by Hillary Avis
Charley scanned the ceiling and then pushed open the door to the stall. “In here.”
Bethany stuck her head into the stall and sure enough, there was a half-size access door in the wall to the left of the toilet.
“Locked,” Charley said, jiggling the knob. “Who has keys?”
“Ben, obviously, and Trevor, who is the substitute Ben. He’s probably in the stationmaster’s office.”
“Lead the way.”
Bethany knocked at the door to Ben’s office, but no one answered. She put her ear to the door. It was so quiet inside, she could hear the desk clock ticking. She shook her head. “Maybe he’s in the maintenance closet?”
She led Charley back past the restrooms and knocked on the door. No one answered, but she heard a muffled bang like someone running into furniture and an ouch, followed by a curse. She nodded toward the door, and Charley rapped on it with her knuckles. “Open up! Police!” More bumping, and then Trevor opened the door, still wearing the stationmaster’s cap.
“Yeah?”
“Sir, as the temporary stationmaster, we need your permission to search the maintenance tunnel that leads to the men’s room for a piece of evidence related to the murder here earlier this week,” Charley said.
“And your keys,” added Bethany. Charley shot her a clear don’t-interfere-in-my-investigation look.
“Uh, sure,” Trevor said, stepping out into the hall and quickly closing the door to the maintenance closet behind him. “Happy to open that up for you.”
He seemed too eager to help. Bethany narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t we—I mean you, officer—search the maintenance closet, first? Since you’re already here.”
Charley looked at her quizzically, and Bethany gave her a meaningful I-know-something-so-just-trust-me nod. “Is that all right with you, sir?”
Trevor looked a little panicked. “I don’t know, I’ll have to ask the ZamRail office what they want me to do.”
“I can assure you that ZamRail offered us their full cooperation in this investigation,” Charley said, sounding every bit the bored professional. Bethany was impressed with her acting skills. If she didn’t know her friend, she’d have thought Charley didn’t care whether or not she got inside that maintenance closet. “If you delay the search, I’ll just have to close off the area until we can get a team out here to tear it apart. Might have to close the station for a few hours, keep the station employees here for questioning. Could run us until ten p.m., midnight.”
Trevor reflexively glanced at his watch. Bethany could tell he was thinking about the imminent delivery of his first child. If he missed it, he’d suffer worse consequences than a police search. “Fine, search the closet. You have my permission.” He unlocked the door and propped it open. He hadn’t been alone in there—Caboose was walking up and down the workbench, and his purr was so loud that Bethany could hear it from the door.
“Should I expect to find any weapons, drugs, guns, explosives, or other illegal or dangerous items in my search?” Charley asked, donning a pair of latex gloves from a pouch on her belt.
Trevor shook his head. “Nope. Just a set of claws.” He nodded at Caboose, who working on the edge of an already-shredded cardboard box.
Charley gingerly picked up the cat and held him out to Trevor. “You two stay right here in the hallway. I’ll have one eye on you.”
He took the cat and she moved into the maintenance room and began methodically looking into each box on the shelves, even ones that looked slightly too small to hide a purse inside. She tipped each one toward herself, riffling the contents slightly to see what lay underneath, before returning it to its place. Trevor relaxed a bit as he stood beside Bethany and absentmindedly stroked Caboose. Charley wasn’t looking in the right place.
“Try the workbench,” Bethany suggested. Charley shot her another one of those don’t-interfere looks, but Bethany saw Trevor’s eye twitch. She was getting warmer. She scanned the workbench to see where a purse might be stashed. A plain utility table with a few clamps attached and a bare bulb hanging above, it didn’t afford too many hiding places. Except... “The waste basket! Under the bench!”
Trevor groaned, and Charley whipped her head around. “Don’t you move, sir.” She went over to the waste basket and slid it out. A brown paper bag, clearly full of something, was crammed on top. She opened it gingerly, peered inside, and then closed it again. “We got it,” she said, standing up and plucking the bag out of the trash. “It’s in here.” Bethany grinned exultantly and tried to keep her fist-pump to a minimum.
“I found that!” Trevor yelped, and Caboose jumped out of his arms and streaked down the hall. “I swear! It’s not what it looks like.”
“Well, it looks like the purse that Marigold had on the morning she was killed. Are you telling me it’s a different purse?” Charley frowned.
“No, but—”
“Are you telling me you found a valuable handbag in your workplace, and you did not turn it in the Lost and Found or report it to the police?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“I think you might be in a lot of trouble, Mr. MacDonald. I suggest you come down to the station with me and call a lawyer so we can sort this out.”
“Please, just hear me out. I can explain what happened. I just can’t go to the station and deal with this tonight, because then there’s no way I can make it to the hospital. My wife’s like five centimeters already, see?” He held out his phone, and Charley took a step back.
“Enough,” Charley said. “You have three minutes to give me an explanation of why you have this purse. Convince me that you did not grab it off Marigold’s arm before you pushed her onto those tracks, or so help me God, I am taking you downtown, and you will have to answer to a grand jury and your wife. Time starts now.”
“Um, OK.” Trevor twisted his hands. “Um, so I was doing my thing, emptying trash cans on Wednesday evening after the murder. They were really full because there were so many people stuck here that day. Super gross, full of food. No offense, Bethany.”
“None taken.”
“A lot of the cans I had to take the trash out by hand, because they were so over-full that if I just pulled the bag, a bunch would fall on the floor. And like soda and stuff is bad for the marble, and this old place is falling apart as it is...”
Charley motioned with her hand that he should hurry up and get to the point.
Trevor jumped ahead. “OK, OK. In one of the cans I was emptying, I found that purse. I could tell it was fancy because of the logo, and it looked really nice. New, you know? So I put it aside and took it back to the maintenance closet to clean it up a little. I thought it might be something my wife would like, you know, as a push present. Have you heard of those things?”
Charley shook her head.
“Well, it’s new. My wife read about it in a magazine. The new mom gets a diamond necklace from her husband after the baby is born or whatever. We don’t really have money for jewelry or anything, and it was really stressing me out, so this was like the universe saying, ‘Hey, here you go, here’s a present Julie will like.’”
“Why didn’t you give it to Ben for the Lost and Found?” Bethany interrupted, ignoring Charley’s annoyed expression.
“It was in the trash.” Trevor shrugged. “Didn’t figure anyone was looking for it.”
“It could have been stolen,” Charley said. “It was stolen.”
“Plus, were you really going to give your wife a trash purse?” Bethany wrinkled her nose.
“It’s nice!” Trevor said indignantly. “I cleaned off all the soup. Anyway, while I was cleaning it, I heard something clunking inside, and it was my keys!”
“Why didn’t you turn in the purse at that time?” Charley asked. “You knew it was Marigold’s at that point, obviously.”
“There was nothing else in it. I didn’t think it had evidensary value.”
“Evidentiary,” Charley corrected.
“Right. I didn’t see how findin
g the empty purse would help the police, and I did see how the purse would make my wife happy. Doesn’t take a genius to do that math.”
“No worries there,” Charley muttered. “Especially now that you’ve cleaned off any fingerprints.”
“The purse does have some evidentiary value, though,” Bethany said thoughtfully. “It proves one thing—the killer was inside the train station after the murder. It wasn’t a random person who ran off before the police locked down the station. It was someone who needed to get rid of that purse to avoid being caught.”
Charley nodded. “Good point. Which garbage can did you find it in?”
Trevor hemmed and hawed for a few seconds. “Er...I don’t remember,” he said. “There are a lot of cans. It was definitely on the concourse. Maybe the one by the ticket booth?”
“Maybe?”
Trevor shrugged. “That’s my best guess. If I had to bet money on it, that’s what I’d say.”
Trevor’s mention of betting reminded Bethany of something Ben had said. “Did you really owe Marigold a thousand dollars?”
“What?” Charley said. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this? Is it true?”
Trevor took off the stationmaster’s cap and crumpled it in his hands. “It was more like twelve hundred dollars, to be honest. We play poker every week, and it adds up.”
Charley shook her head. “Your three minutes are definitely up, and you’ve told me that you have the purse stolen by Marigold’s killer, you owed her money, and you hid both these facts from police. I have to say, not very convincing when it comes to your innocence. I think you better come downtown with me.”
“Are you arresting me?” Trevor put the cap back on and crossed his arms. “Because if you’re not, I have to get back to work.”
Bethany turned to Charley and spoke under her breath. “Can you arrest him? I mean, if you still have Ben in custody for the same crime?”
“Yeah, it’s legal, but not something we want to be doing. It doesn’t exactly promote trust with the public if we just arrest everyone involved and sort it out later. I could charge him because he destroyed evidence by cleaning the purse, but it probably wouldn’t stick unless he was trying to remove the fingerprints. He says he was just cleaning off the soup from the trash, and that’s plausible.”
“Pretty sure his wife will testify against him if she finds out about the trash purse.” Bethany snickered, but Charley didn’t laugh at the joke. Instead, she turned back to Trevor.
“Did Marigold ever try to collect on the debt? I mean get the twelve hundred bucks you owed her?”
“Kind of.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, she told me she’d clear the debt if I gave her my keys so she could get her purse out of Ben’s office.”
“So that’s why you loaned her your keys!” Bethany cried. “I couldn’t figure out why you’d do that—it was so out of character! I thought maybe it was the stress of the new baby, or all the extra work Ben was having you do.”
“You believe him?” From Charley’s tone, it was clear she didn’t.
“I mean, it makes sense. Marigold would forfeit twelve hundred dollars if it meant she could steal a check worth fifty thousand dollars.”
“But this guy!” Charley said. “He had motive, means, and opportunity, just like Ben Kovac, but he has evidence of the crime, too! And he tried to hide it, like an idiot.”
“Hey!” Trevor said, waving his hand from the doorway. “Still here—I can hear you.”
“Well, really, the trash can? You know every inch of this place. You could have put it behind a heating grate or something.”
“I was in a hurry,” Trevor mumbled.
Bethany grabbed Charley’s arm. Charley shook her off. “I told you not to grab—”
Bethany interrupted her. “Do you trust me?”
“I mean, most of the time.”
“Hold off on arresting Trevor. His first child will be born today—he’s not going anywhere.” She leaned in and murmured in Charley’s ear, “I know how to figure out who killed Marigold.”
Charley stared into Bethany’s eyes like she was searching for something. “Fine,” she said. Trevor whooped, and she shot him a cold glare. “Against my better judgment, I’ll wait to make an arrest until after his baby is born. But you better be local when I come looking for you, Mr. MacDonald.”
“I promise!” he said. “On my baby’s life. Thank you, Officer Perez. You won’t regret this.”
“You better have a plan,” Charley said to Bethany as they walked back to the Souperb kiosk.
“I do, I swear. By the end of the day tomorrow, whether it’s Ben or someone else, we’ll remove any doubt about who killed Marigold. At the memorial—”
Before Bethany could finish her sentence, Olive walked over from the bakery and interrupted. “Speaking of the memorial, have you decided what soup you’re making? I want to coordinate the menu.”
Charley tapped the brown paper bag. “I can’t wait around—I need to get this into evidence.”
“Go,” Bethany said. “We can talk about it tonight.”
“Talk about what?” Olive asked after Charley headed out.
Bethany opened her mouth to say how to catch Marigold’s murderer, but thought better of it. The fewer people who were in on it, the better. “Just our weekend plans,” she said breezily.
Olive nodded. “After the memorial, I presume. I need all hands on deck to pull it off.”
“Of course, Kimmy and Charley and I will be there.”
“Did you decide on a soup to serve?” Olive asked. “Were Jen and Aaron any help with ideas of what Marigold would have wanted? I was thinking it should probably be vegetarian, since you never know who will be there. Or maybe two soups, one vegetarian? Or maybe that’s too complicated. One soup, no meat. But what about dairy? If someone is lactose intolerant, we still want them to be able to eat it, don’t we?”
Bethany grinned at Olive’s brimming enthusiasm. “Slow down! I haven’t picked a recipe yet, but let’s talk about it. Jen said Marigold wouldn’t care one way or another. And we know she liked my soups, so we can assume she’d approve of whatever we pick.”
Olive sighed. “I just want it to be perfect. I want the family to feel comforted, like Marigold was loved and supported here.”
Bethany choked. “Olive, you kinda hated her.”
“Well, she was hateful! But I really needed that comfort when my sister died. It was so helpful to have friends, good food, and good memories around me. That’s what gave me closure. Plus, it’ll make all of us here at the station feel more settled.”
I’ll feel more settled when I’m sure the murderer is behind bars, Bethany thought, but she just nodded. “You’re a good friend, Olive, even to your enemies. What about split pea soup, like she made the day she died, except jazzed up a little so it’s more like her? You know, brighter, more fun, less old-fashioned and stodgy.” Her mind was buzzing with ideas. “Sort of an end-of-winter, beginning-of-spring taste.”
“Hon, you’re making my stomach growl. I’ll do an herbed bread stick to go with it. And a gluten-free version, of course.” Olive sniffed and dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “For Marigold. I’m getting a little choked up just thinking about it.”
Hard to tell whether Olive was serious or joking. Bethany patted her on the arm. “We’ll do right by her.”
Olive beamed. “Come early to help set up! And bring as many extra hands as you can. Hm, maybe we could ask Ryan to help set up chairs.”
Bethany died a little inside. It felt weird—exploitative, maybe—asking him to work for free just because he was living at the shelter. “I’m sure he has better things to do. Seems like Sister Bernadette keeps him pretty busy.”
“Nonsense, I think he’d be interested to attend.”
“A memorial for someone he’s never met?”
“Maybe there’s someone here he’d like to see.” Olive winked at her. “And you know he’d look goo
d in a suit and tie.”
Bethany blushed in spite of herself. “You and Kimmy have to stop trying to find me dates. Anyway, there’s someone else I’m kind of interested in...”
“Ooh, young love!” Olive clasped her hands eagerly. “Tell me more! What’s he like? What does he do for a living? Short or tall?”
“I’m not saying a word. It’s not even a thing yet, just an idea of a thing. If I talk about it, I’ll jinx it. Plus, I don’t want you inviting him to a funeral! There’s low potential for romance, especially when I’ll be running the food services table!”
“Fine.” Olive shrugged. “Have it your way. Soup du boring.”
Bethany giggled. “You’d prefer ‘soup dude bro’?”
“I’d prefer to see all you girls married and settled before—” Olive broke off. “Well, sooner rather than later.”
Bethany looked at her friend with concern. Was this about Garrett’s health complaints, or was something else weighing on Olive? “Is everything OK? You can tell me if it’s not. You know I’m always on your side.” Like if you pushed Marigold onto the tracks...
Olive shook her head, silver hair flying around her head like a halo. “It’s nothing. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
BETHANY BIKED HOME in the chilly February rain. What was merely a sprinkle at Newbridge Station transformed into a downpour as she rode through Newbridge’s charming brick-fronted streets. The weather got so bad that Bethany could hardly see the road in front of her, so she ducked under the awning of the public library to wait it out.
When she peeled back the dripping hood of her jacket, she saw someone else was sheltering there with her. Of course, she had to run into the guy she had a crush on when she looked like a drowned rat.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying fruitlessly to dry her dripping face by waving her hands in front of it.