Rest in Split Peas

by Hillary Avis

  Milo pointed up at the sign above the door. “Last time I checked, this was a public place.”

  “Checking out some weekend reading?” Bethany wondered what kind of books Milo read. She secretly hoped it was cookbooks and travel guides like she preferred, but it was probably the usual guy stuff: thrillers or fantasy novels with swords or something.

  “Background research for Marigold Wonder’s profile, actually. Just waiting for the rain to chill out before I walk back to the office to write it up.”

  “I thought the library only had biographies of, you know, famous people.”

  Milo grinned. “Well, they don’t have a biography of Marigold, but they have all kinds of stuff on microfiche that has never been digitized. Plus, there is a global conspiracy of librarians that will work together to hunt down the tiniest little thing. Librarians are my secret weapon when it comes to good reporting.”

  “Find anything interesting?” Bethany smoothed the wet hair out of her face and tried to look less like a sodden Irish setter and more like Singing in the Rain.

  “Maybe. I found an article in a Santa Cruz paper about her smoothie shop. Looks like it’s still open. The article even has a recent quote from her—did she travel back and forth often?”

  “Not that I know of. Maybe she did the interview by video chat or something. I’m sure if you call the shop, the staff will tell you what her habits were.”

  Milo nodded. “I called them as soon as I read the article. It was obvious the manager didn’t know she’d passed away, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him. He said she was very involved in the business.”

  “Huh. I guess that explains how she was able to live on almost no income here in Newbridge,” Bethany said. “I wonder why she never mentioned that she still had her old shop. She always talked about her life in California like it was something in the past.”

  “It’s strange. I’ve done a ton of research for this piece, maybe more than I’ve ever done before, but I still don’t really have a sense who Marigold was. Nobody I’ve talked to seems to have a very full picture of her life, even though she’s always described as outgoing and chatty.”

  That’s putting it mildly. I’d say more like overbearing and bossy. Bethany rolled her eyes. “Wish I could help. All I know about Marigold is that she had sticky fingers.”

  “What do you mean?” Milo took out his notebook.

  “Off the record,” she said firmly, flipping the cover of the notebook closed. He grudgingly put it away. “The police think the motive for her murder was because she stole fifty thousand dollars.”

  “From Ben Kovac? I heard he was arrested this morning.”

  Bethany shook her head. “Well, sort of. From Newbridge Station’s historic restoration fund. Ben administers it, and she stole it from his office, but it wasn’t his money, per se.”

  “What’d she need the money for?”

  “That’s the fifty thousand dollar question.”

  The rain slowed to a steady light drizzle, and Milo put his hand out to test it. “Looks like my cue to get back to work. I’ll see you at the memorial tomorrow?”

  Bethany gave a nod. “Yep. I’m catering. Well, Olive and I are working together on it.”

  “Soup?”

  “Of course.”

  “What kind, if I may ask?”

  Bethany laughed. “I thought you needed to get to work.”

  “This is work. I’m talking to a chef who I’m going to write about in the Sunday food feature.”

  Bethany gasped. “You are? Oh no, I have to totally rethink the menu!”

  “Why, are you making something spicy?”

  “No, it’s pea soup again!”

  Milo put his hand to his chest in mock horror. “Not soup of the yesterday!”

  She made a face at him. “Never. This is a different pea soup. Lighter, brighter.”

  “Then you have nothing to fear. I will be there to taste it with an open mind.” He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling underneath the brim of his baseball cap.

  “I’ve heard that one before.” Bethany crossed her arms. “You’re five and zero with the soup tasting, buddy, so I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Fair enough.” Milo tipped his baseball cap and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Ms. Bradstreet.”

  “Mr. Armstrong,” Bethany said primly. She swung her leg over Daisy’s seat and pushed off into the rain. She hardly felt the cold drops against her face on the way home. She was too busy thinking about what Milo Armstrong would say when he tried her soup tomorrow.

  “WHAT IN JACQUES PEPIN’S name are you doing?” Kimmy stood in the middle of the kitchen gaping at the mess, still wearing her Café Sabine chef’s jacket.

  Bethany looked around. Dozens of crumpled pieces of yellow paper were strewn around the main room of their apartment. Dirty dishes filled the sink and covered the counters, and the wastebasket at her feet was overflowing with even more pieces of paper. “Recipe testing. And also solving a murder.” She put her head down and continued scribbling on the legal pad.

  “I hope you’re going to wash these pots and pans before you go on ahead with your crime-solving.”

  Bethany grinned wickedly. “Oh yeah, dishes are way more important than murdered people. I’ll get right on that.”

  “What if Charley said that? ‘Oh no, can’t brush my teeth because I gotta solve crimes. Can’t sweep the floor because I gotta solve crimes’? She’d never get anything done.”

  “Speaking of, she’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “To do the dishes?”

  Bethany cackled. “Nope. To solve crimes.”

  Kimmy sighed and stomped off to take a shower. When she came back out in her bathrobe and hair wrap, she was in a better mood—probably because Bethany had scrubbed the biggest pots and picked up the paper on the floor. “Better,” she said.

  Bethany curtsied. “Sorry you had to come home to a mess after you just finished cleaning up a mess at work.”

  Kimmy raised her head haughtily. “You are forgiven! Arise, fair subject, and avenge our fallen friend—er, something like that.”

  “Our fallen non-friend, but it doesn’t matter if we liked her, does it? It matters that people don’t push other people in front of trains for money. Don’t get me wrong, I would do a lot of things for fifty K. That’s enough money to open a restaurant.”

  “A very small one,” Kimmy said wryly. “I’d say 250 K would give you a better start.”

  “Well, it’d cover one that had, you know, doors?”

  “I know, sorry.”

  “But I wouldn’t kill for it, not even someone I didn’t like.” Bethany stabbed the legal pad with her pencil for emphasis. “The question is, who would?”

  A knock came at the door, and Kimmy went to answer it. When Charley entered the living room, Bethany was shocked at the dark circles under her friend’s eyes.

  “You look exhausted! Are you sick or something?”

  Charley sprawled on the couch. “Just a long day. The chief was putting pressure on me to arrest Trevor at the hospital. I had to convince her that he’s not a flight risk. Basically, I am going to lose my job if Trevor skips town.”

  “He won’t,” Bethany said, only seventy-five percent sure but putting one-hundred-percent certainty into her voice. “He loves his family too much.”

  “So lay this genius plan of yours on me. I swear, Bethany, if this is something stupid, I am firing you as Kimmy’s roommate.” Charley grabbed one of the throw pillows and put it over her face. “I’m just resting this here while I listen.”

  Bethany cleared her throat and organized the papers in front of her. “Part one of the plan is...let Ben out of jail.”

  “What?” Charley sat up so fast that the throw pillow flew across the room. Even Kimmy looked rattled. “I can’t let someone charged with murder out of jail. That is not a thing, Bethany. He’s being held without bail.”

  “OK, you don’t like part one. I will just put a question
mark by it, and we can come back to it.”

  “Fine.” Charley lay back down, and Kimmy retrieved the throw pillow and gently put it back over Charley’s face.

  “Part two. Since we know the murderer killed Marigold because of the money—”

  Charley sat up again, the pillow falling into her lap this time. “Do we know that, Bethany? Do we?”

  “Well, the killer took her purse before pushing her onto the tracks, right? And the purse is the logical place for the money. We know the killer went through the purse, because Marigold’s wallet wasn’t inside it when Trevor found it. And Marigold must have known that someone wanted the check, or she wouldn’t have stuffed it into her bra.”

  “OK, go on.” Charley lay back down on the couch and put the pillow over her face.

  Bethany scanned her notes to find her place. “Ah, yes. Since we know the murderer killed Marigold because of the money and did not get the money, the murderer is still motivated to get the check.”

  “Yeah, but the check is in evidence,” Charley said through the pillow.

  “That brings me to part three, get the check out of evidence.”

  This time Charley rolled off the couch onto the floor and lay there pretending to be dead.

  “It doesn’t have to be the real check. Just look enough like the real check for the murderer to believe it’s real.”

  “Phew.” Charley crawled back onto the couch, but stayed propped up on her elbows, watching Bethany with more interest. “I kind of see where you’re going with this.”

  “I don’t,” Kimmy said. She sat down on the floor and crossed her legs. “You’re going to use the check to bait the murderer into what? Confessing?”

  “You do get it!” Bethany high-fived her.

  “Why would the murderer confess?”

  “Well, not confess, but expose him or herself by trying to steal the check again,” Charley explained.

  “But why does Ben need to be released from jail?” Kimmy looked at Bethany.

  “Because he didn’t do it,” Bethany said, crossing her arms and glaring at Charley.

  Charley threw the pillow at her. “You don’t know that. You just want it to be true.”

  “I know-know. It’s all about the purse.” Bethany tried to keep a smug expression off her face, but Kimmy saw it and pointed at her.

  Charley, irritated, said, “How do you figure? Ben could just have easily snatched it, taken out the wallet, and dumped the purse and keys before someone saw him with it.”

  “No way. First of all, Ben would never in a million years dump those keys in a trash can. Those keys are like diamonds to him. He’d immediately recognize them.”

  Charley nodded. “Fair point. But I also think it’s possible that Trevor was lying about the keys being in the purse. If he was the murderer, he’d want us to think he didn’t have his keys that day, because it would mean he wasn’t on the platform at 10:55. So we have to believe Trevor if we consider the keys as evidence of Ben’s innocence, and I don’t think I can believe Trevor at this point.”

  “OK, fine. Question mark by the keys. Second, why would Ben carry the purse all the way out to the ticket office trash can where he might be seen? He’d have gone straight back to his office to look through the purse, and then disposed of it from there.”

  Charley tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But maybe he was also smart enough not to keep the purse in his office, you know? There were cops all over Newbridge Station that day. He’d have wanted the purse as far away from himself as possible. Something that size isn’t easy to hide...you saw what a bad job Trevor did.”

  Bethany nodded. “Fair point. Third, Ben thought Trevor was doing the maintenance rounds that day. He’d have been sure to run into Trevor on the platform or in the tunnels on a normal day. So if Ben were the killer, I don’t think he would have taken the purse at all. It was too likely he’d be seen with it. He could have just left the purse with Marigold’s body, waited for the police to recover the check, and the check would have been put back in the historic restoration fund. Only someone who wanted the check for themselves would have taken the purse.”

  “Hm.” Charley sat still on the couch, and Bethany waited with her heart in her throat. “Hm.”

  “He totally didn’t do it!” Kimmy blurted out. “You know he didn’t, Charley. You have to let him go!”

  Finally, Charley nodded. “You’re right. I have to go file another report after midnight. Thanks a lot, Bethany. Why can’t we have these conversations at three in the afternoon?”

  “Because I do my best thinking with Kimmy around.” Bethany grinned. “Wait, one more question before you go. Something’s been bothering me. Did Jen’s fiancé have a ticket for the 10:55 train? I mean, did someone see the ticket to confirm it?”

  Charley frowned. “I don’t remember. I don’t think I interviewed him. I’ll look up his statement while I’m there.”

  After Charley left, Kimmy picked at the stitches in the throw pillow and was uncharacteristically quiet. Bethany went to the freezer to investigate the ice cream situation. “We’ve got chocolate and chocolate,” she reported.

  “Chocolate for me,” Kimmy said.

  Bethany scooped them both a serving and returned to the couch where Kimmy had nearly picked a hole in the pillow. “Is something bothering you?” Bethany asked, handing her a bowl and spoon.

  “I was just thinking about who might have done it. You know, pushed her. If it’s not Ben”—Kimmy shoveled in a huge bite of ice cream—“then who? Augh, brain freeze!”

  “I know. That’s why I’m trying not to think about it too much. No point in driving ourselves crazy—it’ll all come out tomorrow.” Bethany looked over and saw Kimmy’s eyes welling up with tears. “What? Ice cream headache? Or something else? You have to tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Kimmy kept her eyes on her bowl. “What if it’s Olive?” she said, her voice cracking when she said Olive’s name.

  “Olive couldn’t kill someone!”

  “I don’t know,” Kimmy said. “She’s soft on the outside, but the woman is made of steel. But she doesn’t have an alibi, does she? And Bethany—she really needs money right now.”

  Bethany rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about? The Honor Roll is doing great!”

  “But Garrett isn’t doing great.”

  “She said he wasn’t feeling well, but I don’t know what’s going on—do you?”

  Kimmy nodded slowly. “He has liver cancer, and he needs surgery. Their health insurance only covers part of the cost. It’s going to run them thousands of dollars, and I don’t think they have it. All their money is in the bakery and their house.”

  Bethany stirred her ice cream until it started to soften. She took a bite and savored the creamy chill on her tongue, considering the new information. Could Olive be the murderer? I mean, she didn’t like Marigold, but would she kill her for money? It seemed preposterous. But then, Olive herself said that desperate people do stupid things—and finding out that your husband was dying would make a person pretty desperate. “When did they learn about Garrett’s cancer?”

  “Last week.”

  “That’s enough time to freak out and decide to do something drastic, I guess. How would Olive know Marigold had the money, though?”

  “Maybe she told her she had a windfall coming. Bragged about it. The woman had a big mouth.”

  Bethany nodded as she scraped the last few drops of ice cream from her bowl. That seemed entirely in character for Marigold, who’d even blabbed about Ben’s poker-game proposal. Bethany stopped with her spoon in her mouth. “Wait—Garrett knew about the restoration fund donation. Maybe he and Olive figured out that Marigold had taken it.”

  “Garrett did? How?”

  “He was at the poker game on Monday night when Ben told everyone about it.”

  Kimmy paused with her spoon in her mouth. “So Garrett found out at the same time as Marigold and Trevor.”

  “And Jen, too. She
had just come into town that afternoon. Marigold said she came with her to the poker game. I remember because she called her a party pooper for not gambling.” Bethany made a face at Marigold’s choice of words. “What do you think Marigold was going to do with that money, anyway? She had to know she’d get caught if she was flashing it around.”

  Kimmy cleared their dishes to the sink and rinsed out the bowls, stacking them neatly on the counter. Over her shoulder, she said, “She probably just assumed Ben wouldn’t turn her in to protect his job. I doubt she told Olive that she was going to steal it. Probably just said she was going to inherit some cash or something.”

  “You’re talking like Olive did it. Like it isn’t even a question.”

  Kimmy smoothed her head wrap with her hands. “Everything points to her. I just can’t figure out who else it could be.”

  “I can help you there,” Bethany said. “Basically anyone who was in the station and wasn’t a passenger on the 10:55 is potentially the killer. So I’ll start listing people, and you can tell me why each person isn’t the murderer.”

  “I don’t know if I like this game,” Kimmy said warily as she plopped down on the floor next to Bethany.

  “You can quit any time.” Kimmy nodded, and Bethany began. “Me.”

  “I quit!”

  Bethany laughed. “You can’t quit before you even start. Anyway, I gave you an easy one first.”

  “OK, you didn’t do it because you were at Café Sabine, plus you’re a decent human who wouldn’t murder someone. Next.”

  Bethany paused. “The weird thing is, this whole situation has made me realize that decent people can commit murder under the right circumstances. Who do we know that isn’t decent? Nobody. And someone we know did this.”

  “I don’t want to play this game,” Kimmy said, pouting.

  “You don’t have to if it’s stressing you out. I just thought it would be an interesting exercise. We can call it a night.”

  Kimmy swatted her on the arm. “No, I can’t sleep now! I’ll be thinking about this all night if we don’t lay it all out. Next suspect!”

  “OK, Garrett.”