Read Pickled (An Alex Harris Mystery) for Free Online

the team from Bridgeport. Boy, was he mad. Add that to the fact Humphrey was fawning all over his wife and you just may have yourself a killer.”

 
     
     
Chapter 10
     
     
    Could it be that simple? Could Humphrey Bryson’s untimely demise be because of some unwanted advances and fights over pickleball? Of course, I had to consider the weapon—a pickle. Maybe it was symbolic, but of what? I had no idea, but I needed to talk with Phyllis and Lester Holt and Humphrey’s son and granddaughter, and all the other team members. But right now I had a personal errand to do and so I headed back to Pirates Cove.
    One of the things on my bucket list—and it turns out my mother’s and sister’s lists—is to get a tattoo, but for some reason I’ve never been able to do it. So we were all delighted when my grandmother took on a young man who wanted to open up a tattoo studio. Meme likes to help young people who have had some bad luck and so far she’s done a great job helping to turn some lives around. Sloth, aka Seymour Pratt, was no exception. With his help my mother, sister and I now had tattoos, albeit temporary ones, that we could put on and wash off whenever the mood struck us.
    Body Expressions was his domain. And besides being a wonderful tattoo artist he also designed custom rosary beads. It was for the rosary beads that brought me to his shop today.
    “I think you’re going to like them,” Seymour said, as he pulled a small box out from under the counter. He lifted them out and handed them to me. He was right. They were exquisite.
    “These are perfect. She’s going to love them.” I looked at the rosary I had picked out for my niece Kendall. She had recently started Catechism classes and asked her mother for rosary beads. Kendall’s favorite color was a very pale pink and Seymour had used tiny crystals in a soft blush color and a contemporary cross in sterling silver.
    “How’s Mrs. Redmond doing?” Seymour asked of my grandmother. “She came in to pick up some more bingo tats a few weeks ago but I haven’t seen her since.”
    My grandmother had taken to wearing temporary tattoos with a bingo motif every time she went to a game. She was now selling them to all the other ladies at the bingo hall and Seymour had come up with some new designs. He also provided some temporary bad-ass tattoos for some of the calendar boys to wear in their photos and Mr. October was especially mean looking with a pair of motorcycle chaps, a leather vest, the tattoos and nothing else.
    I told Seymour what happened at the pickleball banquet last night.
    “I know that guy. The guy who got killed. Short, bald, right? He’s a real pain. I guess was a real pain.”
    “How do you know him? Does he come in here?” I hadn’t noticed any tattoos on Humphrey Bryson, but then the man was fully clothed. Plus the pickle sticking out of his mouth was a major distraction.
    “Believe it or not, he saw your calendar and wanted me to do one for him.”
    “You mean with all the guys from the pickleball league?”
    “No. Just him. He planned on being Mr. January through December. Wanted it done in time for the town council elections. Planned to give them out to all the voters.”
    “When was this?”
    “About six or seven weeks ago, I guess. I told him I was too busy. I just didn’t get a good vibe from the old dude.”
    “Join the crowd.”
    I left Body Expressions and sat in my car. Clearly our little calendar had made an impression on Humphrey, but so what? Did it have anything to do with his murder? Maybe he was gearing up for a good fight with Lester Holt and thought the calendar would bring in the female vote. Or maybe he was just jealous of the attention the calendar and its participants were getting and wanted in on a little action. I still couldn’t see how any of this would lead to murder, but it was time to pay a visit to Lester and Phyllis Holt.
    Luckily the list Meme had given me was up to date and I found the address for