The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  “No! You’re not doing what I think you’re doing...”

  Kimmy blinked innocently. “I’m just taking my little dog for a walk like you told me to.”

  Darn you, Alvar Alcomb. And you, too, Sharky. Bethany scrambled to her feet and trotted after Kimmy toward Fancy’s house.

  “Listen, you can’t steal evidence! It could make it inadmissible in court. You need a warrant and stuff.” Bethany jogged to catch up.

  “Just because you got into law school doesn’t mean you’re suddenly a legal expert.” Kimmy gave her the side-eye and pulled out her phone. She selected a number and put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Charley? This is Kimmy Caldwell. Fine, thanks. I was wondering—if a civilian performs a search of private property, does he or she need a search warrant for any evidence found to be admissible in court? Oh, no, of course I wouldn’t. I’m just curious. Thank you.”

  She ended the call and turned triumphantly to Bethany. “Trespassing is illegal, but it doesn’t make evidence inadmissible. So there. I’m going to get those negatives.” She checked to make sure the street was clear and headed across Fancy’s lawn toward the darkroom shed, Sharky at her heels.

  “Stop!” Bethany yell-whispered, but Kimmy didn’t even glance in her direction, so she ran to catch up. “At least hear me out. I know where Fancy keeps the key. We can go in, look at the negatives, make sure they’re all there, then leave. We are not going to steal stuff. You know Amara would kill you herself if you did, and I’ll tell her!”

  “It’s not fair to use her against me!” Kimmy put her hands on her hips. “Anyway, what if Fancy destroys them after we look at them?”

  “If there’s anything in the negatives, we’ll take pictures of them, OK?”

  Kimmy nodded. “Fine. Where’s the key?”

  Bethany pointed to a flowerbed near the entrance to the darkroom. “Under the little squirrel statue.”

  Kimmy bent to lift the statue and find the key. After she replaced the squirrel in its original position, Sharky lifted his leg and peed on it. “Nice,” she said, and patted him on the head. He immediately began digging in the flowerbed, sending a spray of dirt flying out behind him.

  Bethany looked up at the second-story windows on Fancy’s house. The windows were dark now. Fancy must have gone to bed. Kimmy unlocked the darkroom door and started to go inside, but Bethany put her hand on her arm.

  “Wait—you can’t take Sharky in there. He’s filthy! Plus he’ll probably chew on something he’s not supposed to.”

  “Well, I can’t leave him out here alone! He’ll just bark and wake up everyone on the block!” Kimmy whispered.

  “You stay out here with Sharky and keep watch for Fancy and any nosy neighbors. I’ll look at the negatives and take pictures of any that seem incriminating, just in case. You give the signal if someone is coming.”

  Kimmy sighed. “Fine. What’s the signal? Hoot like an owl?”

  Bethany giggled. “I think that will look pretty suspicious if you’re standing around someone’s yard doing bird calls. Maybe just say ‘bad dog!’”

  Kimmy grinned at Sharky. The dog looked at her and scratched an ear with his hind leg. “OK, go! The longer we stand here, the more likely it is that someone’s going to notice!”

  Bethany nodded and stepped into the darkroom, carefully closing the door behind her before turning on the light switch. The red bulb glowed dimly, but her eyes adjusted in just a few moments and she could see the layout of the room. It was a small space but efficiently designed. Several work benches lined the walls, and a sink and developing station were set up at the far end. In the center of the room, a work table held an enlarger and a light table. A string of drying photographs was stretched across the back wall. Bethany crossed to them immediately.

  Pictures of the church interior. Fancy must have printed them after she and Charley left. Bethany counted fifteen photos, which didn’t seem like many to document the entire interior of the church—and none of them showed the interior of the bell tower where Todd was killed.

  Maybe it was locked and she couldn’t access that area. Or maybe...

  “Where are the negatives?” Bethany mumbled aloud. She looked around. A tall metal cabinet stood to her right. She tried the door, but it was locked.

  Odd. She looked around for the key, but it wasn’t hanging on the wall or in the dish of odds and ends by the sink.

  “Bad dog!”

  Bethany dove underneath the work table and wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to shrink into the smallest space possible. She held her breath and strained her ears to hear what was going on outside.

  Kimmy’s voice came through the door. “Sorry, false alarm. Sharky tried to eat my purse.”

  Bethany let out her breath in a rush and unfolded her limbs as she tried scooting out from under the table.

  Funny how it’s always harder to get out than it is to get in.

  She banged her head sharply. Ouch. When she reached up to feel the bump, the back of her hand brushed something stuck to the bottom of the tabletop above her head.

  The key. It was attached to a magnetic holder underneath the table. Bethany stood up, felt under the table for the key, and tried it in the cabinet. The door opened easily and her heart leaped. Inside were neat rows of storage boxes, some labeled with dates and others with subject matter. Bethany scanned them, looking for a label she recognized. July 2016, Society Meetings, Newbridge Station—and Hosanna Street!

  She slid the box from the shelf. It was heavier than she expected. Fancy must have been taking photos on Hosanna Street for a while. She put the box on the work table and flicked through the envelopes of negatives inside. Again, each was neatly labeled. If Fancy ever got tired of running her souvenir shop, she certainly had a career waiting for her at the Newbridge Public Library.

  She pulled out the envelope marked “Gala” and spread the negatives on the light table. She flicked it on and squinted at the negatives, trying to make out the images, but they were so small and in reversed colors that she struggled with each one.

  Her shoulders tensed. This was taking far too much time. She remembered the tool Fancy had used to look at the photos that afternoon, and quickly scanned the darkroom for a similar item. She spied an identical net bag hanging on the wall and fished a loupe out of it.

  Success! But her heart sank when she used it to view the negatives. They were all the same pictures she’d seen earlier. Fancy seemed to have printed all of the negatives from the party and exterior of the church. Bethany slid them back into the envelope and stuck it back into the box.

  Where were the negatives of the church interior?

  She flicked through the box of Hosanna Street photos again. Some envelopes were marked with last names. Maybe the names of homeowners? Just out of curiosity, Bethany pulled out the envelope marked “Caldwell,” and put those negatives on the light table.

  The first few frames were exterior shots of Amara’s house from different angles. They seemed to have been taken before Amara built the porch addition. As she moved through the film, strip-by-strip, the photos changed. Some documented the porch construction, from foundation to painting. Then a few strips showed the completed swan porch, some taken close up and some from further away—down the street or in neighbor’s yards.

  Amara must have kicked her off the property. Bethany grinned. She moved the loupe to the last strip of negatives and froze.

  The fire.

  Fancy had taken actual photographs of the fire that burned down Amara’s house.

  Bethany swallowed hard. The first picture showed the flames when they’d barely started and were just licking the railings on the porch itself. That meant that Fancy had to have seen who lit the fire. The last photo showed the fire consuming the lower half of the entire house. Amara and Sharky have still been inside the house when it was taken. Bethany got chills just like she had when she’d seen the picture of the church bell tower that had Todd’s lifeless body inside.

  Did Fancy
just let it burn? Or was she the one who called 9-1-1?

  She fumbled in her pocket for her phone and tried to focus it on the light table. The phone camera balked for a moment, and then the images became clear and Bethany hit the shutter button. She jammed the phone back in her pocket and scooped up the negatives with one hand, sliding them back into the envelope. She tucked the envelope back into the box and riffled through the remaining envelopes to see if any of the negatives of the church interior were stashed there.

  Nada.

  She sighed and slid the box back onto the shelf. None of the other boxes had promising labels.

  Maybe Fancy took the negatives of the church interior into the house.

  She closed the cabinet and turned the key.

  “Bad dog!”

  Bethany dove underneath the worktable again.

  “What are you doing in my yard?” Fancy’s voice was muffled, but loud enough that Bethany could understand every word.

  “Just walking my bad dog Sharky,” Kimmy said. “He ran over here and I just caught him.”

  “I know you.” Fancy’s voice was louder and more threatening. “You’re Amara Caldwell’s girl. What are you doing in this neighborhood?”

  “Just walking my dog, ma’am.” Bethany could tell Kimmy was angry. Her voice was tight and unnaturally even.

  Bethany heard Fancy gasp. “Where’s my key?! Did you go into my darkroom!”

  “Ma’am, I—”

  “I’m calling the police!”

  “I didn’t take anything, I swear! I just came to get my dog. See? I don’t have any of your stuff. Maybe you forgot to put the key away.”

  “You wait right there. If you run off, or if I find one thing out of place, I’m calling 9-1-1.”

  Bethany heard the sound of the darkroom doorknob turning. She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed herself for not locking the door behind her.

  Fancy entered, carrying an old-fashioned lamp that lit up the small shed.

  Kerosene. Bethany’s heart thudded in her chest. Maybe Fancy hadn’t just seen the arsonist. Maybe she was the arsonist. But why would she burn down Amara’s house if it meant the neighborhood lost its historic designation? It didn’t make sense.

  Fancy set the lamp down near the sink and stood so close to the table that her long skirt blocked Bethany’s view momentarily. Fancy reached under the table and Bethany leaned back so her fingers wouldn’t brush her face.

  Why didn’t I take the key out of the cabinet when I hid? Bethany gritted her teeth.

  Fancy felt around for the key, and then, when she didn’t find it, ducked down to look under the table. Her eyes met Bethany’s and went wide with shock.

  “What are you doing here?!” she cried. She grabbed Bethany by the hair and dragged her out from under the table. Bethany’s scalp screamed and she couldn’t help but follow Fancy’s motions.

  “I was just...curious...about your...pictures,” Bethany panted, holding onto her hair with both hands so Fancy wouldn’t pull it out by the roots. Fancy let go and pushed her back against the wall, and Bethany choked back a sob. “My boyfriend was murdered, and I didn’t know what else to do. I was hoping you had something on film that would help solve the case!”

  Fancy narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you just knock on the door and ask? We’re acquainted—I might have shown you what I had.”

  Bethany’s mind whirred trying to come up with a believable lie. “I was trying to work up the nerve to ask, but that lady out there came by with her dog, and I panicked and ran in here to hide!”

  Fancy relaxed a little. “Maybe I forgot to lock up this evening.”

  At that, Bethany relaxed a little bit, too. She eyed the door, wondering if she could dash for the exit and get to Kimmy’s car in time.

  I hope Kimmy’s out there warming it up.

  “Did you set this darkroom up yourself? It’s really cool.” To her own ears, Bethany’s voice sounded brittle and sycophantic, but Fancy blinked in surprise.

  “Yes, I did. Photography has long been a hobby of mine.” She smiled a little. “Does it interest you?”

  “Sure.” Bethany nodded and Fancy raised her eyebrows. Flattery seemed to be working to soften her, so Bethany laid on a bit more. “It seems complicated, though—all the equipment and chemistry.”

  “It’s not, once you get used to it. It’s mostly just measurements and doing things in the right order. You’re a caterer, right?”

  “Chef,” Bethany said automatically.

  “Well, it’s much like following a recipe. One part developer to fifty parts water, and so forth.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.” Bethany smiled, but behind the smile her mind was pacing in circles, frantically looking for a way out of the tiny shed.

  “What pictures did you want to see?” Fancy asked suddenly.

  “Inside the church?” Bethany said lamely. “I hoped there would be a clue who might have followed Todd into the bell tower.”

  Fancy motioned to the damp photos hanging on the wire. “They’re all up here. Go ahead and look at them. I’m taking them into the police tomorrow.”

  Bethany gingerly began examining the photos that she’d already looked at, keeping one eye on Fancy. “Hm. I don’t see anything. Is this all of them?”

  Fancy crossed her arms and leaned against the cabinet. “Yes, of course.”

  “I just thought—well, I thought maybe you took more. This doesn’t seem like very many.”

  “The others were no good. Out of focus, light leaks, and so forth.” Fancy waved her hand. “I think it’s about time you leave.”

  “You should take the negatives to the police, too,” Bethany babbled, as Fancy herded her toward the door. Fancy snorted. “Really—they might be able to extract something from them. Even if the photos themselves are bad, they might have good content.” She paused, thinking. “Unless you’re hiding something.”

  Fancy stopped, grabbed her by the elbow, and spun her around. “What did you see? Have you been meddling in my cupboard?” She looked over at the cabinet and saw the key still sticking out of the lock. “You have, haven’t you?”

  She reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and withdrew a small pistol and pointed it at Bethany.

  Bethany drew in her breath. It’s exactly like the one I found in the chowder!

  Fancy seemed to read her mind. “My father had a pair of Brownings. I’m sorry to have lost the other one.”

  “So you—” Bethany began, realization dawning.

  “He was going to destroy this town! Hosanna Street first, but then he’d go on to another project, and another!” Fancy waved the pistol wildly, and Bethany ducked out of instinct. “I have Amara to thank, really—if she hadn’t thrown food all over him, I’d never have had the opportunity to stop him once and for all.”

  Please, Kimmy, call the police. With a sinking stomach, Bethany realized that even if Kimmy had called Charley, it could be some time before the she arrived.

  I’ve got to keep her talking.

  “You wanted to punish him for the arson?”

  Fancy’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed. “Didn’t you see the photographs?”

  “I saw some pictures of the fire. I thought maybe you saw who set it. It didn’t make sense to me that you’d burn down Amara’s house, knowing that it would mean the development would go forward! But”—she glanced at the kerosene lamp by the sink—“maybe I was wrong.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to burn the whole house!” Fancy’s arm shook as she pointed the gun at Bethany. “Just the ridiculous swan head on the porch! But it got too big, too fast. I called the fire department—I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I stayed until they came to make sure Amara got out alive.”

  Bethany nodded as she tried to keep her breathing even. That explained the tracks behind George’s shed. Fancy must have parked her tricycle there so it wouldn’t be seen. “You wanted the porch gone so there’d be no way the city council would approve the development, even six m
onths or a year down the line.”

  Fancy smiled. Her teeth glinted in the lamplight, and Bethany shivered. Her smile was even more ominous than her frown. “That’s right. And I’d already made an agreement with Don Hefferman for the historical society to purchase the old church property. I just didn’t expect—” Her face clouded, but she shook it off. “I had to make things right. I wasn’t sure how. I brought one of my father’s pistols to the gala. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I thought...”

  Bethany tried to use a sympathetic tone. “You thought you could threaten Todd and make things go back to the way they were before the arson.”

  Fancy lowered the gun slightly. “Yes, thank you. Someone who understands. I confronted him as he was going into the bell tower, and I asked him nicely to call off the development. I followed him up the stairs, explaining all the reasons why it was a bad idea! I thought he was listening to me, but then he said the show must go on and started ringing the bells! So I—”

  “Shot him,” Bethany finished. “And then dumped the pistol in my soup so I’d get blamed.”

  Fancy pulled the gun up and pointed it at Bethany again. “It wasn’t like that.” She took a step closer. “If he’d just have listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Bethany put her hands up and moved backward until she bumped against a workbench. “Please, you don’t have to do this!”

  Fancy didn’t seem to hear her. “Shame about all my equipment,” she murmured, scanning the room. “I’ll mourn the loss of all my negatives, too, but I suppose it can’t be helped. Turn around and put your hands behind your back!”

  Bethany obeyed, panic welling in her chest, and felt Fancy bind her wrists with some kind of tape. “You won’t get away with this! The police are already on their way!”

  Please let them be on their way. She turned around. Fancy had put away her gun and was standing by the door, holding the kerosene lamp.

  She smiled sweetly at Bethany. “I’ll be sure to let them know that you confessed to killing your boyfriend because you were angry at him for setting the fire. You broke into my shed to destroy evidence of your guilt, but when I confronted you, you knocked the lamp out of my hand and set the place on fire by accident.”