Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (10 page)

Meme waved her pudgy hand. “I’m fine. I just had a horrible thought,” she said lowering her voice.

Theresa and I leaned forward.

“What is it, Meme?” Theresa asked.

“The same people are here who were at the dinner. That means there’s a killer among us.”

The three of us started walking again. Theresa took my other arm and she and Meme held on tight while an icy chill crept up my back.

The game was fast and furious and, I have to admit, I was surprised at how quickly these seniors could move. Granted, a lot of them were nowhere near Meme’s age, but still, I’m not sure I could keep up.

After I had Meme and Theresa settled I retrieved the calendars from my car and had already sold a few to some people who had come to watch the game. Once again, Howard, aka Mr. June, got the most looks, and why not? Howard was indeed a good looking man and his provocative pose on a sofa with a vase of flowers only partially hiding his attributes didn’t hurt.

I was busy watching a mixed doubles game when I felt something on my leg. I looked down to see a liver-spotted hand on my knee. I glanced to my left and into the rheumy eyes of one of the players from Meme’s community.

“I’m Cyril . Cyril Mayfair. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hello, Mr. Mayfair. What can I do for you? Did you want to buy a calendar?”

Cyril gave me a disgusted look. “I offered to pose for that thing but they said they had all the months filled up. I’m thinking maybe next year.”

Cyril Mayfair had probably been about five-foot-five at some point in his life, but age had taken its toll and the man was no more than five-foot, five-two tops. He had wild Albert Einstein hair and bushy eyebrows to match, all on a scrawny body. I had a feeling all the spots for the calendar for many years to come would be filled up when Cyril came calling.

I felt a slight pinch and looked down. The hand on my knee had now crept up to somewhere mid thigh. I didn’t want to make a scene, but another inch and the man was going to have a few chunks less hair on his head.

“If you’re looking for the person who killed Humphrey I could help you out with that?” he smiled up at me with a set of ill-fitting dentures.

“Really? How’s that?” I asked.

“Everyone knew he was doing the nasty with a couple gals on the Pirates Cove team. Their husbands, especially that Sid Dupre, were pretty steamed about it. So was that Holt fellow and Tony Moretti.”

“Are you telling me that Mr. Dupre and Mr. Holt thought something was going on between their wives and Humphrey?

Cyril shook his head quickly. “I don’t know exactly what they knew or what was going on. I just hear rumors like everybody else, but Humphrey was always pawing at the gals and Sid and Lester saw it and would have a word with him. They had a
lot
of words with him.”

“And what about you, Mr. Mayfair? Were you also pretty steamed up about something Humphrey was doing?”

“Me? I got no wife for him to bother. And I ain’t got no business either for him to interfere with. I got my house and my social security. Even Humph couldn’t stop that. If you want my opinion Sid killed him.”

I looked at this little hobbit of a man. “You sound pretty sure of yourself?”

“They argued a lot and they argued at the supper.”

“Yes, I know. I pulled them apart.”

Cyril shook his head of crazy white hair again. “No. After that. They had a fight. Most people were walking out, but I saw.” Cyril tapped the side of his head with a bony finger. “Sid pushed Humph and said a few things to him but I couldn’t hear. Then Humph straightened his jacket and walked away.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Cyril shrugged. “I left along with everyone else.”

Or did Sid Dupre go after Humphrey and somehow manage to drag him into the ladies room? How was I going to find out? Or maybe Cyril was making it all up to cast suspicion elsewhere.

“But you didn’t like Humphrey either, did you?”

Cyril Mayfair lifted his spotted hand from my leg and scratched his head, putting the hand back down perilously close to parts he had no business being perilously close to. I lifted his hand off my leg and dropped it onto his own.

“So, tell me why you didn’t like Humphrey Bryson?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Cyril stood up and stomped off toward the men’s room.

I’d have to ask Meme later about Cyril Mayfair, but right now the man Meme pointed out as Tony Moretti was getting a drink at the water fountain, and I wanted to talk with him. I waited while he finished and then waved him over.

“Already got one of those calendars. My wife bought one for us and several for her friends.”

“Well, my thanks to your wife, but that’s not why I wanted to talk with you,” I said. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions about Humphrey Bryson. By the way, my name is Alex Harris and you’re Mr. Moretti, right?” Okay, so my name was Alex Harris Van der Burg, but come on, that takes too long and I wasn’t about to toss out a box of a thousand business cards printed with only the Harris. Luckily I was married to a man who didn’t care what I called myself.

“Yeah, I’m Tony Moretti. You want to talk with me about that little creep? Take a look around. Is everybody having a good time? Have you heard any fighting over crossed lines or cobra shots? Are people pushing each other?”

I shook my head. “No. Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“Well, there you go. Humphrey’s dead and everyone’s happy. Anymore questions?”

Tony Moretti was getting on my nerves. Sure, Humphrey was a creep. Everyone seemed to be in total agreement on that point, but Mr. Moretti, a married man, having an affair with a married woman, didn’t seem too angelic to me. Of course, like my grandmother said earlier, don’t judge. You never know the whole story. I watched Tony standing next to me, arms folded, watching the game. He was a good looking guy with close-cropped salt and pepper hair, bright blue eyes and a nice smile.

“So, was Humphrey blackmailing you over your affair with Marie?” I asked casually.

“Hey! What the hell. My wife is standing right over there,” Tony said, pointing to an attractive woman in a navy blue sweat suit waiting for her turn on the court. “Where the hell did you hear that? Who are you anyway?” The color rose in Mr. Moretti’s face, blending nicely with the red t-shirt he was wearing.

“I’m looking into Mr. Bryson’s death at the request of his wife and it’s come to my attention that Mrs. Dupre likes men. So, was Humphrey blackmailing you?”

“Wait. What do you mean she likes
men
? What men?” Tony asked, his hands now firmly on his hips.

“You thought you were the only one?” I shook my head. “Sorry. No. Can we get back to Humphrey and the blackmail?”

Tony Moretti sighed in resignation and ran a hand over his short hair. “The man was bleeding me dry. I have a good military pension and I did well in my business after that, but these are supposed to be my golden years. I had to tell my wife I took up poker to explain where all the money was going.”

“So I guess you’re pretty happy he’s dead?”

He leaned in to me and put one hand on the back of my chair. “You’re a nosy sort, aren’t you? Humphrey’s dead and the way I see it that ends my problem. Did I kill him? No. Am I happy he’s gone? You bet. And if what you say about Marie is true, then I’m done with her as well.” He straightened up and caught his wife looking our way. He put on a big smile and gave her a wave. “You wanted to know if I killed Humph. I didn’t. I hope that’s the end of this. No way my wife has to know any of it. Got it?”

I watched him walk away. Despite the bravado, Mr. Moretti didn’t scare me. But if he thought his blackmailing troubles were over, he had another thing coming, because if Terry Roder was blackmailing Marie and God knew who else, it was only a matter of time before he got to Tony.

I sold a few more calendars while I watched the women play. Astrid Kaufman was one of the players and she was pretty good. A few minutes later, the game broke up and the women walked off the court while a group of men walked on for their game. Howard and Fred were playing against Norbert and a man I didn’t know.

“What a good idea coming to the game with your calendars,” Astrid Kaufman said.

“Two birds with one stone. I actually came to talk with a couple people about the murder, but I had some calendars in my car. You play a good game.”

Astrid used a hand towel to wipe sweat from her face. “Thanks. You saw the food I served on Saturday night. Well, I like eating it as much as the next person and playing pickleball keeps me fit. Wow! Good call,” Astrid yelled over to the court. “Humphrey liked to pull that nonsense all the time. He would foot-fault, get caught doing it, and then threaten to withdraw his monetary support if they called it.”

“What’s a foot fault?” I asked.

“See the guy in the blue shirt?”

“Sure, that’s my grandmother’s friend, Fred.”

“Well, he failed to stay behind the baseline while serving. Humphrey wasn’t the best player out there and he liked to inch up. He’d get called out on it, of course, but he paid no attention. Rules didn’t apply to Humph. When he’d come into our shop, he’d cut in front of the line, always jiggling those coins in his pocket.” Astrid gave a quick shake of the head. “He’d make a scene so I usually came running from the back and took him aside and helped him just to get him out of the place. He was a braggart as well. Liked to tell me about all his wheeling and dealing like I had time to listen to that stuff. Amazing how someone like him managed to have what he has.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Have you been to his house?”

“Yes, a few times now.”

“Of course, you’re helping Sophie. We all got invited to a BBQ at his place over the summer. No one wanted to go except to see the place. Right on the beach and all the stuff in it. Furniture, art, you name it. How does such a horrible man amass such wealth?”

I watched Fred hit the ball over the net and high-five Howard and then I turned back to Astrid. “Yes, he did have a lot of stuff, but so far I haven’t met one person who cares that he’s dead. He had to know no one liked him. Maybe that’s why he became such a bully.”

Astrid looked at me with a stern face. “You’re nicer than most. He’s always been mean. He was born mean. Had to be to turn out like he did. Oh, here comes Carl.” Astrid smiled at the bear of a man who came and stood next to our seats. “Alex, this is my husband Carl.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said and extended my hand.

Carl Kaufman was tall and broad but not fat. He had thinning gray hair and a thin moustache and a twinkle in his eye.

“Astrid tells me you came into the shop. Any luck on finding Humphrey’s killer yet?”

“Nothing so far. I was just telling your wife he didn’t seem to have any friends.”

“This is true. You can’t go around treating people the way he did and be liked.”

“Mr. Kaufman, did you notice anything on Saturday night that may have led to Humphrey’s death. Anybody that shouldn’t have been there?”

“It was the same group that always shows up for these dinners. The only others were the wait staff and we’ve used them before. They’re good kids.”

“Would any of them have a gripe against Humphrey?” I asked.

“Other than the fact he was a pain, always complaining his plate wasn’t as full as everyone else’s, no. I hire college students to help out when we cater parties. As far as I know, none of them knew Humphrey other than as the cranky guy, and to tell you the truth we usually put extra potato salad and an extra slice of meat or whatever on his plate to keep him from complaining all night and driving them crazy. Astrid?” Carl looked at his wife.

“This is true. If Humph got a bit more and it kept him quiet, it was worth it. Those kids work hard. They don’t have any time to worry about one individual. Then they help clean up and they go. We usually cook everything and just bring it and heat it at the hall. We’ve done a few parties at the Veterans Hall and it’s a good place with a modern kitchen with a couple big ovens. Not much to clean up afterward except the plates, which we wash up immediately. No one wants to have to stay all night.”

“So you didn’t see anyone go into the women’s room with Humphrey?”

Carl shook his head. “Once everyone started to leave, Astrid and I took all our equipment out to the van and our SUV while the students took the tables down. There’s a door off the kitchen and we park right out there. Astrid left first with the SUV, but I went back in to make sure the wait staff didn’t need anything else and then I left. When they’re done they leave, and the security guard comes by and locks everything down. We park on the opposite side from the restrooms and there’s an exit out of the parking lot on the kitchen side so I never went over to the other end of the building. Look, it was nice to meet you, but we’re up next.”

I watched the Kaufmans walk over to the court and take up their positions on one side of the court with Marie and Sid Dupre on the other.

“You getting’ anything?” Meme asked. She had been sitting behind me talking quietly with Theresa. “Theresa’s playing in the next game. She’s warming up.”

“I’m not getting anything at all. The man had no friends and everyone is happy he’s dead. By the way, what’s up with that Cyril Mayfair guy?”

“Did he touch you? He likes to put his hand on your leg. And he likes to sing Sinatra. You don’t want to hear him sing Sinatra. It’s not pretty.”

“I didn’t get any singing, but I got the royal treatment as far as the hand on my leg goes. I firmly removed it. Did he have problems with Humphrey?”

“Problems?” Meme shook her head. “No more than everyone else. Humphrey did pick on him more than most, I guess. Probably because Cyril was smaller than Humphrey and not too many people can claim that. They were like two little hobnobs.”

“Hobbits,” I corrected.

“Yeah. Hobbits. Humph did push Cyril a lot and liked to slam the ball as hard as he could at his chest. I think Cyril was more embarrassed than anything else. And if Cyril broke into song, Humph would start talking real loud to mess up his rhythm. What little he had.” Meme rolled her eyes.