The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  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 is 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 fist 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, righ
t 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.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “I said I don’t!” Ben’s voice was so loud he was nearly shouting. “Close the door on your way out.”

  Bethany jumped and skittered out of the office, slapped the out-of-order notice on the women’s restroom, and knocked on the door to the maintenance closet again. “Trevor? You in there?”

  No answer. She pressed her ear to the door. She could hear someone inside rummaging through boxes. She knocked again, louder. The door flew open, and Trevor’s face emerged, red and sweaty with the effort of whatever he was doing.

  “You again. What do you want now?”

  “I talked to Ben, and—”

  Trevor rolled his eyes and slammed the door in her face. The noise inside resumed, and this time it sounded like Trevor was dumping boxes of metal pieces out on the floor. What in the world can he be doing? Bethany knocked again, pounding with her fist until he cracked open the door.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to know if you saw Marigold when you did the track check at the end of your rounds this morning.”

  “No, I didn’t. I already told you I didn’t see anything.”

  Bethany stuck her foot in the door so he couldn’t close it again. “You said you didn’t see the train hit her. I’m talking about before that, when she was just standing on the platform. You might have been the last person to see her alive.”

  “So? She was standing on the platform. I didn’t push her in front of that train.”

  “I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I was just curious if anyone was with her. If you saw Marigold, you probably saw the murderer, too.”

  “I don’t know. I was checking the tracks, not making a list of everybody I saw.”

  Bethany nodded. “Well, if you remember anything...”

  “I’ll tell the police,” Trevor said pointedly. He started to close the door again, and Bethany tried to see around him to the interior of the maintenance closet.

  “What are you doing in there, anyway? It’s awfully noisy.”

  “Looking for something. It’s none of your business.” He scooted her foot out of the way with his own and closed the door again. This time, she heard it lock.

  What could he be looking for? The maintenance closet was cluttered but well-organized, with labeled boxes and bins for parts and tools. He shouldn’t have to dump everything out on the floor to find an item. She’d never seen him act so agitated about anything, either. What was stressing him out so much? Could it be something to do with Marigold’s death?

  Bethany shook her head to clear it. Don’t be so suspicious all the time! He probably just misplaced a small part and figured it fell down into another box or something. Or maybe he was just frazzled because of his impending fatherhood. She walked back across the concourse to her kiosk and was surprised to see the waiting area nearly empty of passengers. The police had obviously released the scene. Jen and Aaron weren’t on the bench, either—they must have gone to their hotel.

  Bethany took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The morning’s caffeine had worn off, and had been nearly thirty hours since Bethany had slept. Her eyes felt gritty, but she shook off the exhaustion and climbed the stepladder to take down Marigold’s sign. The leggings and tunic she wore didn’t have pockets, so she held the screws in her lips as she removed them. One end of the sign was free, and she held it up with one hand while she leaned to reach the last screw on the other side, causing the stepladder to wobble.

  “Be careful up there, hon!” Olive stared up at Bethany. “You have a minute to take the soup over to the shelter with me?”

  “Mhm,” Bethany mumbled through a mouthful of screws. Holding the sign, she backed down the ladder, spat the screws into a container, and slid the sign under the counter of Marigold’s kiosk. Well, not Marigold’s anymore. Her death still didn’t seem real. She peeked under the lid of the soup on the warmer. “I’m a little worried about the temp on this. I’m afraid it’ll cool too much on the ride over. Is it OK with you if I turn up the heat, and we wait a few?”

  Olive hesitated, but then nodded. “Fine. Come get me when it’s ready.”

  Bethany turned up the warmer and headed back to Souperb, where a coating of chicken stock was hardening on her own pot and ladles. She piled the utensils into the stockpot and carried them over to Café Sabine.

  When she pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen, she saw Kimmy’s back through the door to the walk-in refrigerator.

  “Hey!” she called, and Kimmy jumped and turned.

  “You surprised me! You’re late.”

  Bethany plunked the stockpot into the deep dishwashing sink, squirted some dish liquid into it, and turned on the hot water. “Police were holding the scene until they interviewed everyone. It was a mess.”

  Kimmy closed the walk-in and grabbed some disinfecting spray from under the sink. As she began wiping down the counters, she said, “Charley told me about what happened. So sorry.”

  “She checked with you about my alibi?”

  Kimmy paused mid-spray. “Yes! And I chewed her out for badgering you. I can’t believe she questioned you like that.”

  “Don’t be mad at Charley; it’s not her fault. She’s just doing her job.”

  “I don’t have to approve, though,” Kimmy grumbled. “I can’t believe she’d even consider you a suspect, especially after all you went through last May.”

  Bethany nodded and attacked the inside of the stock pot with a scrubber. She didn’t want to think or talk about last May. Cleaning was somehow more satisfying than usual, and she scrubbed even harder at the remains of the epic chicken noodle soup until the stainless-steel pot shone.

  “Soup was a hit?” Kimmy asked.

  Bethany nodded, keeping her eyes trained on the dishwater.

  “What did the reporter think?”

  Bethany shrugged, and Kimmy shrieked in frustration. “Come on! Give me something, here. I did not stay up all night with you to be ignored in my own kitchen!” Then she softened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up at you. I’m just tired.”

  “Me, too,” Bethany admitted. “Anyway, he didn’t taste the soup.”

  “What?!” Kimmy stared at her, the spray bottle slack at her side.

  “He was standing there, about to have some, right whe
n we found out Marigold got hit. He left my kiosk to cover that story for the paper since the station was locked down and no other reporter had access. It doesn’t matter now, though, does it? With Marigold out of the picture, the food feature is a nonstarter.”

  Kimmy nodded. “With the competition dead, the competition’s literally dead.”

  “Morbid way to put it, but yeah.” Bethany rinsed her pot and ladles and then dunked them in the sanitizing bath. “And I am honestly disappointed. I know I complained about the food feature because it was a surprise, but it was my shot, you know? It was finally some attention that wasn’t about Daniel’s murder.”

  “You mean some attention from a guy who isn’t Daniel.” Kimmy eyed her slyly.

  “Milo’s a professional, and he was only there to do his job. I’m sure I’ll never see him again.” Bethany blushed in spite of herself. “That’s not why I’m disappointed, anyway. Well, not the only reason.”

  “It’s about time, is all I’m saying. You deserve to have a little fun.”

  “I have fun!” Bethany said indignantly.

  “Mhm. Name one Saturday in the last three months that you’ve gone out.”

  “I stay home on purpose. I love hanging out with you and Charley. And I ride my bike—that’s fun. And I read.”

  “Super fun.” Kimmy’s smirk was visible across the room.

  “I don’t need a boyfriend to enjoy my life.”

  Kimmy cackled. “So get a girlfriend!”

  “Can’t—all the good ones are taken. Guess I’m stuck being single.” Bethany smirked at her friend. If she was honest with herself, it would be nice to see Milo again without the strange pressure of a food review. Maybe she’d run into him somewhere else...the waterfront, maybe? Or just walking down the street. She wondered if he’d recognize her outside the kiosk, or if he only saw her as fodder for another newspaper article. Kimmy yawned and Bethany’s mind snapped out of her daydream. “What time is it? I have to get back to help Olive.”

  “Go. Shoo,” Kimmy said, motioning for her to leave. “I’ll finish putting this stuff away.”