by Hillary Avis
CRIME CHOWDER
A Death du Jour Mystery #1
Hillary Avis
Published by Hilyard Press, Eugene, OR
©2018 Hillary Avis www.hillaryavis.com
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, events, or organizations is purely coincidental, and all are the creation of the author.
Cover by Mariah Sinclair www.mariahsinclair.com
For permissions contact: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
CRIME CHOWDER
First edition. December 13, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Hillary Avis.
Written by Hillary Avis.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Recipes
Sneak Preview
Chapter 1
Books by the Author
Chapter 1
Monday
BETHANY BRADSTREET gazed out the window over her morning coffee. Her shabby rented cottage didn’t have many redeeming qualities, but the one thing it did have was a spectacular view of Newbridge. She could see everything from the comfort of her kitchen: the bustling downtown with its quaint brick facades, the charming historic neighborhoods, the smooth blue marina where the fishing boats were already on their way out to sea. A large plume of smoke rose above the town into the pink dawn like a graceful question mark.
She squinted at it. “Hey, isn’t that coming from your old neighborhood?”
Her roommate and best friend, Kimmy Caldwell, came over to the window. Unlike Bethany, she’d grown up in Newbridge and knew its back streets like her middle name. “I can’t tell. Hang on.”
Kimmy rummaged around in the kitchen junk drawer and extracted the small pair of binoculars they kept there to watch the whales spout and breach during their annual migration. She peered through the binoculars in the direction of the smoke as Bethany watched anxiously. “Oh no. Oh no, oh no!”
“What is it?”
Kimmy turned, her face grim. “It’s not just my neighborhood—I think it’s my house!”
Bethany’s stomach knotted. “Are you sure?”
“It has to be—no one else has a giant swan head attached to their front porch! Or what’s left of it.” Kimmy had grown up in the home belonging to her great-aunt Amara, who was...well, quirky. The swan porch was new and the least of it.
Bethany didn’t wait for more information. She twisted her hair into a bun, grabbed her purse, and slipped on her shoes. The world would just have to live with seeing her dancing-banana-print pajama pants. “You want me to drive?”
Kimmy nodded wordlessly and grabbed her jacket on the way out the door. Her blue Honda’s engine sputtered when Bethany turned the key, but revved to life with a little gas. They were tense and quiet on the short drive to Amara’s house. Out of the corner of her eye, Bethany could see Kimmy lean her head against the window and close her eyes.
Maybe Kimmy was wrong about which house was the source of the smoke. Please don’t let it be hers. Please don’t let it be hers.
Bethany took a deep breath, turned onto Hosanna Street, and immediately slammed on the brakes. The entire street had been cordoned off with police barriers, and a young female officer was waving them to the curb.
Kimmy craned her neck to see around the bank of police cars and fire trucks as Bethany rolled down the driver’s side window.
“Where you headed, ma’am?” the officer asked. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she looked like she meant business.
“We saw the smoke—”
“Sorry, no looky-loos. You’ll read about the fire in the paper tomorrow.” She crossed her arms. “Turn your vehicle around, please.”
“But Officer”—Bethany quickly scanned her uniform for a name—“Perez, we’re worried it might be—”
Kimmy jumped out of the car, ducked under the barrier, and ran toward the source of the smoke.
“Hey! You can’t go in there!” Officer Perez yelled after her. She touched her shoulder walkie. “I got a good citizen headed your way. Southwest sidewalk.”
“Roger that,” came a voice. “Don’t sweat it, Perez.”
“Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?” The cop sighed, clearly annoyed. She looked down at Bethany. “Is it because I’m a woman? Is that why your friend totally ignored me?”
“Uh, no? It’s her great-aunt’s house. She grew up there, so it’s emotional.”
“She still should have followed police orders.” Officer Perez’s face hardened. “Turn your vehicle around. This is a crime scene.”
“But I can’t just leave her! This is her car, and—wait, what? What do you mean, a crime scene? Is Amara OK?”
“Roll up your window and move your vehicle, now.”
Just then, a police car pulled up behind Bethany. She motioned to the barrier in front of her car and the cruiser behind her. “I can’t!”
Officer Perez rolled her eyes. “Just my luck.”
A cop got out of the car and swaggered up to Bethany’s window. He put his arm around Officer Perez’s shoulders. “This little lady giving you problems, Charley? Want me to handle it?”
Officer Perez shrugged off his embrace. “Nah. Friend of the victim. Just escorting her in.” She gave Bethany a meaningful look and jerked her head, motioning for her to get out of the car. “You can man the barrier for a little while, can’t you, Coop?”
Coop—or Officer Cooper, judging by his nametag—looked less than enthusiastic about the prospect. Bethany didn’t wait for him to protest. She hopped out and started toward the sidewalk, Officer Perez on her heels. When they were out of Coop’s earshot, Bethany said, “Thanks for letting me in.”
Officer Perez snorted. “Don’t think I’m happy about it. I just couldn’t stand Coop’s smug face for another second. Let him play security guard for a while.”
Bethany started to grin, but her smile quickly vanished when she caught sight of Kimmy. She was on her knees on the sidewalk in front of her old house—a house that was a smoking, blackened ruin. The giant swan head that once arched proudly above the front door now lay on the lawn, grimy and scorched.
Bethany ran to Kimmy and sank down beside her, ignoring the firefighters and police that swarmed around the street and yard. “Oh, Kimmy. I’m so sorry. I am just so sorry.”
Kimmy turned toward her, her cheeks streaked with tears. “My poor auntie! What a terrible way to die.”
Officer Perez cleared her throat. “If you mean Amara Caldwell, she’s just fine. She’s over at a neighbor’s.”
“Oh!” Kimmy rocketed upright and flung her arms around the police officer’s neck. Office
r Perez froze, a panicked expression on her face, but Kimmy didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you! Thank you! I can never thank you enough!”
Bethany’s eyes welled up with relief. “Can you take us to her?”
Officer Perez pried Kimmy’s arms from around her neck. “Maybe, if you can keep your hands to yourself,” she said dryly. “Come on, then.”
They followed her two houses down to a picturesque brick colonial with a picket fence in front. Officer Perez knocked at the door and somewhere inside the house, a dog started yapping insistently. The door was swiftly answered by another police officer.
“Family of the victim,” Officer Perez said brusquely.
“Oh, Kimberly! Thank the heavens you’re here!” The sound of Amara’s rich New Orleans patois reached them, and then the woman herself, clad in a flowing green caftan, pushed by the police officer in the doorway and extended her arms. Kimmy rushed into them. Looking over Kimmy’s shoulder, Amara spied Bethany on the front walk. “What are you wearing, darling? Are those party clothes?”
Bethany looked down and blushed. “Oh, no. Pajamas.”
Officer Perez snickered, and Kimmy withdrew from her great-aunt’s arms to glare at the cop. “She rushed out the door to bring me here,” she said icily. “You don’t need to make fun of her.”
Officer Perez held up her hands and took a step off the porch. “No sweat. I’ll leave you three to catch up.” She turned and, giving Bethany an apologetic grimace, booked it back toward the scene of the fire.
“Fierce. You’re even scaring the cops!” Bethany chuckled, and Kimmy grinned sheepishly. The yapping inside the house grew louder, and then a tiny brown ball of fur streaked out the door toward Bethany. Before she could even move, it attacked the hem of her pajama pants, growling and shaking the fabric until it ripped a chunk away.
“Sharky!” Amara commanded from the porch, hands on her hips and her large earrings swinging. The miniature dog bounded back up the steps and leaped into her arms. Bethany stared at her pajama pants, dismayed. The bottom hem of her right leg was completely shredded.
Amara shook her head as she stroked the quivering little animal. “Don’t mind that. It’s a sign those trousers need to go. You won’t keep a man with nightclothes like that, anyway.”
“Auntie!” Kimmy protested.
Amara pursed her lips. “I only speak the truth as I see it.”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s right. I think I got these in high school.” Bethany gave an internal sigh. My favorite, most comforting PJs, ruined. But at least she still had a place to live, unlike poor Amara, whose whole house was destroyed. “Are you OK? What happened?”
“Oh honey, I can’t even tell you. I woke up because Sharky was barking in my ear. You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are! You woke up mama. It was so hot and stuffy, so I went out to the balcony for fresh air. That’s when I saw that the house was on fire! Flames everywhere! I couldn’t even get down the stairs!”
Kimmy gasped. “What did you do?!”
“Oh, don’t worry. The firetrucks came, and they sent two strong gentlemen up the ladder to get me down. I made them go back to get Sharky, and he only bit them a few times, didn’t you, sugar? And it didn’t even go through their gloves.”
“Lucky them,” Bethany said wryly. “I’m glad the firetrucks came so quickly when you called!”
“Oh, I didn’t call. I didn’t even have time. They just appeared. Maybe they had a feeling I would be needing them.”
Kimmy rolled her eyes. “Or maybe one of your neighbors called. That seems more likely.”
Amara shrugged, extracting her necklace from between Sharky’s jaws. “Who am I to say? The universe works in mysterious ways. Won’t you come in for some tea, girls?”
Bethany shook her head. “I can’t. I have to get to work.”
Kimmy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I forgot you’re working this morning! Shoot!”
“It’s fine. I think I can still make it on time if you drop me off on the way home.”
Kimmy bit her lip worriedly. “Will you be OK, Auntie?”
Amara thrust Sharky into Kimmy’s hands. “Yes, darling, hold on, I’ll get my things.” She turned and disappeared down the hall into the house, leaving the door open behind her.
Realization dawned on Bethany. “Is she planning...?”
Kimmy nodded slowly. “I think so.”
Bethany groaned. Just what she needed—comments from a judgy relative on a daily basis. She’d moved to Newbridge to get away from exactly that! “Do we have any other options?”
“I’m all she’s got. Her only other living relative is her sister in Louisiana.”
“Friends, maybe?”
“You know her—and you know Sharky.” Kimmy giggled, ruffling the dog’s fur. “Who’s going to invite them to stay?”
“We’re not supposed to have pets in the cottage.” Bethany furrowed her forehead as she flipped through a mental Rolodex of people who might take Amara in.
Kimmy’s face grew serious. “It’s just for a few days, until she can get a check from the insurance company for temporary housing. Please say it’s OK. She can have my room. I’ll sleep on the sofa, and I’ll clean up after the dog. She’s basically my mom, Bethany.”
The look on Kimmy’s face was impossible to resist. “Of course—she can stay as long as she needs to. I’ll just get some new pajamas.”
Chapter 2
Monday
BETHANY HURRIEDLY LOOPED an apron around her neck and checked the shift assignments. She was on fryer—again.
“You’re late.” Her boss, Alex Vadecki, owner of the Seafood Grotto. She knew it was him without even turning around. Shoot. He sounded more than just a little irritated. “Are those pajamas?”
“It was an emergency. My—”
He snapped his fingers. “Nope. Don’t want to hear it. This is the third time you’ve been late in as many weeks.”
She turned to face him. “Is that why you put me on the fry station?”
“No, I put you on the fryer because you’re good at it.”
“What?! You yelled at me when I was on the fryer yesterday!”
Alex leaned in so close she could smell his cologne. “I yelled at you for changing the batter recipe. You fried it just fine.” He pointed to her and then to the deep fryer. “Get on your station before I blow a gasket! And don’t you dare change the batter again.”
Bethany put her hands on her hips. “But I made it better!” she said hotly. “Why don’t you want me to make food that actually tastes good?”
“What I want”—Alex ran his hand over his slicked-back hair and appeared to be trying to compose himself—“is a consistent customer experience.”
“Even if that experience is mediocre?”
His face turned the color of a boiled lobster. “Listen, your job is to read the order, dip the fish, fry the fish. Can you do that? If you can’t, fine—you can go work elsewhere.”
Bethany sighed. “I can do that.”
She put on a hairnet and trudged to her station. If he wanted lowest-common-denominator fried food from a classically trained chef, that was his business. Her business was learning as much as she could so that she could own her own restaurant someday—and she was learning a lot working at the Seafood Grotto. Alex Vadecki was teaching her exactly what not to do.
Chapter 3
Monday
AFTER THE FIGHT WITH Alex, nothing went wrong, exactly. But she was forced to send out an endless, soul-killing parade of beige-tasting seafood and french fries. By the end of her shift, she wanted to go home and cry. She clocked out and fished the key to her bike lock from inside her purse as she walked to the bike rack in the parking lot behind the restaurant. When she got there, she was dismayed to see no sign of Daisy, her bright yellow ten-speed. The bike rack was empty.
Stolen?! Adrenaline jolted through her, and she quickly scanned the street in either direction before she remembered that she didn’t ride Da
isy to work. Oh, duh, Kimmy dropped me off.
Now she’d have to ride the bus or walk. Or maybe...
She texted Todd Luna, the guy she’d been dating for a couple of months. Things weren’t serious yet, but he had a car and worked nearby. Maybe he wouldn’t mind running her home. His reply came immediately.
Todd: At Café Sabine for dinner. Join me?
Bethany: OK. I’ll walk over. See you in 10.
She sniffed her armpits—not too bad considering she’d just finished scrubbing out a deep fryer. As she walked briskly toward the café, she swiped on some lip balm and then shook her hair out of its bun and fluffed the ends. She caught a glimpse of herself in a storefront window and wasn’t too dismayed. Wavy auburn hair framed her face, the black V-neck hugged her curves...annnnd she still had banana-print pajama pants on.
Cringeworthy. Thank goodness she wore a T-shirt to bed last night instead of the matching PJ top—hopefully the long white tablecloths at Café Sabine would hide her pants before Todd noticed. He was a guy, after all.
She rounded the last corner and pushed open the etched-glass door of the restaurant. Using the front entrance felt strange. Normally when she came to Café Sabine, she went through the back door in the alley—the door that went straight to the kitchen—because she was visiting Kimmy, who worked as the café’s sous chef. But Kimmy had the day off today, and this time Bethany was a customer, not just a visitor. She had a date.
The maître d’ sniffed primly and looked her up and down. “Table for one? There may be a wait.”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know me, Thierry. I’m here to meet Todd.”
Thierry pursed his lips, but picked up a menu from the stand. “Follow me. The gentleman is already seated.”
It seemed like Thierry purposely led her on a meandering course through the entire café. Bethany held her bag below her waist, hoping that it might block other diners’ view of her unusual attire, and tried not to bump too many diners’ chairs with it along the way. Everyone seated at the dimly lit restaurant was well-dressed, as the café catered to the lawyers and financiers who worked downtown—people like Todd. Despite her strategic handbag maneuvers, a few people noticed her pants and tittered as she passed.