Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (3 page)

Mrs. Bryson shook her head. “No, but that’s very kind. I already called my son last night and there’s nothing in the papers yet. It was too late last night for the reporters to get anything in. I’m sure soon enough everyone will know and then this house will be filled with people wanting to make sure first-hand Humph is truly dead. No. For now I just want the peace and solitude.”

“Well, let me make you a cup of tea and then I’ll be on my way.” I’m as nosy as the next person and I really wanted to know what she meant last night by there being plenty of suspects, but I also have a heart and if Sophie Bryson wanted to be alone with her grief I would let her be.

“No!” she said loudly almost causing me to drop the canister of tea bags. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Please stay. You’re the one that solves murders, right?”

“Well, yes, but I’m not with the police.”

“I’ve overheard your grandmother talking about you. She’s very proud. She’s a lucky woman to have such a nice granddaughter.”

“Thank you. I feel pretty lucky to have her, too. Do you have grandchildren, Mrs. Bryson?”

“Sophie, please.” She took a sip from the cup I had just placed in front of her and looked up at me. “Yes, I have a granddaughter. Janet. An awful child. Listen to me. She’s in her thirties, for heaven’s sake, but she takes after our son. Robert is an only child and I’m afraid we created a monster. Humph bullied the poor boy and I coddled him. That combination does not make for a good man with an abundance of self-esteem and kindness. I’ve failed miserably as a parent.”

I wasn’t sure what to say about that so I just poured boiling water into another cup and waited for her to continue.

“I’d like to hire you to look into Humphrey’s death. I have plenty of money so whatever your normal fee is will be fine with me. I have the utmost confidence in our police force and I know they will get to the bottom of this, but I’m not sure they’ll handle things in a sensitive manner.”

“A sensitive manner?”

“I started to tell you last night, but we were interrupted. Humphrey Bryson was a bully, a cad, a cheat, a scoundrel, a rat and an all around horrible man. I have no idea why I’ve been crying over him. I guess I’m mourning what we had at the beginning or what I hoped we would have had all these years, but the sad truth is he slept with or at least tried to sleep with every female he met, he was involved in shady deals and God knows what else. I want you to find his killer as quickly as possible before all our dirty laundry is hung out for all of Pirates Cove and the surrounding towns to see.”

I almost gasped at the intensity of her words. But if she thought she could contain her husband’s less than reputable reputation, she was wrong. The cat was already out of the bag according to Meme.

“Oh, and one more thing, Ms. Harris. Humphrey planned to divorce me after fifty-five years of marriage and he vowed I would get nothing. He said he would rather kill me than see me get a penny of his money. I would imagine when that gets out I will probably ascend to the very top of the suspect list.”

I wish I had a normal fee for Sophie Bryson to pay, but as I didn’t have any credentials as an investigator except for the marketing my grandmother was obviously doing on my behalf, I simply told Sophie I would help in any way I could. Of course, I was acutely aware of the fact I may have just been scammed by a murderess and the more I thought about it, shoving a pickle down Humphrey Bryson’s mouth did seemed like something a woman might do. Sophie was taller than Humphrey, but she was also thin and fragile looking. Would she be able to hold him still long enough to get the pickle down his throat? I tried to remember what she was like last night when I first offered to help her find her husband. She had been a bit agitated, which at the time I took for anxiety at not finding him, but maybe she had just killed him and was trying to compose herself.

Mrs. Bryson might turn out to be a murderer in the end, but I also had another pretty good suspect and once again, I was able to find his address on the list Meme had supplied.

Sid and Marie Dupre also lived in Pirates Cove, but in a slightly more modest neighborhood than that of Sophie Bryson. While their house was a good size and they had a lovely corner lot with several big trees, they were a couple miles inland from the Sound.

I had to park a block away because of the snow pushed up along the sides of the road, but I was dressed for the weather and the exercise would do me good. I had consumed my fair share of potato salad and spätzle last night and the walk up the slightly inclined road felt good.

I rang the bell and it was quickly answered by Sid Dupre.

“Can I help you?” Mr. Dupre held a pair of glasses in one hand and a section of the Sunday paper in the other.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dupre. I’m Alex Harris. I met you last night at the pickleball supper.”

“Oh, right. Of course. You kept me from punching Humphrey’s lights out. Looks like someone else had a beef with him as well.”

“So you know he was killed last night?”

“It was on the morning news. Can’t say I’m shocked. It was bound to happen one of these days. The man had a way of making enemies.”

“Would it be okay if I came in for a few minutes?”

“Oh, of course. Sorry. Come on in.”

I followed Sid Dupre through a small foyer into a den with a fire blazing.

“I was just about to get another cup of coffee. Can I get you anything?”

“A water would be fine.”

A few minutes later Mr. Dupre came back to the den with a fresh cup of coffee and a bottle of mineral water for me.

“So, what can I do for you?” He settled back into a chair with the rest of the paper sitting on an ottoman by his feet.

“I was just over at the Bryson home and Mrs. Bryson hoped I might be able to shed some light on exactly what happened last night. I was actually the person who found her husband and I’ve had some experience with murder before.” My explanation for poking my nose into other people’s murders always sounded so lame but what else was I going to say?

“So you’re not here on any official capacity?” Sid Dupre asked.

Here it was. I’d be getting the boot out the door any second. “Well, no, I’m not. Like I said, Mrs. Bryson heard about some other murders I helped solve and felt I might be able to get to the bottom of this before, well, before—”

“Before all their sordid affairs were made public? Too late. Everyone knows what kind of person Humphrey Bryson was.”

“And just what kind of person was he?” I asked.

Mr. Dupre stood up and walked over to the fire and poked it a couple of times and then added another log. He was not a very tall man but he looked like someone who worked out. His upper body looked muscled even through his shirt and cardigan, and I felt certain he would have no trouble holding down Humphrey Bryson and shoving a pickle down the man’s throat. Having stoked the fire, Mr. Dupre returned to his chair and picked up his coffee cup.

“What kind of man was Humphrey? Well, for starters he was a man who didn’t have a problem coming on to another man’s wife.”

“I take it that was what upset you last night?” I asked.

“It was. I’ve talked with him on many occasions about dancing with my wife and touching her in an inappropriate way, but, well, you saw him. Had his hand on Marie’s behind for God’s sake. I know he was just egging me on. Humphrey liked to egg people on, but it was just one time too many.”

“One time too many?” I asked. I wondered if the man realized how his comment sounded.

Sid Dupre’s rich brown eyes grew wide. “I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was added to the other crap he’s been pulling lately I just had enough of the man for one night.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“I own the recreational vehicle dealership here in town. Boats and campers for the summer, snow mobiles and the like for the winter. We also have a small department for tractors and snow plows. I’ve supplied Pirates Cove and the surrounding town with plows for as long as I’ve been in business and that’s been about thirty years. Started small and provided good value and a great service department and things just grew over time.”

“And what does this have to do with Humphrey Bryson?” I asked.

“He’s on the town council and out of the blue he cancelled my contract.” Mr. Dupre’s color was taking on the same hue as last night. “Gave the business to some dealership in New Jersey. New Jersey, for God’s sake. Every time something breaks down or needs some servicing they’re going to have to haul the damn things to Jersey. And you know what? Turns out there’s some sad sack son of a friend of his who just started working there last summer.”

“I can see how something like that could make you pretty angry.”

“You’re damn right.” Mr. Dupre looked over at the fire and then back at me. “Now, wait a minute. If you think I’m the type of man to kill another, you got another thing coming. Just ask my wife.”

“Where is your wife, by the way?”

“Zumba class. She should be back soon, but trust me, punching the man’s lights out, I could do. Killing him? No. No way. Not my style. So what exactly happened to him? The TV news people just said he was murdered. Do you know how?

“I’m afraid I’ll never forget it. He had one of those very large pickles they served at the supper shoved down his throat. It was horrible.”

Sid Dupre stared at me for a moment and then roared with laughter. He finally had to pull a handkerchief from his sweater pocket and wipe his eyes. “Humphrey loved those damned things. Ate so many he said one of these days they would kill him.”

I’m fairly certain Humphrey Bryson never expected one of his beloved pickles to be shoved so far back in his mouth that it choked him. But I did have to wonder about the mindset of the killer. Had they known of Humphrey’s love for the pickles or was it just a spur of the moment type of thing? Either way, I didn’t think I’d ever forget the sight of Mr. Bryson on the floor with that thing in his mouth. It truly was gruesome. The pickles had been very tasty but heavy on the vinegar and had caused me to cough a couple of times eating the darned thing. How would it be to have it stuck in your mouth with the juice dripping down your throat and no way to cough it up?

I was about to leave Mr. Dupre to his merry thoughts of Humphrey Bryson’s demise, when his wife arrived home from her zumba class dressed in a pair of skin tight black exercise pants and a long-sleeved turquoise, also skin-tight top. The color set off her lush, perfectly highlighted grayish-blondish hair and her clear deep blue eyes. The woman was very good looking and I had the distinct feeling she knew it and used it.

Sid explained the reason for my visit and then excused himself to make some calls.

“Just awful about Humph. I guess I better change and go over to see how Sophie is doing,” Marie said from her perch on the hearth.

“Are you and Mrs. Bryson close?” I asked.

“We went to the same high school. Oh, not the same year, of course. The Brysons are much older than Sid and me, but I grew up here in Pirates Cove and so did Sophie.”

“How about Mr. Bryson? Did he also grow up here?’

Marie shook her head then took a sip from a bottle of water. “No. Humphrey grew up in the Chicago area, I think. They met one summer when Sophie went to visit her cousins in Michigan. They were all at the same resort.”

“Your husband seems to think Humphrey had lots of enemies.”

Marie Dupre rolled her eyes. “Sid makes a big deal out of nothing. Humphrey was harmless. He just liked to push people’s buttons and Sid’s buttons are easy to push.”

“He told me he just lost a contract for snow plows because Mr. Bryson cancelled for no reason and gave the business to another company in New Jersey.”

Marie stretched out her legs in front of her and crossed her ankles. “And that’s why I was dancing with Humphrey last night and letting him get in a few feels. I told him it would make me really happy if Sid got that contract back. You just had to know how to work Humph.”

“And did it work? Did he tell you he would give your husband the snow plow business?”

“Well, no. But that was just Humphrey trying to get some more attention. I told him maybe we could get together later and discuss it more. Look,” Marie said, standing up and coming to sit beside me on the sofa. “Humphrey liked to play. That’s all it was, trust me, playing around. That pickle they found in his mouth had more get up and go than old Humph, but like I told you, he liked to think he was pulling one over on the men in this town and on the pickleball league and the truth was all he could do was play grabby ass, but if it got Sid’s contract back, so what?”

“But it didn’t get the contract back, did it. Did you talk to him again after I broke up the fight?”

“We planned to meet about an hour later. Sid always goes right to bed after a party. He gets a few beers in him and can’t stay awake. And that cherry dessert was pretty powerful. I told Humph to give me an hour and we’d meet at our usual place.”

“Your usual place?” I couldn’t understand why this beautiful woman, who had to be twenty years Humphrey’s junior, would let a letch of a man paw all over her just to get a contract back. Surely she didn’t have feelings for him.

“We liked to meet down at the beach, after dark. Whenever I needed something or, more likely, whenever Sid’s business needed something, such as another piece of land for expansion, I’d meet up with Humph. Let’s just say it was the price to pay for doing business in this town.” Marie gave a disgusted snort. “So, as soon as Sid and I got home last night, I put him to bed, waited a bit and drove down there. I waited for about forty minutes and when Humph didn’t show up I left. It was freezing. I figured Humph couldn’t get away from Sophie so I just went home and got right into bed.”

“Did your husband know what you did in order to help his business?”

“No. Absolutely not. If he did, he’d kill—forget I said that.” Marie Dupre placed a well-manicured hand on my arm. “Sid is clueless. I’m sure he didn’t know anything.”