Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) by Elaine Macko Read Free Book Online Page A

“Did you hear how Mr. Bryson died?”
    Mrs. Kaufman took a deep breath. “With one of our pickles. Why would someone do that?”
    “Did you know Humphrey Bryson personally?”
    “Yes, from the pickleball,” she said. “My husband, Carl, he plays. And I just started on the women’s team.”
    “What did you think of him?”
    Mrs. Kaufman sighed. “It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but Humphrey was ein tyrann , a bully, you say in English. He was mean and just seemed to want to be that way for the pure pleasure of it. When we moved here to start our business, we first went to Pirates Cove. Our son and his wife live there with our two grandchildren. The storefront we initially rented was owned by Humphrey. It cost a lot, but we wanted to be near the kids. We signed a lease and then he refused to fix all the things he said he would. It took us months and a lot of money to get out of that lease, not to mention the business we lost. He said if we rented then it was our responsibility, but that’s not what we signed on for. He and my husband got into it several times.” Astrid shook her head. “So we came here and decided to buy this shop. It’s still close enough to our family. But then Humphrey started spreading rumors about our food and the products we used. It took some time, but people eventually started to come and found out for themselves that we keep our place clean and we make good food. And to add to that, Humphrey was a mean pickleball player.”
    “In what way?”
    “He liked to do a cobra shot.”
    I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t play pickleball. What’s a cobra shot?”
    Mrs. Kaufman gave her chest a hard punch. “Here. Right here he hits the ball. On purpose. My brother Norbert got hit and fell down. It’s not good to fall at our age. Norbert and Carl refuse to play against Humphrey.”
    “I’ve heard this before, that he’s not a fair player. Why do they let him continue to be on the league?” I asked.
    “He sponsors the league from Pirates Cove. Pays for the equipment, the T-shirts and court time. But I think everyone was tired of it.”
    “Can you think of any reason why someone would use one of your pickles to kill him?”
    Mrs. Kaufman gave a small laugh. “Who kills with a pickle? It’s stupid. But what else was there? We didn’t bring sharp knives with us. All the cooking was done here and we brought everything to the hall. Did you enjoy the food?”
    “Yes. Very much. The pickles were actually very good. Someone told me Humphrey really liked them.”
    “He did. He liked all our food. I wanted to ban him from coming into the shop after all the lies he told about us, but Karl, well, he has a more forgiving heart than I do. Either he or his wife would come by about once a month or so and pick up a few things. I liked it better when she came in. A nice lady. He liked to brag all the time about his possessions and he would stand there, jingling coins in his pockets, talking, talking talking, taking up my time and making the other customers impatient.” She shook her head in disgust and then she looked at me and smiled. “The pickles are my specialty. An old recipe from my mother.”
    Astrid Kaufman continued talking, telling me about her German heritage. She seemed very proud of the fact she was able to open a deli and share all the recipes she grew up with as a child in Germany.
    “I use dill and garlic,” she said, describing the pickles. “And I add onions, mustard seed and just enough dried hot pepper to give them a real bite. And I use good apple cider vinegar.”
    I thought about that dried hot pepper and how horrific it had to be to have one of those burning pickles clogging your throat.
    I thanked Mrs. Kaufman for her time, took my box of strudel, and left, thinking all the while about something she said. There were no sharp carving knives and at our table settings, just butter knives. Obviously the killer didn’t bring along a gun or anything else, so