her home office, with a cup of tea cradled in my hands.

“Setting a trap? Sure. Lots of times, but never for a killer.” Shirley scratched her head. “You should probably just let your husband handle it.”

“I guess you’re right. It could get dangerous, especially if the killer brought another pickle with him.”

“Or her,” Shirley added.

“Right. Do you really think a woman could have held him down? I mean everyone at the supper was a senior citizen,” I said.

“But they’re all in great shape. And the man did have some tranquilizers in him.”

I told Shirley all about the secret drawers and what Sophie and I found. “Do you think he was involved in some kind of witness protection scheme?”

“I doubt it. At least not an American one. The program started up in nineteen-seventy-one, I believe, and Humphrey and Sophie have been married since the fifties. His change of identities was obviously before that because his wife only knows him as Humphrey, not Hubert. Or maybe she’s lying.”

I shook my head quickly. “No. I’m sure she didn’t know any of it. She was angry; more than angry, she was horrified. She truly has no idea what the heck is going on with the birth certificate, the new passport and all that art. By the way, how would he get a British passport?”

Shirley got up and brought the tea kettle in from the back room. She topped off my mug with more hot water and sat back down. “Any number of ways, and a man like Humphrey, with all his money, could get anything done. My thought is he was planning to run. He was selling off art to get money, he had a new passport. He was going to run, I’m sure of it.”

“But he had money already,” I said.

“Sure, but if he waited for a divorce, everything would be tied up for months, maybe years while they sorted everything out. I guess he could have just taken everything and left Sophie penniless, but maybe he thought selling the art would be cleaner and quicker and maybe deep inside that round little body he actually had a soft spot for his wife.”

I got up to leave. “I’ll talk to John, but just in case are you free this week?”

“Pretty much. I just wrapped up a job this morning and I’ve got nothing for the rest of the week, at least at night. I assume your little scheme would work better at night.” I nodded. This really is a job for the police, but if you’re crazy enough to go it alone, call me. By the way, if you’re here asking for my help I take it I’m off your suspect list?”

“You were never really on it. It was all my sister’s idea,” I said. I walked down the front steps and out to my car and I had to wonder, was I setting myself up to be alone in a tight space, with a killer with a gun.

I made a quick stop at Sophie’s and told her what I had planned. She liked the idea, but as with Shirley Reynolds, she felt it was better left to the police.

“I promise. I’m going to tell John about it tonight. Now, we need to get you out of here. Do you have someplace you can go for a few days?”

“A dear friend lives in New Haven. I’ll call her tonight and make plans to go there early tomorrow. Let me get you a key.”

Sophie went down the hall while I looked out the large living room window toward the dark Sound. I had used my cell before leaving Shirley’s house to call my sister. I didn’t feel like going home and thought Sam and the kids might like to have dinner, but she had a parent/teacher night thing to go to. Meme was heading out for a bingo game, but told me that everyone would be at the community center in the morning for a tournament. It sounded like the ideal time to put my plan into play and I told Meme I would pick her up about nine-thirty. Now all I had to do was convince John.

“Here you go. I also wrote down the alarm code.” A look of concern came over Sophie’s pale features. “What are you going to do about the alarm?”

I paced a few times in front of the couch. “Okay, I can make it sound like I’m really concerned about all the art while you’re away because your alarm system isn’t working and with Humphrey’s death and your trip to your sister’s you just never got around to getting it fixed.”

Sophie smiled. “I like it. Alex, are you sure this is going to work? Are you sure this is all connected?”

I sat down beside her. “It has to be and hopefully by tomorrow night all the pieces will have fallen into place and you can get on with your life.”

“I’ve thought about selling this place,” Sophie said as she looked around the room. “Too many memories and not necessarily good ones. And now a secret room and drawer, I just don’t know if I can continue to stay here. But, oh, I do love the ocean.”

I patted her hand. “Well, you don’t have to make that decision just yet. Have you given any thought as to what you’ll do with all the paintings and other stuff?”

“How can I? We don’t even know how Humphrey came to have it. Maybe he stole it and then what? All I want right now is for the killer to be caught and all that stuff taken away. Even if it legally belongs to me, I don’t want it. How can I possibly have something in my home that was taken away from someone by Nazis? It’s all too horrible to even think about.”

“You have all my numbers. If something happens and you can’t get hold of your friend, call me immediately.”

“I’ll be out of here one way or the other for tomorrow night even if I have to go and stay with Janet.” Sophie made it sound like a most disagreeable solution.

“You know, your granddaughter seems like a nice woman. I mean she’s a nurse. She spends her time helping others and she put herself through school. Maybe you should give her another chance.”

“I’m afraid the sins of her mother have always tainted my opinion of her. I’ve been harsh, I know. Since Humphrey died, she’s been coming around more and even took me to lunch one day. She is a nice girl and she has some funny stories about the comings and goings at the hospital. It sounds just like one of those TV shows. Maybe I can get to know her better. And my son, too.”

“I know both of them would really appreciate that. All they want is to be a family.”

I tucked the key into my wallet for safekeeping, put on my coat, and left Sophie to make her calls and pack her bag, and hoped with all my heart that it wouldn’t be Janet or Robert or
both
who would end up in my trap.

A cold wind blew in from the Sound and a wall of dark clouds moved across the horizon. We were having one heck of a winter this year and there didn’t seem to be any end in sight.

I drove down Main Street and then turned right where it ended at the harbor. I had no idea if the Kaufmans would be at the pickleball tournament so I used their scrumptious strudel as a good excuse to stop by and tell them about the art and Sophie’s trip to visit a friend. I was becoming quite adept at inserting certain subject matter into conversations.

“That’s incredible,” Astrid said as she placed three strudels in boxes. “I haven’t heard a word about any art. Was it on the news?”

“No. The police are keeping it quiet until they sort it all out.”

“And they think that’s why Humphrey was killed, because he had all these paintings?”