Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (21 page)

“And now that he’s dead, will you be able to continue living at the apartment and managing the other properties?”

“That all depends on what my mother plans to do with everything. I assume I was not mentioned in the will, so we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Do you know if your father took any kind of muscle relaxers?”

Robert scratched at a spot on top of his head. “Not that I know of, but that’s not the kind of thing we would talk about. Actually, we didn’t talk. He just barked orders at me and that was about it. You’ll have to ask my mother.” He didn’t offer to go check the medicine cabinet and I wasn’t about to ask.

“Well, I better get going. I’ll check in with your mother when she gets back.” I gathered up my things and headed for the front door with Robert behind me.

“All I ever wanted was for my father to love me, to be proud of me. I know, it sounds pathetic, coming from a grown man like me, but isn’t that all any of us want?”

I left Robert standing in the doorway, looking like a sad sack of a man beaten down by a bullying father and a mother who didn’t seem to have a lot of warmth, and once again I was incredibly grateful for my own family, goofy as they were. At least I always knew I was loved.

I pulled out of the driveway and could still see Robert in the rearview mirror. I felt certain I could mark both he and his daughter off my list. Yes, Janet wanted a down payment, and Robert might find himself out on the street with nothing, but I didn’t see either of them as a killer. Janet had a great job and would find the money one way or the other, and Robert was just a beaten down man. I didn’t think he would have the guts to confront his father, let alone at the supper with plenty of witnesses.

The art was another thing, though. Either one of them could have taken the items and made it look like a break in. If I had to choose between the two, I would say Janet was the more likely candidate. Robert seemed like someone who had given up a long time ago. It would be interesting to see if the stolen loot turned up in any local pawn shops in the next week, but if Janet stole them, I would imagine she would want to get a better price than what a pawn shop would pay.

Before heading to the turnpike I made a quick detour over to Body Expressions. Seymour had been selling the calendar out of his shop and he had run out again. I had a supply in my trunk to drop off. The parking area in front of the shop had a couple of cars, one with New York plates, and a truck. Even on a Sunday, Seymour seemed to be doing well. Meme told me he hadn’t missed one payment of the money he borrowed from her. As usual, my grandmother had a keen sense into someone’s character.

I walked into the reception area where a young couple sat looking through sample books. I heard talking in the back room and a few seconds later Seymour came out.

“Hey, Alex.”

“Hi, Seymour. I just wanted to drop off some more calendars. You look busy.”

Seymour smiled at the young couple. “Things are good. I went to a show in the city a couple weeks ago and I’m getting some New York and Jersey traffic.”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to work.” I turned to go.

“Wait. I’m glad you stopped by. I remembered something about that old dude who got killed and I’ve been meaning to call, but time just got away from me.”

I turned back and rested by hands on the counter. “Humphrey Bryson? Something about him?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Yeah, him. Remember I told you he came in about doing a calendar?” I nodded. “He also wanted to know about tattoos.”

“Humphrey wanted a tattoo?”

Seymour cringed. “No, thank goodness. He wanted to know how long they last.”

“Why?”

“Who knows? The guy was weird. But that’s what he wanted, how long did a tattoo last.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him it depended on the quality of ink, but that for the most part they lasted forever so you better make pretty damn sure you want one before you get it.”

“And then what happened?”

“Nothing. He left. He seemed to forget all about the calendar. I expected an argument when I told him I didn’t have time to do a calendar for him, then he asked about the tattoo and then he left.”

“When was this, again?”

“About two months now, give or take.”

Two more guys came in so I left Seymour to his customers and walked out to my car, wondering what the heck pickleball, art theft and tattoos had to do with each other.

I had a full day planned in Pirates Cove. Last night I had managed to track down an address for Suzanne Holt. I remembered seeing a notice on the gallery door that they were closed on Sunday and Monday, and hopefully Suzanne was home and not spending the weekend with Mr. Hildebrand. This case seemed to be full of coincidences and one of them was that art, supposedly the same art Humphrey planned to give to the gallery to sell, went missing in the same town where one of the gallery owners lived. Maybe Suzanne, with or without Alastair Hildebrand’s participation, caved to curiosity and stole the items Humphrey wanted sold.

But before I confronted the lovely Suzanne, I drove over to the Dupre home. Marie had already confirmed Norbert’s story, but I wanted to talk to Sid again. I didn’t buy his total unawareness of his wife’s dalliances with Humphrey, Norbert, and Tony. How could he be so oblivious? Everyone else seemed to know, or at least suspect, so why didn’t Sid?

But as I drove through the quiet streets of Pirates Cove, thoughts of Humphrey came back to me. Why did the man want to know about the age of tattoos, and why all of a sudden did he want a divorce? The timing of the two things seemed to coincide. Coincidence? And I could add another element into the mix—Humphrey’s visit to the gallery. Tattoos, divorce, and a visit to a gallery in the hopes of selling off some art. What did one have to do with the others? And now the art was gone, stolen right from Humphrey’s home. At least I assumed it was the same stuff he planned to give to Alastair Hildebrand to sell, but who knew.

Hopefully, by time I was done running around, Sophie would be back and I could get some answers from her.

I arrived at the Dupre’s and was ushered in by Marie.

“Sid just ran to the store. What can I get you?”

“A tea would be nice.” I followed Marie into a cozy kitchen with a maple table and four captain chairs and a lot of pewter ware placed on the sideboard. The appliances had been updated but the curtains and table gave it an old New England feel. It was a bit dated, but still warm and inviting.

“I’m glad you’re alone. I wanted to ask you again about the night of the supper and your conversation with Norbert.”

Marie’s back was to me while she grabbed mugs out of the cupboard and I could see her go rigid. A moment later she turned to me with a big smile on her pretty face.

“What about it?”

“Are you sure Humphrey didn’t tell Sid?”

“Of course he didn’t. I told you I got to Humph first and promised him a romp down at the beach.” Marie placed her manicured hands on the counter. “And besides, Tony’s not coming around anymore and Norbert broke it off with me. He didn’t feel right about what we were doing.” Marie shook her head slowly. “He was right, of course. It was just all fun and games, and Lord knows I love my fun and games, but even I couldn’t keep three men plus Sid straight.”

“And you’re absolutely sure Humphrey didn’t tell Sid anything?”

Marie’s hand went to her heart. “Of course I’m sure. If he had, well, Sid would have said something, and he hasn’t.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

Marie stared at me. “When? After I talked with Norbert?” I nodded. “Nothing. You set up your table with those calendars and I went over to have a look. You know, Mr. June, Howard, is it? He’s really something. I see him all the time at the games, but never had a chance to talk with him. He isn’t married is he?”

I gave a mental eye roll. “Did you happen to see Norbert again that night?”

“No, I already told you that on Friday. After I got my calendars, I went back to our table and then Humphrey asked me to dance. He must have had an extra slice of that spiked cake because he was all limber and in a good mood. Then he grabbed my butt and you know the rest.”

“And after the fight, when everyone was leaving, did you walk out with Sid?”

“I walked out with one of the single gals. Sid was so mad at Humphrey he wanted to go splash some cold water on his face to calm down. He gets so worked up over nothing.”

“And Norbert? Has he contacted you since the supper?”

Marie sighed. “No. I’m going to miss him. Out of all of them, he had the most, well, you know, get up and go. If Humph was a gherkin, Norbert was a kosher dill.”

Geesh.

“And Tony?” I asked, thinking I would probably burn in hell, but I was caught up with her pickle analogy and curiosity got the best of me.

“Tony? I guess you could call Tony pickle relish.”

Pickle relish? I didn’t know what to make of that, and didn’t dare ask. I liked pickles in all their forms, and right now I wasn’t so sure I could ever look at a gherkin again. I needed to at least preserve my relationship with the relish.

Marie, with a forlorn look, plopped herself down in the chair next to mine. “Humph’s dead, Norbert took the moral high ground, and Tony has his nose out of joint because he found out he wasn’t my only lover. Tell me about Mr. February. I like the way he has that heart strategically placed, and if the size of the heart represents the size of what he’s hiding, he might be a good time.”

“Yes, Alex, tell us all about Mr. February,” Sid Dupre said from the doorway.

Marie Dupre had obviously been hitting the hormone replacement pills pretty heavily. I wanted to walk out right then and there and leave the husband and his sex-deprived wife to argue it out, but I had a murder to solve and the cat finally seemed to be out of the bag, so hopefully I didn’t have to pussyfoot around anymore where Sid was concerned.

Marie rushed to her husband’s side and placed a hand on Sid’s arm and stroked it up and down. “Exactly what
did
you hear, honey?”

“I heard enough to know I’m probably the laughing stock of this community. Tell me you didn’t sleep with that vile man?”

“Ah, which one would that be?”

“Humphrey!!”

“Oh, no, honey, I didn’t. He couldn’t. He just liked to touch.”

Sid looked like he needed to be taken to the emergency room. I felt sorry for the man, but at least I finally had the answer to the question of whether he knew all along what Marie was up to. Clearly he did not, because this newly gained knowledge was on the verge of killing him. No one could fake their reaction that well. And somewhere in the back of my mind I had wondered whether Terry Roder might have contacted Sid with the information about his wife’s indiscretions, but again, with Sid’s reaction now, there was no way he knew about Marie’s dalliances.

I got up and filled a glass with water and brought it back to the table. “Here, drink some of this.”

Sid grabbed the glass. For a moment I thought he would fling it at his wife, but he finally eased his grip and took a few sips.

“If you feel up to it, I have a couple of questions and then I’ll let you two, well, um, talk things out,” I said.

“What do you want to know? Ask me anything. My life is clearly an open book.”

“First, I just want to verify, now that things are out in the open that you never knew about any of the men in your wife’s life?”

Sid’s face turned a beet-red color again. “Do I look like I knew what was going on? Can’t you see I’m in some kind of shock here?”

The man was really in a bad state, but this was my window of opportunity and I couldn’t let it close. “Marie told me you went to the restroom before you left the party.”

“I did. I splashed some water on my face and used the facilities.”

“Did you see or hear anything in the hall or coming from the women’s room?”

Sid took a couple more sips. “No, not that I recall. I was pretty upset at the time.” He cut his eyes toward Marie.

“How about the door to the outside? Was it open?”

“The door? I don’t remember it being open when I went in, but—” Sid paused and took a few more sips of water, his eyes locked on Marie.

“But what?” I prodded.

He put the glass back on the table and turned toward me. “When I came out, it was closing, the door. It was almost closed and then locked into place as I walked out of the men’s room.”

“So, did you see anyone?”

“No, just the door closing, and then I went back out into the main hall.”

This was good. Someone had obviously just come in or out as Sid walked out of the men’s room. The more I thought about it, I was certain they must have been leaving. If the door was closed when Sid got there, they couldn’t get in because the door locked automatically and had no handle on the outside. Someone must have just left and Sid missed seeing the killer by seconds, which, when I thought about it, probably saved his life. Or, maybe Sid was mistaken. Maybe the door was still ajar when he went into the restroom and he didn’t notice because of his agitated state. Or maybe Sid was lying and he never washed his face at all, and just used that as an excuse to kill Humphrey.

“What time was this?” I asked.

Sid looked at Marie and shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe close to ten, maybe a bit after.”

This latest bit of information corroborated what the guard had told me, which was that he came by around ten to lock up the side door. Maybe Sid didn’t hear the killer after all; maybe all he heard was the guard pulling the door firmly closed.

“One more thing,” I began. “Did either of you know anything about Humphrey’s art collection?”

“Humphrey had an art collection?” Sid asked. “First I heard of it. He had some paintings on the walls of his house, but most people have something on their walls. We have stuff on our walls. Are you saying his stuff was worth something?”

“They were worth something to someone. Someone broke in last night and took a couple of things.”