Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (9 page)

Marie Dupre’s right hand flew to her heart. “Oh dear God! Humphrey was having me followed? Why?”

If this was an act it was a pretty good one. She truly didn’t seem to know what Humphrey had done. Did this eliminate her as a suspect? No. No, it did not. After all, she had been meeting the man down by the beach and that alone would be enough of a motive for her to want to get rid of him. And if she was acting now and already knew Humphrey was also having her followed, her motive for murder was a lot stronger. Like she said, how long could she keep asking Sid for extra cash? The man was going to start wanting receipts and I didn’t think Terry Roder was a receipt-giving kind of a guy.

“Why? Well, probably so he could have more leverage to keep you coming down to the beach for your little get-togethers.”

Now she looked worried. “Hmmm. Would you happen to know just how long Terry has been following me?”

“Long enough to know Humphrey Bryson wasn’t the only one you were meeting.”

Marie’s beautiful skin went deathly white making the mauve lipstick she was wearing look garish. “Oh dear God. It’s not what it looks like.” She put her face in her hands and made small moaning sounds then looked back up. “Okay, maybe it is, but if Sid ever finds out he’ll kill me and God knows what he’ll do to Terry Roder if he finds out the man is blackmailing me. What have I done? It was all so harmless, just a bit of fun with a couple of guys on the team. Sid works a lot, you know. I keep begging him to retire. We don’t need the money. At least I don’t think we do, but he loves his company. Says he can’t trust anyone else to take over and run it the way he wants it to be run. And Humphrey, God,” Marie shook her head. “The man may have died with a big pickle in his mouth, but he had a gherkin in his pants. I wasn’t getting any attention there. What am I saying? I did
not
want any attention from him, trust me.”

“Is your husband a violent man?” I asked.

Marie shook her head of lush silvery blond hair, her blue eyes shining from the glow of the fireplace. “Oh, no, he’s a sweetheart.”

“Forgive me, but he didn’t sound like a sweetheart on Saturday night when you were dancing with Humphrey.” And then I got to thinking, maybe Sid Dupre wasn’t the only one jealous of the way Humphrey was pawing Marie. If she was having affairs with a couple of guys on the team, maybe one of them saw what Humphrey was doing and didn’t like it one little bit either.

“Marie, these other men you were meeting, were they at the dinner on Saturday night?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes.”

“Is it possible one of them got mad at the way Humphrey was touching you and took matters into his own hands?”

“I can’t believe this is happening. All I wanted was a little fun and some attention. Are you going to talk to them, because I don’t want to get them in any kind of trouble?”

“Are they married?”

“One of them is, yes, but not the other.” She said this last bit like it redeemed her in some way, obviously forgetting the fact that
she
was married. “Do you have to? Why don’t we just forget about it? I’ll stop seeing them and everything can go back to normal.”

“Mrs. Dupre, this is all bound to come out if the police ever get their hands on Terry Roder.” And considering I told a certain detective about the less-than-reputable PI last night, Terry Roder was probably at this very minute being interrogated in some dingy room at the police station. “They might think me less intimidating than the police and maybe we can get to the bottom of this without having to involve your husband.”

Marie Dupre was on the verge of tears but finally gave me a small nod and stood up. “Okay. I’ll be right back with their numbers.”

The numbers Marie gave me were for two men. The first one I didn’t recognize but the other one surprised me. Norbert Meyer had helped his sister cater the party. He lived in Meme’s community and I had seen him on a number of occasions. He seemed to be a cheery sort, average height and weight, with thinning hair. He was divorced, according to my grandmother, and had gone on a few dates with some of the women from the community. Granted, Mrs. Dupre was a very pretty woman, but it surprised me that Norbert and Marie were having an affair. I wondered if Meme knew.

My grandmother had called me earlier to tell me there would be a pickleball game this afternoon in Indian Cove and I figured I could talk to Norbert and Tony Moretti, the other man on Marie’s list, then. But right now I wanted to speak with the other private investigator Sophie had hired and the woman, Shirley Reynolds, lived in Westport.

I hopped onto the turnpike and headed to Westport. The town was on the coast and less than fifty miles from New York City. Considered one of the wealthiest cities in the country, and the home of the late Paul Newman, I figured Shirley Reynolds must be one heck of a PI.

I found the address printed on her business card on a tree-lined street of older homes. Okay, so it wasn’t a mansion on the ocean, but it was still a pretty decent place and many steps up from where Terry Roder lived. A sign on the front door said Reynolds Investigations. I turned the knob and walked in.

“Can I help you?” a woman in her early fifties asked?

“I’m looking for Shirley Reynolds.”

“You found her. What can I do for you?”

I looked around the room. The house was obviously residential, but Shirley Reynolds had turned a couple of rooms in the front of the home into office space. There were two desks, the typical office machines, and what looked like a small storage room in the back. I assumed the rest of the house was private.

“My name is Alex Harris and I’m here on behalf of Mrs. Bryson. Sophie Bryson.”

Shirley Reynolds placed a piece of paper she was holding on one of the desks and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So the little rodent got himself killed.” Ms. Reynolds shook her head and smiled. “There’s a nice sense of justice to things. Like my mama always said, what goes around, comes around. Have a seat.” She gestured to a chair next to the desk and I took off my coat and sat down. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A tea if you have it.”

“Sure do. Earl Grey okay with you?”

“Perfect. Just black, thank you.”

“You can call me Shirley, by the way,” she called out from the little room in the back, as she poured bottled water into an electric kettle. “So what’s this all about?” She leaned against the doorway and crossed her arms again.

I gave her a quick rundown of what had transpired so far and told her how Mrs. Bryson hoped I could get to the bottom of things before the entire state knew all her dirty laundry.

“Sophie’s a shrewd one, I’ll give her that. Hired that rodent, Roder, because she knew he would get caught and then brought me in when Humph’s guard was down. Roder’s too. Neither one of them had any idea I was following them.”

“So Mr. Roder kept following Humphrey. He told me he did and that he fed Sophie a lot of nonsense,” I said.

Shirley handed me a mug of tea and took a seat behind the desk. “Roder followed Humphrey once in a while. I’m sure not as much as he billed Sophie for. I was tempted to follow him just to see what he was up to, but Sophie was paying me to get the dirt on her husband and that was my main concern. And yes, sometimes I was literally following Roder who was following Humphrey.”

“And did you get the dirt?”

“I confirmed what Sophie already knew. Now she had it in writing with pictures. I think she got some pictures from Roder, too, but you can never have too much dirt when you’re dividing assets. When the divorce got down and dirty, and believe me it would have, she’d at least have proof the weasel was cheating.”

I took a sip of my tea, warming my hands on the cup. I actually felt pretty good today, hardly any pain at all and I guess it would be just like the doctor and John told me—good days and bad. Today was definitely good and I was going to savor it.

“When I talked with Mr. Roder he said he followed Humphrey to the train station and assumed he was heading to New York, but didn’t follow him any further. You ever follow Humphrey to New York?”

“I did. And I told Sophie all about it. He had lunch, alone, at some Italian place, and he went to an art gallery.”

“Was there some special showing at the gallery?” I asked.

Shirley shook her head. “Not that I could tell. He was in there about fifteen minutes, give or take. Had lunch and then caught the train home.”

“What other kinds of things did he do?”

“Ran errands and played pickleball. Stopped at the various businesses he owns around the area. And the man liked to eat. Deli sandwiches were his favorite from what I observed,” Shirley said.

“This is off the subject but how did you come to be a private investigator?” I asked. Shirley Reynolds wasn’t particularly rough looking. She was an attractive woman with neat, shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes. She looked fit in her pair of black slacks topped off with a cardigan in a floral print and I wondered if she wore this outfit while on the job or if she changed into jeans and running shoes.

“Well, I never started out to be a PI, I can tell you, but life throws us some curve balls and things just happen. My husband died young. Got cancer and left me with two young kids. I was a stay-at-home mom and he had his own investigation business. Did very well. When he died there were still several open cases and if they didn’t get finished, there wouldn’t be any money coming in so I left the kids with my sister at night and off I went. Do you have any kids, Alex?” I shook my head. “Well, let me tell you. You have to be on top of your game all the time. I have great kids, grown now, but even so, kids will try and get away with anything they can. You develop a sixth sense quickly and as it turned out, that sixth sense served me well as an investigator. I have a fine-tuned bull shit meter, I’m quick on my feet and I have a lot of common sense. So I took over the business and here I am.” She looked around the small office with pride. “And you? How’d you get into this business?”

I smiled. “It’s kind of a long story. I think we’re going to need another cup of tea.”

I got to Meme’s in plenty of time to have lunch with her before we headed out to the pickleball game.

“You find anything more about Humphrey’s death?” Meme asked, as she placed a plate with slices of fresh provolone and salami on the table.

“No more than I already knew, I guess, but I did meet an interesting woman this morning. I like her. I hope I get a chance to see her again.” I told Meme about Shirley Reynolds and how she got into the private investigating business.

“Just goes to show you never know what’s going to happen in your life. You can plan all you want and then just like that, you’re going out to work cuz you got a couple kids you have to take care of. Sounds like a nice lady. Did she have any good dirt on Humphrey? ”

I shook my head while I swallowed a bite of my sandwich. “Not too much. Said he went to New York and stopped off at an art gallery.”

“Why’d he do that?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t look like he bought anything.”

“Maybe he’s friends with the owner,” Meme suggested.

“Could be, but then he left and went to lunch alone.”

My grandmother looked at me over the rim of her glasses. “So what did you find out that you don’t want to tell me?”

I put my sandwich down and wiped crumbs from my face. “How the heck do you do that, Meme?”

“Kiddo, you been my granddaughter for a long time and I know you better than anybody. You can’t put anything over on me.”

I smiled. Meme was right and I loved her for it. She knew all my secrets. “Okay, so I did hear something. Did you know Norbert and Marie Dupre are having an affair?”

“Nope. I didn’t know that, but I’m not surprised. She’s a looker and a big flirt. I’m a little sorry to hear Norbert is dating a married woman, but not really any of my business. I learned a long time ago you never know what goes on in someone else’s home or life so you really can’t judge. Does the husband look like the kind of man who would be willing to share his wife?”

I thought about this. I knew nothing about Sid Dupre except he was pretty mad Humphrey and Marie danced together at the pickleball supper. Would he be happy to know she was having several affairs? “I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say probably not,” I said to my grandmother.

“Well, there you go. Maybe he’s killing off all the men she was with and he just happened to start with Humphrey.”

That was not a happy thought. If true, then that meant Norbert or Tony Moretti might be next. And God only knew if there were other men in Marie’s life. I helped my grandmother clean up and then we set off for the pickleball game, but not before stopping off and picking up Theresa. I was happy Meme and Theresa Calendrella had each other. They spent a lot of time together, along with Frances Haddock, and the three of them were never without something to keep them occupied. I should be so lucky when I get to be their age.

Ten minutes later I pulled into the parking lot of the Indian Cove Community Center and found a spot as close to the front door as possible, and then helped Meme out of my car.

“Looks like it’s going to be a full house,” Meme said, taking my arm. “Of course, with a fresh murder everyone wants to hear all the gossip.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” I said. “I’m going to need you to point out the people who were at the supper.”

“Too bad we didn’t bring any calendars,” Theresa said. “Lots of people here today.”

“As a matter of fact, I have a bunch in my car. I’ll get Meme settled and come back out to get a few.”

As we walked up the path, Meme turned her head from left to right and back again. “From what I can see almost everyone who was at the supper is here today.”

“That’s good because I need to talk with as many people as I can. Maybe by the end of the game I’ll have a better handle on this.”

My grandmother stopped abruptly.

“Meme, are you okay?” I asked, panic ringing in my voice.