Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (7 page)

“It’s nothing, Samantha. Your sister was just diagnosed with RA like your mom,” Meme explained.

“I knew it! I knew you were keeping something from me. Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam sounded hurt.

“Because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t MS or lupus. I’m going to start treatment on Thursday with mom.”

“Millie and I can take over your work load and I can pick you up in the mornings so you don’t have to drive.”

“Samantha, she’s fine. Nothing’s going to change except that she’ll have to be on medication and have monthly blood tests and hopefully we can keep it at bay.”

Henry came over and put an arm around my neck. “Auntie, anything you need, you can call me. Mom, can I have a cell phone so Auntie Alex can call me even at night?”

My sister rolled her eyes. “You’re not getting a cell phone, Henry. You’re eight. Ask me again in ten years. Auntie can call us at home if she needs us, but you know what, Henry? She’s fine. She’s going to be just fine.”

I felt a lot better after my visit with my family. The piece of chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and cup of Earl Grey tea my mother put in front of me didn’t hurt. Lots of people lived with lots of things and if I had to have a bit of discomfort in my joints, I felt it was a small price to pay. So many people had it a lot worse than I did with no hope in sight.

I called John before I left my parents’ and assured him I was okay after my melt down. He invited me to meet at our favorite Italian restaurant and a date with my wonderful husband was just what I needed.

But now I had other things on my mind. I headed back to Pirates Cove and hopefully would find Sophie Bryson at home. The clouds had finally lifted and as I pulled into the Bryson’s driveway, the sun glistening off the water was a welcomed sight. The ocean just always had a calming, restorative affect on me. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

“Sophie, if you have a few minutes, I’d like to ask you some more questions,” I said a few minutes later.

“Of course. I’m waiting for my son and then we’re going to the funeral home to pick out an urn. I’m having Humphrey cremated. I thought it a fitting choice. The man should burn in hell for all eternity.”

“I wanted to talk with you about the divorce. You said Mr. Bryson told you he wanted a divorce and he would sooner kill you then let you get any of his money.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Sophie sat on a plush sofa wearing a black skirt and a black sweater with sequins around the neck.

“He made threats. Weren’t you afraid to be alone in the house with him?”

Sophie examined what looked like freshly painted finger nails. “If I left, it could be seen as abandoning the house and he would never leave. We were in separate rooms and I can assure you I locked my door at night and put a chair in front of it just in case he tried to get in.”

“What a horrible way to live. How long had this been going on?” I asked.

“Yes, well, there was a lot at stake. As to how long, I guess about a month. That’s when he told me he wanted a divorce.”

“Were you aware of, well, of—”

“Humphrey and other women? Of course. He certainly didn’t try to hide it. You saw for yourself the night of the pickleball supper. He had his hands all over Marie.”

“Didn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it did. But ammunition, my dear, ammunition.”

“Excuse me? I’m not following.”

“I wanted him to continue with his despicable ways. You see, I hired someone to follow him. Take pictures, catch him in the act.”

“So you knew about—” I was having a hard time bringing all of her dirty laundry out in the open.

“His little rendezvous at the beach? Yes. I have pictures. A loathsome man, the private detective I mean, not Humphrey, though he was a loathsome creature as well. You can get anyone to do anything if the price is right.” Sophie got up and walked to a table against the wall, opened a drawer and took out a card. “Here you go. His card. You may want to talk with him.”

“How did you find this person?”

“Mr. Roder? He plays pickleball sometimes. He’s an ex cop. He gave me his card at one of the games. I think he was trying to drum up business. Anyway, I dug out the card and gave him a call.”

I heard a car drive up and a few minutes later a man I would put in his early fifties came into the room.

“Alex, this is my son, Robert. Robert, this is Alex, the woman I told you about. She’s looking into finding your father’s killer. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go freshen up so we can go.”

I watched Mrs. Bryson leave the room and then turned to Robert. He had inherited his father’s rather short stature and more than a bit of his personality, I was afraid, if the smirk on his face was any indication.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you. I bet you can’t find one person who gives a damn my father was killed.”

“Yes, that certainly seems to be the case. And you?”

“Oh, you can put me on the list of people jumping for joy at his demise.”

“So what do you do, Robert?”

“A little of this, a bit of that.” Robert ran a hand over his almost bald head. “I’m kind of between jobs right now.”

“And did you know your father planned to divorce your mother?”

“I did. He told mother we would both be cut off once and for all.”

“That seems rather harsh,” I said.

Robert shook his head. “Not really. That’s how he was. He was only interested in making people as miserable as he was. Personally, I thought it was a great idea for my mother to be free of him, but she wasn’t about to go without a fight.”

“And her fair share of the pie,” I added.

Robert treated me to his snarky smile again. “Exactly. She has a good lawyer and things were falling into place.”

“Okay. I’m ready. Shall we take your car, Robert?” Sophie asked. She had put on a fresh coat of lipstick and a beautiful tweed coat.

“Certainly. I’m just going to need some money for gas.” Robert smiled at his mother.

“Of course you are.”

Terry Roder was a nasty piece of work. He lived in a one-room apartment in an older and somewhat seedier part of Pirates Cove. The place reeked of grease and onions and whether he got a lot of take-out or liked frying stuff up on his one-burner stove, I had no idea. I placed Mr. Roder in his late forties and even though he seemed to have questionable eating habits, he was well built with strong arm muscles bulging from under his shirt. He obviously got more exercise than sitting in a car taking pictures of philandering husbands would provide.

“So, you’re helping Sophie look into her husband’s death. Aren’t the police doing that?” Mr. Roder leaned back in the only other chair in the room beside the one I currently occupied.

“Well, yes, of course they are. A murder was committed after all, but she was hoping I might be able to get to the bottom of things more quickly and keep certain, shall we say unsavory, aspects of her life out of the papers.”

“You mean like her husband bonking a few women down at the beach?”

“So you saw him?”

“Yeah, that’s what the wife was paying me to do and I got the pictures, but there wasn’t a lot of bonking going on. The old geezer didn’t have it in him, you know what I mean, but he still managed to get those women into his car. So I got to thinking, why would they do that? These were some good looking broads, you know what I mean?”

“So you followed those women?” I asked.

“For a while. But the one with red hair wasn’t doing anything. Just working with a bunch of kids. Tutoring or something. Now, the other one, the real looker, she likes men and they like her. Her husband owns a dealership and I figured she’d have a lot to lose if he found out what his wife was up to after those yoga classes or whatever they are, you know what I mean?”

I tried to keep judgment out of my voice. “Yes, I think I’m beginning to understand. So you threatened to tell her husband if she, what? Didn’t pay you? You were blackmailing her?”

Terry Roder ran his hands through his thick rust-colored hair and then clasped them behind his head. “That was my initial plan, but no. I got a call from Humphrey Bryson himself. He knew I was following him and knew I was following the two broads and wanted to know what I had on them. Wanted me to find out some stuff on some guy, too, a Mr. Wronkovich.

“Why Mr. Wronkovich?”

Mr. Roder shrugged. “Who knows. As long as I get paid, I’ll dig up dirt on anyone he wants. The guy’s in some calendar and if you ask me, I think Humphrey was pissed he wasn’t asked to be in it. So anyway, he started to pay me to feed him information on the looker. Marie. Marie Dupre. He already knew she was meeting some other guy on the side, but he wanted as much dirt as I could find.”

I put up my hand. “Stop. Wait a minute. Mrs. Bryson hires you to spy on her husband and then you turn around and give him all the information?”

“Hey, it wasn’t like I went to him. He called me. I guess I got a few things to learn about surveillance. But like I said, he found out I was watching him, gives me a call, and pays me to keep following Marie.”

“And are you still getting paid by Mrs. Bryson?” I asked incredulously.

“Sure. I’m not a total idiot. She’s the one who hired me, though now he’s dead I guess I can kiss that gig good-bye.”

“And you won’t be getting anything more from Humphrey either,” I said.

Terry Roder sat there staring at me and then it dawned on him. “Gee, I guess you’re right. I’m outta two jobs.”

“So when exactly did Mrs. Bryson first hire you?”

“About three months ago,” Terry said without missing a beat.

“And how long did it take Humphrey to catch on?”

Mr. Roder leaned forward, hung his head and laced his fingers together. “About two months, three and a half weeks ago.”

“So what exactly have you been giving to Mrs. Bryson all this time?”

“She got the pictures I took the first week and then I’ve kind of been telling her that her husband wasn’t doing anything. Just going to work and pickleball and that was about it. Sometimes lunch with friends.”

“And what exactly
was
Mr. Bryson doing all this time?” I asked then.

“The usual. Stuff with the broads at the beach, pickleball, work. And he did take a trip to New York on the train. At least I think he went to New York. I only followed him to the station and he got on. Doesn’t mean he got off in New York, but I’m just assuming.”

“Did Mr. Bryson know you were still following him?”

Mr. Roder shook his head. “Nah. He told me to follow the broads and feed a line of crap to his wife.”

“Then why did you keep following him?”

“Look, the old guy was up to no good. So maybe I follow him and find out some stuff I can use, you know what I mean?”

I did know what Mr. Roder meant and maybe Humphrey found out and didn’t like being double crossed. Plus, if Terry Roder was still following Humphrey, then he was probably outside the hall the whole time we were all inside enjoying the German supper. It would have been very easy for Mr. Roder to sneak inside, lure Humphrey to the back under the pretense of some good dirt he dug up on one of the ladies, and shove a pickle in a most inconvenient place.

I needed to speak with Sophie Bryson yet again. She lied to me about when she hired Terry Roder and if he fed her a bunch of lies, I wanted to know if she bought it. Plus, I still had no idea what Humphrey actually did for a living. I mean, the man was in his eighties, but he seemed to be busy all the time, so what did he do all day and why did he go to New York?

But right now it was getting late and I needed to get back to Indian Cove to meet John for dinner. It had been a hard day and I looked forward to some good pasta and conversation with my husband.

Forty-five minutes later I walked in Gianelli’s, one of our favorite restaurants. John was already seated at a booth by the fireplace and had ordered some fried dough and butter.

“This looks wonderful,” I said, as I took a piece and smeared it with some warm butter.

“You look good,” John smiled. “The talk with your mom obviously helped. And she put your mind at ease about the treatments?”

“She did. Meme was there and Sam stopped by with Henry, so I was surrounded by support and love.”

“You’re going to be fine. The doctor said you should have mostly good days. And sometimes you’ll wake up with a lot of pain and stiffness and we’ll just get through it.” My eyes misted and John took my hand. “What? Tell me.”

I placed my other hand over his. “I’ve been so afraid it was something more; that I would never walk again or would be totally dependent and you would leave me. I’m so relieved it’s RA. I’ve seen it up close with my mom since I was a kid and now I see how well she’s doing and I’m just so grateful it’s not more serious.”

“Alex, it is serious, and you’ll be taking some pretty strong drugs for it. They’ll have to monitor your blood and you’ll have regular checkups so we have to be diligent. I’m not trying to scare you, but I know how you try to ignore things. If you’re having a bad day, then you’re having a bad day and it’s okay to lean on people. And as for me leaving you, don’t ever think so little of me again. We’re a team. You’re stuck with me for life. Got it?”

I sniffled and wiped my nose on a tissue I pulled from my pocket. “Got it. My mom and I will be going to the infusion center together on Thursday and she told me how some foods, like all those good French cheeses, bother her. John, I can’t give up cheese.”

“Let’s just take it one day at a time. We’ll work through it and find what works and what doesn’t, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay. So, did you really mean it about us being a team?”

John rolled his eyes. “I know I’m going to regret it, but yes, we’re a team. What do you want to know? I assume the subject has changed to murder?” He buttered another piece of fried dough and handed it to me with a grin.

“Terry Roder. Have you ever heard of him?”

“No, I don’t think so. Who is he?”