Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) (12 page)

“Do you think it’s the same person?” I asked.

Shirley shrugged. “There’s no picture. Damn, I should have picked up one of his cards. Let me check something.” Shirley typed a few words while I watched the guy across the room try to give the sock monkey a bite of his sandwich. “Here we go. I just brought up the gallery and…bingo! We have a winner. Alastair Hildebrand of the Galerie Hildebrand. Same guy.”

Our sandwiches arrived. Shirley closed the laptop and pulled her plate in front of her.

“So what does this all mean?” I asked.

“It means I doubt Alastair would turn Humphrey away. Whatever Humphrey was up to I’ll bet Mr. Hildebrand was more than willing to join in.”

“Or maybe he reformed after his run-in with the law in London,” I said.

“Not likely. In my experiences scam artists are only reformed until the next scam comes along. So what was Humphrey up to and how did his talking with a gallery owner in New York get him killed in Indian Cove?”

We ate in silence for a few minutes while I thought things over.

“The Bryson house has a lot of stuff in it. With talk of divorce maybe Humphrey simply wanted to sell some stuff off.”

“Or,” Shirley began, “maybe he needed the extra cash to pay Sophie off.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. She told me he said he would sooner kill her than give her a penny.”

“Well, that must be it. I bet he was selling stuff off and planned to hide the money so he wouldn’t have to give any of it to Sophie,” Shirley said and then took another bite of her pastrami.

“That makes sense, but did he have anything with him the day you followed him here?”

Shirley nodded. “A briefcase. It could have held a small painting or some other objects he wanted to get rid of.”

I wiped some mustard from my mouth and looked at Shirley. “So what’s the big secret? Why would Mr. Hildebrand be reluctant to tell us Humphrey was there and wanted to sell some stuff?”

“Good question,” Shirley said. “My best guess is Humphrey was selling things without Sophie’s consent or knowledge. Maybe he’s got some sort of offshore bank account and the proceeds from the sale will go directly into that account without her being any the wiser. And if Mr. Hildebrand was indeed in on it with Humphrey he probably also knew Humphrey didn’t want the wife to know.”

A thought crossed my mind. “And now with Humphrey dead, if the items haven’t already sold, and Sophie never knew they were taken in the first place, then Mr. Hildebrand can sell them and pocket the profits himself.”

Shirley smiled. “Good point. I think you should talk with Sophie again and find out if anything is missing from the house.”

“I certainly will, and I think Mr. Hildebrand and the lovely Suzanne need to be added to my list of suspects.”

I wanted to go back to the gallery and confront Mr. Hildebrand, but like Shirley pointed out, we had no proof Humphrey ever gave the gallery owner anything to sell, and even if he had, there was no law against that. At least not one I knew of. I mean the man was obviously trying to con his wife out of getting any money from his stuff, but I had no idea what divorce laws entailed and hoped I never found out.

I dropped Shirley off in front of her house and got on the turnpike for the drive back to Indian Cove and then changed my mind when I saw the signs for Pirates Cove. I took the first exit and soon pulled into the Bryson’s driveway. There was another car parked in front of the house as well, but I was here now and hoped I could get a few minutes alone with Sophie.

I was greeted at the door by a tiny young woman dressed in riding boots, riding pants, and a bulky sweater. I assumed she was Janet, the awful granddaughter, but she gave me a warm smile and ushered me in.

“Gran, someone’s here to see you,” she called to the upper floor and then turned to me. “Come on in. I’m Janet, by the way. My grandmother just made some of her heavenly hot chocolate. Would you like a cup?”

I had only eaten half of my sandwich so I decided to reward myself with a cup of Sophie’s decadent concoction. “I would love some. She made it for me the other day and it’s wonderful.” I took a seat on the sofa while Janet poured the rich cocoa into a mug then topped it off with a squirt of whipped cream. My next stop would have to be the gym on my way home.

“So, my dad told me you’re helping Gran find out what happened to Humph?”

“You called your grandfather Humph?” I asked with curiosity not judgment.

“Yes.” Janet put her mug down on the table and gathered up her long auburn hair, twisted it around and secured it to the top of her head with a clip. She was a very pretty young woman and so far I hadn’t seen any of the awful aspect of her personality. “He did not want to be called grandpa or gramps or any of it.”

“Some people don’t like being reminded that they’re old enough to have grandchildren,” I said.

“Oh, no, that wasn’t it. He didn’t care about being old. It was having a grandkid he wasn’t too crazy about. Or a kid for that matter. He hated my dad and the feeling was mutual. Humph thought my dad never amounted to much and maybe he didn’t,” Janet shook her head. “And I am my father’s daughter, ergo, I am no good, either.”

“I’m sorry.”

Janet waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m a nurse, by the way. Got my degree and everything, but nothing was ever good enough for Humph and nothing I ever did was good enough for my grandmother, either. I’m a big disappointment.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“It’s true. The problem is Gran hated my mother. My mom was a gold digger and as it turns out a drug addict. She died when I was a kid and my grandmother couldn’t get past the kind of woman my mom was. And truthfully, yeah, I gave them all a lot of headaches when I was a teenager. For a while there I wasn’t sure I would end up any differently than my mom, but, well, I did. My grandparents are of the belief that one can never change. Even now, my grandmother only thinks I’m here comforting her because I want my share of the pie. But she’s wrong. I’m here for the chocolate!” Janet gave me a smile and then finished off her cocoa.

“Janet, could you leave us alone. I’m sure Alex has some things she wants to discuss with me.”

Neither one of us had heard Sophie enter the room. She stood there in a pair of gray slacks and gray cardigan over a pale pink silk blouse. Her hair was once again swept up on top of her head, showing off her long, graceful neck.

“You have such a lovely granddaughter.”

I admit I said it as a dig and Sophie looked at me like I was crazy, shook her head, and sat down.

“You were here yesterday so I assume you’ve found out something.” Sophie looked at me expectantly.

“Actually, I have a few more questions. You were aware of the fact that Humphrey went to New York a couple times in the last month?”

“Yes. To some art gallery or another.”

“Do you have any idea why he would do that?”

“Humph liked art. We have some nice pieces around the house and there’s some stuff that belonged to his family.”

“Is it worth a lot?”

Sophie shrugged. “We purchased some nice things when we first married, but nothing that would break the bank. As for his family collection, I have no idea. The paintings and other things have been with us since I married Humphrey. He liked them and said they had sentimental family value, but I’ve never given them much thought. Why do you ask?”

“I have reason to believe he may have been trying to sell them?”

Sophie’s body tensed and her lips settled into a thin line. “I should have known. Humphrey didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. If he held onto anything it was only because of its monetary value. So he was going to pocket the money.” Sophie walked over to the big bay window looking out onto the ocean. “It doesn’t matter. I would have had enough coming my way just from the things I knew about.” She turned back to me, obviously still rankled her husband had tried to pull one over on her. “So what did he sell and how much did he get?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. Is anything missing?”

Sophie looked around the room. “Nothing here. Humph kept a few things in his study. I’ll be right back.”

While Sophie went to check the study I got up and looked at some of the paintings on the walls. I knew next to nothing about art and most of these were signed by people with European-sounding names I didn’t recognize. I had no idea if they were originals or not and then I had a thought. Maybe that’s what Humphrey was doing at the gallery—trying to gather more information about his family’s art works.

“Everything is exactly where it should be in his office. Humph knew a lot of people. Perhaps he simply knew the owner of the gallery and stopped in for a social call. By the way, I’m going to Wisconsin to visit my sister for a few days. Here’s my cell phone number if you find anything out or have any more questions.”

I left Sophie and headed back to the turnpike. Humphrey wouldn’t go all the way to New York to visit a friend and then stay for such a short time. And if he was friends with the gallery owner, why not go to lunch together? No, Humphrey Bryson was up to no good. Now I just needed to find out what that was.

Did the fact Sophie could find nothing missing from her home mean the gallery owner was not in possession of any of Humphrey’s artwork? If that was the case then there would be no reason for him to kill Humphrey. If Mr. Hildebrand had nothing to sell and no money to pocket, why would he want to do Humphrey in? Of course, maybe good old Humph had made a pass at Suzanne, causing a jealous rage in her boss. And then what? Mr. Hildebrand drove to Indian Cove on a cold January night and waited for his chance to shove a pickle down the miserable old coot’s throat? I didn’t think so. So could I safely cross the gallery owner off my list of suspects?

The more I thought about this the more I decided, no, I needed to leave him right where he was. The truth is, maybe Humphrey didn’t give Mr. Hildebrand anything to sell and that was why he got killed—he promised the goods and then didn’t deliver. Alastair Hildebrand was still on my list of suspects.

As I drove, I returned to my conversation with Sophie. She said nothing was missing but I could see a couple of things wrong with that statement. One, maybe she was lying and planned to contact the gallery owner herself and retrieve whatever it was, or two, Humphrey took something to the gallery that Sophie didn’t know he had. I wasn’t sure how I could verify either theory, but hopefully something would eventually fall into my lap, which would lead me in the right direction.

I felt deflated. My talk with the widow didn’t clarify a thing. I still had no idea if Humphrey and Mr. Hildebrand were working together to sell off valuable works of art, and if so, how did it all tie in to his murder.

I was almost to the turnpike when I took a sharp turn and drove over to the Dupre home. I really wanted to speak with Sid without Marie around, but wasn’t sure how to accomplish that. And then I got a bit of luck. I was about six houses away from their home when I saw Sid pull out of his driveway. From what I could see, it looked like he was alone so I hung back a bit and let him get some distance between us. With any luck he wouldn’t be going too far and maybe I could get a few minutes with the man.

I continued to follow him for several miles, allowing a couple of cars to get between us. After another mile he pulled into a small strip mall with a hardware store. I waited for him to park and walk inside while I thought about a plausible excuse to be here and then I got out and went into the store.

Sid Dupre was nowhere in sight so I picked up a bottle of drain cleaner and then walked up and down the aisles until I found him.

“Mr. Dupre? Hello. It’s Alex Harris. I met you on Sunday at your home and I was at the pickleball game yesterday.”

“Oh, right, right.” He looked at the bottle in my hand. “Problems with your drains?”

“Tub. It’s taking a long time for the water to empty. Listen, I was hoping to catch you yesterday, but there were so many people around. I had a couple more questions if you have a minute.”

“Sure. Come on. I’m looking for a hose for the washing machine. Ours is about to give out and the last thing I need is water running all over the new hardwood floors we just had placed in the kitchen. Marie would have a fit.”

I followed him to the aisle with a bunch of rubber hoses and brackets and watched while he looked at a few. I loved these small mom and pop hardware stores, which for some reason always seemed to be located near a beach. During the summer they carried a wonderful selection of beach toys and Sam and I got to pick out new stuff at the beginning of the season when we were kids.

“Well, look at that. Exactly what I want. If you have some time, just let me pay for these and we can grab a coffee next door.”

I followed Sid to the checkout counter, paid for my drain cleaner and then we walked next door to a small coffee shop. Sid ordered a coffee for him and a tea for me and brought them to our little table by the window.

“Where’s Marie?” I asked.

“Zumba. I swear, she loves that stuff. Not me. I would rather go for a walk or play pickleball.” Sid tossed a packet of sugar into his coffee while I thought about all the zumba classes Marie took. Is that where she really was or was zumba a euphemism for some play time with Tony or Norbert or some other man I didn’t know about yet? I still hadn’t spoken with Norbert and I needed to rectify that as soon as possible.

“So what else did you want to ask me?” Sid removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair.

“What are your chances of getting the snow plow contract back now that Humphrey is dead?”

“I’d say great considering I met with the council yesterday. Those idiots over in Jersey never even had a contract. Humphrey wasn’t into doing things right. So the business of supplying the area with snow plows and maintaining them is back where it belongs. I hope you’re not thinking I would have killed the man over the plows. I knew he did it without the proper authority. I would have gotten it back no matter what. It was just a nuisance.”