Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) by Elaine Macko Page B

song, Humph would start talking real loud to mess up his rhythm. What little he had.” Meme rolled her eyes.
    Another possible lead shot to hell. Sure, Humphrey bullied Cyril, but again, was it anything to kill over? And was Cyril strong enough to hold Humphrey down? I didn’t think so.
    “Meme, I don’t think I’m going to be able to solve this one.”
    “Start looking into the man’s life.”
    I turned and looked at my grandmother. “What do you mean? I’ve been looking at his life.”
    “Yeah, but you’re concentrating on the pickleball group. Just cuz the man got killed at a team supper doesn’t mean his murder had anything to do with the game. A total stranger still could have come in and killed him for the simple fact there were so many people around. The police would have a ton of suspects. Or it was a team member, but they killed him for reasons other than the game.”
    I thought about this for a bit and then I asked Meme if she was ready to go. There was someone else I wanted to speak with and if I hurried I could make it there before it got too dark.

 
     
     
Chapter 25
     
     
    I found Shirley Reynolds sitting at her desk typing and sipping a cup of hot tea. Of course I could have just called, but after sitting all afternoon I felt restless and needed to get out and I didn’t want to go back to work. I was turning into a horrible businesswoman.
    “Alex, what brings you back to Westport?” Shirley got up, went into the back room and came back a minute later and placed a cup of tea in front of me. “Must be Humphrey.”
    “It is. I think I may be going about this all wrong.”
    “How so?” Shirley asked.
    “I’ve been concentrating on the pickleball players, but his life had to have more in it than that.” I took a sip of the tea, cradling the warm cup. “So I got to wondering why exactly he went all the way to New York, spent a small amount of time at a gallery, and then had lunch alone. Seems like a long way to go for a meal.”
    Shirley smiled. “I like the way you think. So tell me,” she began from her seat behind the desk, “what does your husband think of you going around playing amateur detective? He’s a police officer, correct?”
    “He’s a detective. I think he’s getting used to my asking questions and giving him information. It’s amazing how I seem to get stuff out of people that he can’t.”
    “Yeah, people hate talking to cops. I think it’s too late to go now and besides I have to work tonight. Wife wants the goods on her husband so she can divorce him and take the guy to the cleaners and boy, do I have dirt, but how about tomorrow morning?”
    “Tomorrow morning?” I asked. I had no idea what Shirley was talking about.
    “Sure, we can hop the ten o’clock train, check out the gallery where Humphrey went, grab some lunch and come back.
    I smiled. “I like the way you think.”
     
    *****
     
    I got home well before John and decided to cook him dinner for a change. We had been eating out or John had been cooking and I felt like making a home-cooked meal.
    I pulled some pork chops out of the refrigerator and put them in a frying pan to brown. While they were cooking I started the stuffing with some cornbread I had let get stale, an onion, some garlic, chopped celery and plenty of sage and marjoram. Once the chops were nice and crispy on the outside, I placed them in a baking dish, topped them with a mound of the cornbread mixture, drizzled the pork chop drippings over the whole thing, and placed the baking dish in the oven.
    Next, I sautéed some Brussels sprouts in a bit of butter and added a pinch of black pepper and salt. I moved them to a small bowl and placed them on the table just as John walked in the door.
    “Wow, what smells so good?”
    “Pork chops and cornbread stuffing. I felt like having a heavy winter meal,” I said as I placed a kiss on John’s cold cheek.
    John hung his coat in the small mud room off the kitchen and started to set the