Rest in Split Peas

by Hillary Avis

Olive waved her hand. “Oh, these police officers. Wouldn’t let me through the doors because of some issue on the tracks. I told them the Honor Roll is my livelihood, and it has nothing to do with the trains. They can’t keep me out of my own bakery.”

  “And they let you through?” Bethany asked. She admired Olive’s gumption standing up to the cops.

  “Well, I might have promised them some free brownies if they let me in,” Olive said guiltily.

  Bethany chuckled, and then remembered why the police were there to begin with. “Olive, the problem on the tracks—someone was pushed in front of the train.”

  Olive gasped. “That’s terrible!”

  “It’s worse. It was Marigold.”

  Olive’s eyes widened. “Marigold pushed someone? Who?!”

  Bethany shook her head. “No, she was the one killed.”

  “What?! Why would someone do that?”

  “Charley said they didn’t find her purse, so I’m thinking maybe it was a robbery.”

  “Oh dear,” Olive said, her eyes welling up. “That’s unexpected.”

  “I know. I was thinking we should do something for Jen. She must be devastated.”

  Olive’s hands fluttered to her cheeks. “Oh, yes, we must. What do you think? Cupcakes? I made some I’m calling ‘Homecoming Queen’ because they have the fluffiest frosting and edible glitter on top, and you know Marigold loves glitter. Loved,” Olive corrected.

  “Perfect. A little sweetness and sympathy will go a long way.”

  While Olive fetched the cupcakes, Bethany finished closing up the kiosk. Clearly, Milo wasn’t going to show, and the soup was gone, anyway. She’d have to wash up the pots at Café Sabine later, once the police released the scene.

  Strange to think that all the worrying about her business she’d done over the last couple of days was for nothing. Though Souperb no longer had direct competition, now there’d be no food feature. No chance to shake off the past and show Newbridge who she really was. No chance to see Milo Armstrong again, either. She sighed.

  “Here,” Olive said breathlessly. “I picked white, because the pink ones seemed too happy. What do you think?”

  “Good. They’re over there on the bench.” Bethany watched the bearded man holding Jen, his chin on top of her head, while she cried into the sleeve of her pearl-buttoned cardigan.

  Olive clucked sympathetically as they walked together over to the bench.

  “Jen? I brought you cupcakes—we did. I just want you to know how sorry we are.”

  Bethany nodded in agreement. “Is there anything we can do? Do you have a place to stay?”

  Jen sobbed, and the bearded man spoke for her. “The police told us to stay away from the apartment. We have a hotel for tonight.”

  Bethany couldn’t quash her curiosity about the man who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “And you are?”

  “Aaron. I’m her fiancé. I just came in on the 10:55, the one that...well. It’s very upsetting, as you can imagine.” He spoke quickly in a low voice, his fingers stroking Jen’s hair.

  Jen lifted her face, streaked with mascara-black tears. “She was meeting the train. It’s so awful—it’s my fault she was down there. It should have been me.”

  Aaron shook his head. “No, it’s my fault. I should have canceled my interview in New York and just come with you on Monday. If I had been here, she wouldn’t have been on the platform, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Olive looked on the verge of tears again herself. “Oh, you poor dears. It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of whoever did such a horrible thing.”

  Jen smiled wanly.

  “Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against Marigold?” Besides me, Bethany silently finished. “Maybe someone who was upset with her? Did she talk about being scared or worried or anything?”

  Jen shook her head. “I haven’t visited her in a while, and we’re not very close. I only really know what I’ve seen since I’ve been here, and it’s not like she introduced me to her enemies. I met a couple of her friends—but now that I think about it, the friends she does have aren’t happy with her. One of the guys she plays poker with even yelled at me this morning.”

  Bethany looked at Olive. They’d both seen Trevor blow his top at Jen. “What was he upset about?”

  “He said she borrowed his keys, and he wanted them back. I didn’t have them. He wanted to know where she was, so I told him.”

  “Where was she?”

  “She went to the bank. She was going to meet the 10:55 train on the way back to pick up Aaron, but when I told Trevor that, he freaked out. I thought he was going to hit me or something. He said he needed his keys to do his job and that she was going to get him fired.” Jen looked at the floor and more tears seeped down her cheeks. “What could I do? I just told him I was sorry and asked if anyone else had a set of the keys he could borrow. Then he stormed off.”

  Aaron stiffened and squeezed Jen more tightly. “He had no right to treat you that way. No right.”

  Olive nodded. “That was out of line even if it were true.”

  Aaron stood up. “What do you mean if it were true? Are you calling my fiancée a liar?”

  “Oh, no!” Olive waved her hands apologetically. “I meant that I don’t think Trevor would loan Marigold his keys. If she wanted a door opened at the station, he’d just unlock it for her. He needs the keys to do his maintenance rounds. Twice a day, he has to check all the systems in the tunnels, make sure the track is clear, and so on.”

  Aaron crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Well, I guess he’s dumb enough to loan them out when a pretty woman asks him.”

  “I don’t know if it’s true”—Jen tugged Aaron’s hand so he’d sit back down on the bench—“but that’s what he said. Maybe you could ask him about it.”

  Bethany nodded. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. In the meantime, is there anything we can do for you to help you out?”

  Jen looked over at Marigold’s kiosk, where the pots of split pea soup were still simmering on the warmer. “I have no idea what to do about the booth. There’s a ton of soup left.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” Olive said, patting Jen on the shoulder. “Bethany and I will take care of it. I’ll run the soup down to the shelter where I donate my day-old bread, and she’ll have the kiosk closed up in a jiffy.”

  “Fine,” Aaron snapped. “It’s none of our business, anyway. We just want to go home and leave this nightmare behind us.”

  “Sorry,” Jen said. “It’s been such a terrible morning.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Bethany said. “It’s very upsetting. Hopefully the police will let everyone leave soon, and you can go to your hotel and relax.”

  “Yes, let us know if you need anything. And don’t forget your cupcakes!” Olive put the bakery box down on the bench next to Jen. As they left the couple to close up Marigold’s kiosk, Bethany looked down the concourse to see if Trevor was among the crowd, but there was no sign of him.

  “Why would Trevor give Marigold his keys?” she wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know that he did,” Olive said darkly. “You know he guards those keys with his life. Maybe she took them.”

  “Oh, just because she’s annoying doesn’t mean she’s a thief.”

  Olive snorted and pointed to the split pea soup still simmering on the warmer. “What are you talking about? She is a thief! She stole your recipes—and your hair color, for that matter!”

  Bethany rolled her eyes. “I don’t own this hair color. You’re missing the point. Whether Trevor loaned her the keys or she took them, he was angry with her about it. The question is—was he angry enough to push her in front of a train?”

  Olive squawked indignantly. “Of course he didn’t! He wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “Well, we’ve never seen him that angry before either, have we? And that was at Jen, who wasn’t even involved. Imagine how he’d have acted if he was confronting
Marigold. It could get ugly, fast.”

  “I don’t even want to think about that,” Olive said, shaking her head. “Oh, dear, lunch is almost over. How am I going to take these pots to the shelter if the police won’t let us out the door!”

  “It’ll keep on the warmer. I’ll close up, and we’ll just have to remember to take the soup later when the police release the scene. The shelter can serve it for dinner.”

  “Good idea, Bethany—that way I can relieve poor Garrett, too. You know he hates working the counter.” Olive tutted and went back to the Honor Roll.

  Bethany stirred the split pea soup to make sure it wasn’t scorching and closed the lid tightly. She wiped down the counters, organized the condiments and cutlery, mopped the floor, and stowed the “Open” sign. As she drew the canvas curtains around the kiosk, she looked up at the Souperior Soups sign Marigold had installed. She glanced around—Jen and Aaron were intently engaged in conversation, and none of the 10:55 passengers were in the immediate vicinity. No one would notice if she took down the sign. It would need to come down anyway, so why not now?

  She grabbed the stepladder from under the counter and set it up, then rummaged around in Marigold’s shoebox marked “tools.” No screwdrivers, only nail files and a kit for repairing stocking runs. Bethany sighed and went to look in her own toolbox. No luck there, either—she only had a flathead screwdriver to adjust the heat on her warmer, and the screws in the sign needed a Phillips head. Her shoulders sagged; the sign would have to come down another day.

  As she was folding the stepladder, she noticed Trevor at the other end of the concourse, walking toward the maintenance closet. He would definitely have the right kind of screwdriver, and borrowing it would be the perfect opportunity to ask him about why he loaned Marigold his keys.

  She jogged over to the maintenance closet and cracked open the door. “Trevor? Got a minute?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Bethany pushed the door all the way open. The maintenance closet was long and narrow, lined with shelves full of bins and boxes. At a workbench on the far end, Trevor was untangling a mess of wires. “I wondered if I could borrow a Phillips screwdriver?”

  “What’s broken now?” Trevor grumbled.

  “Well, the women’s restroom is clogged, but that’s not why I need the screwdriver. I just want to take down a sign.”

  “If it’s a station sign, you’ll have to get approval from Ben,” Trevor said. “He’s like Emperor Palpatine—he twitches a finger, and everyone has to do what he says.”

  “Well, he is the boss. I take it you’re not happy with him right now?”

  Trevor put down the tangle of wires and exhaled. “No, I’m not happy. He wants me to do twice the work, but he won’t pay for overtime hours. Then he gets on my case because his girlfriend wants special favors. I’m just trying to do my job around here, but I can’t win!”

  Bethany remembered almost crashing into the two of them that morning. “Is that why Ben was yelling at you today?”

  Trevor nodded. “I was trying to get those dang emergency sprinklers fixed before the fire department shuts us down, and she needed to get into Ben’s office because she left her purse in there last night, so I let her borrow my keys for a minute. I figured he wouldn’t mind since they have a thing going on, but when he found out, he blew his stack at me.”

  “But she didn’t just borrow them for a minute, did she?” At his surprised expression, Bethany shrugged apologetically. “Jen said that you were upset because Marigold hadn’t returned the keys.”

  Trevor sputtered. “I needed them to do my rounds. I can’t access the maintenance tunnels without them.”

  “Totally understandable that you’d be annoyed.” Bethany nodded. “You were doing her a favor, and then she was taking advantage of you.”

  “Exactly!” Trevor brightened. “It’s so nice to talk to someone who understands.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Bethany said in a conspiratorial tone. “Where were you when Marigold got hit by the train? Did you see it happen?”

  Trevor shook his head and looked a little green around the gills. “I was in the tunnels—I didn’t see anything. What kind of screwdriver did you need, again?”

  “Phillips.”

  “Here.” He handed her a screwdriver. “That ought to do the trick. Don’t blame me if Ben comes down on you, though—I’ll say I didn’t know anything about it. Oh, and put an out-of-order note on the restroom door so other people don’t use it. I’ll get to it when I can, but I can’t make any promises about when that’ll be. Just use the men’s and remember to lock the door.”

  “OK. Thanks, Trevor.” Bethany stepped back into the hall. She started toward the concourse, but then remembered she needed to put a note on the bathroom door. And, now that Trevor mentioned it, maybe she should tell Ben that she planned to take down the Souperior Soups sign. She doubted he’d object to the sign’s removal, but he might object if she did it without asking.

  She walked the other direction down the hall, past the maintenance closet and restrooms, to the stationmaster’s office. The door was open, and Bethany could see Ben at his desk using an old adding machine, the kind that printed a long paper tape. As she watched, he ripped off the tape, crumpled it up, and threw it on the floor.

  “Everything OK?” she asked cautiously from the doorway.

  “Fine, fine. I just can’t make the numbers work.”

  “For what?”

  Ben rubbed his forehead. “The restoration fund. We just don’t have enough to keep up with repairs, and a systems upgrade it out of the question. At this rate we’ll have to close within a year.”

  “Can ZamRail just close a station?”

  “Oh, sure. People would have to use Oldbridge Station instead. Drive over the bridge, or take the bus if they don’t have a car.” Ben leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “ZamRail would sell the building, and it’d become a craft brewery named The Station or something. That’s what happens to all these old buildings.”

  “Wow, I had no idea.” Bethany sat down across the desk from Ben. “I was just talking to Trevor about how he’s not getting overtime, but I had no idea it was because the budget was so tight.”

  Ben nodded, his forehead creased with worry. “It’s only going to get worse now that Marigold was killed. All the bad publicity. Fewer people will use the station, fewer people will donate to the restoration fund...it’s all downhill from here. I doubt anyone will want to take over Marigold’s kiosk now that its former tenant was murdered, so the station will lose that rent, too.”

  “How long can the station stay open?” Bethany mentally tallied up her bank account—a big fat zero. The revenue from Souperb paid her bills, but just barely. If the station closed even temporarily, she’d be in trouble.

  “Without a windfall? One month, maybe two before the maintenance will completely drain the budget. The place needs a complete overhaul. A disaster like this is the last thing I need.” Ben closed his eyes, his fish pressed against his mouth.

  “I’m so sorry about your girlfriend.” Bethany bit her lip. “You must be in shock.”

  “She wasn’t my girlfriend,” Ben said quickly, straightening. “We didn’t have a relationship.”

  “But she said—” She’d forgotten that Ben had proposed to Marigold.

  “Marigold said a lot of things, mostly to make herself look good.” Ben wore a surly expression. “We were friends. We played poker once a week. That’s it. Wait, why did you come here? Do you want something?”

  “I wanted to ask you about taking down the Souperior Soups sign now that Marigold’s kiosk is closed. Trevor said I should ask your permission.”

  “Probably because he doesn’t want to do the work. I swear, that guy is the laziest—”

  “No worries there!” Bethany waved the screwdriver. “I’ll do it.”

  “Fine.” He turned his attention back to the adding machine.

  Bethany started to leave, but then
her curiosity got the better of her. “Just one more question...I remember you were doing the maintenance rounds earlier in the week? Did you do them this morning, or did Trevor?”

  Ben looked up from his paperwork. “He did. I’ve been doing this glorious task all day.”

  “Does he follow a checklist, or does he do the maintenance in any order he wants?”

  “A checklist, why?”

  “I was just wondering what he would have been doing when the 10:55 train came in.”

  Ben frowned thoughtfully. “A track check is the last step, right before the train arrives.”

  “So Trevor is possibly the last person to have seen Marigold alive?”

  “I imagine so. He would have been on the platform just before the train arrived. He’s supposed to stay on the platform until the train pulls in, actually.”

  Bethany debated how much of her conversation with Trevor she should reveal to Ben. She didn’t want to get him in trouble, but just the same, she didn’t want to pin a murder on him by omission, either! If she let Ben think that Trevor was on the platform when Marigold was killed, he might tell the police, and Trevor could get in trouble. “He said he was in the tunnels when the train came.”

  Ben nodded and didn’t seem surprised. “That wouldn’t be unusual. If the track was clear and he saw the light change because the train was coming in, it’s likely he’d just go back through the maintenance tunnels to work on another project. He’s got plenty to keep him busy.”

  “Sounds like it,” Bethany said. “Speaking of, can I borrow a piece of paper and a pen? The ladies’ room is out of order, and I want to put a note on the door.”

  Ben pushed a sheet of paper across the desk to her and pointed at a pen set, before turning his attention back to his adding machine and list of figures. Bethany hastily scribbled “Out of Order — Use Men’s Room” on the paper. “Before I go...” she began hesitantly.

  “What?” Ben’s irritation showed in his voice.

  “I was just wondering if Marigold’s purse was here in your office. The police said it wasn’t with her, and Trevor said that she’d left it in here last night. I thought if it was here, her cousin might like to have it back. I could take it to her.”