Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) by Elaine Macko Page 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