The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  “Buddy, hurry up. I gotta catch a train!” the burly construction worker behind him said.

  “I’ve gotta run. Doing a profile on Marigold for the paper, and I desperately need to talk to her family. Sorry?” He dashed off.

  Bethany rolled her eyes. Of course. She slid the container of soup to the construction worker and put the three bucks he handed her in the till. “The Honor Roll has grilled cheese sandwiches to go with,” she said automatically, watching Milo’s back disappear out the front doors of the station. Figures.

  Chapter 8

  Friday afternoon

  AS THE LUNCH RUSH ENDED, and the bottom of her stock pot was in sight, Bethany noticed Trevor walking by without his usual confident swagger. Instead of his coveralls, he wore a too-small suit jacket and a stationmaster’s cap that he kept taking on and off and twisting in his hands. Caboose tagged along at his heels.

  “Want some lunch before I close up?” she asked. He glanced up at her chalk board and then nodded. “Don’t worry, it’s a safe bet. Nothing weird in it.”

  His face relaxed, and he broke into a grin. “Phew! Last time I tried your soup, it had tails in it!”

  Bethany chuckled. “That must have been the gumbo. The tail-on shrimp supposedly make it taste better, but I got enough complaints that I’ll probably take those tails off next time.”

  Trevor dug into the soup there at the counter, dripping some onto his jacket. She handed him a napkin, and he scrubbed furiously at his lapel and muttered to himself. “Can’t do anything right...stupid monkey suit.”

  “You seem a little stressed out. Is it about taking on the stationmaster role?”

  He nodded. “That, and Julie is in labor, but I can’t leave the station until the last evening train. She’ll probably have the baby by then, and I will never live that down.” His phone pinged in his pocket, and he fumbled as he pulled it out, his hands shaking as he checked the message. “See? She’s already mad at me, and it’s only noon. No way that baby is staying inside for another seven or eight hours!”

  “There has to be someone to take over for you. Can’t you call ZamRail to send a substitute from another station?”

  “I did. They said no one is available until Monday, and if I want to keep my job, I need to fill in today. It’s just the safety stuff, but even that is a lot.”

  Bethany nodded sympathetically. “I guess you can’t do both jobs indefinitely. They’ll have to hire someone quickly.”

  “Yeah, the ZamRail person I talked to this morning said the station might have to close until they find a new stationmaster. They’ll just bus the commuters to Oldbridge until then. It could take them a month to find someone new!”

  “Bad news for Souperb and the Honor Roll—it’s not like we can serve food at Oldbridge.” She sighed. “We’ll have to close.”

  “Bad news for Caboose, too. I don’t know who’ll take him while the station’s under construction. And it won’t be easy to find a replacement for Ben,” Trevor said glumly. “I know I complained about the guy a lot, but he’s one of the best stationmasters around. He does the work of two or three people. Don’t get me wrong, he’s kind of a jerk, and if he killed someone he should be in jail, but I don’t know...it’s like when your dad’s a jerk. You still love the guy.”

  Bethany nodded. “Do you think he did it?”

  “I’m not sure.” Trevor scooped up Caboose and cradled him, scratching behind the cat’s ears until he purred with pleasure. Seeing him hold Caboose so gently made Bethany realize what a great dad he was going to be.

  “The cops are pretty sure. And I know he lied to me about his alibi. First he said he was in his office, and then he said he was in the restroom. He claimed he forgot, but do you forgot something so important like where you were when you got the call that someone was hit by a train?”

  “Huh,” Trevor said, his face and shoulders relaxing as he stroked the cat’s belly. “I actually saw him coming out of the men’s room at 11:00. I was peeking out the door of the maintenance closet.”

  “You know the exact time?”

  “Yeah, I do. My rounds end around that time, so I was checking to make sure Ben didn’t see me leaving the closet—then he’d know I didn’t do my rounds. And it’s a good thing I did, because I would have run right into him.”

  Bethany gasped. “But this means that Ben was telling the truth—his alibi stands up! Jen must have left the restroom just before him, or not noticed him in the hall because she was in a hurry to get back to the kiosk. Oh no—poor Ben! We have to call Charley and tell her she has the wrong guy! He couldn’t have done it.”

  “Slow your roll,” Trevor said thoughtfully. He set Caboose gently on the floor, and the cat flopped down on his feet like a wet towel. “It actually explains how he could have done it. He could have used his keys to access the maintenance tunnel in the men’s room, gone down to the platform, pushed Marigold in front of the train, and then come back without anyone seeing him.”

  “Wait, there’s a tunnel entrance in the bathroom?!”

  Trevor nodded. “We keep it locked. But Ben has keys, of course.”

  Bethany’s heart sank. That explained how Ben got to the platform and back without anyone seeing him on the concourse. And it made perfect sense why he said he’d been in his office the first time she asked, but then changed his answer to the restroom, on the off chance that someone saw him exiting it at that time. It was closer to the truth, too—he had gotten the call about someone on the tracks while he was in the restroom, after he’d fled the scene of the crime.

  The timeline seemed tight, but it was possible if Ben and Marigold didn’t argue too long before he pushed her. But... “Wouldn’t Ben have been worried that he’d see you in the tunnels? If you were doing your rounds, you should have been right there when he was on the platform. He’d have known that.”

  Trevor opened his mouth, started to say something, and then stopped.

  “Did you notice him carrying anything when he was leaving the restroom?”

  “Like a weapon? No, not that I remember.” Trevor shook his head vigorously.

  “Not like a weapon,” Bethany said. “Like a purse. A black, patent-leather, vintage Chanel purse.”

  Bethany thought she saw Trevor’s eyes widen, just for a moment. “Nope.” He looked over his shoulder at the station clock. “We better get going on the rounds before the 12:55 comes in. The station never sleeps. Thanks for the soup.” He patted the counter and walked away quickly, shoes squeaking on the marble floors as Caboose scampered behind him.

  Bethany took a deep breath. It was important not to jump to conclusions. She knew the murderer took a black purse from Marigold—she’d just been to the bank, so of course she had her purse with her. If Ben was the killer, he must have hidden the purse somewhere before he left the restroom. The tunnels, maybe? But if Ben wasn’t the killer, then the killer would have the purse—or know where it was.

  Bethany dialed Charley’s number as she watched Trevor move toward the other side of the concourse. Was he going to the stationmaster’s office—or was he going to find the purse? “Charley? Where are you?”

  “With Kimmy. She made those cookies again.”

  “Can you come across the street—like, now? It’s kind of urgent.”

  “On my way.”

  Charley skidded through the door, madeleines in hand, all of thirty seconds later. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “You have to do a search for the purse—maybe in the tunnels, maybe in the men’s room—right now,” Bethany babbled.

  “Marigold’s purse?” Charley asked, confusion spreading across her face. “Jen has it, right?”

  “No, not that purse, the other one. The black one that was Jen’s, the one that they swapped. The one that the killer stole. Come on!”

  She grabbed Charley’s arm and pulled her toward the stationmaster’s office. Charley dug in her heels and peeled Bethany’s fingers from her arm. “You can’t drag an on-duty police officer
. And the killer is in jail, so not like we have to run to collect evidence.”

  “See, I’m not totally, one-hundred-percent sure that Ben’s the killer.” Bethany shrugged apologetically. “I was just talking to Trevor, and he was acting weird. I asked him if Ben had the purse when Trevor saw him come out of the men’s room, and—”

  “Trevor saw Ben Kovac exit the men’s room at the time of the murder?”

  “Yeah, at eleven on the dot, so five minutes after the murder. Trevor says there’s a maintenance tunnel entrance in the men’s room that Ben could have used to access the platform without being seen.” Bethany could see Charley mentally running through the timeline. “Anyway, I asked him if Ben had the purse, because obviously the killer would have the purse right after the murder, and Trevor said no. But then he acted weird and left really quickly, so I think he might know something. Maybe where the purse is...”

  “Well, come on!” Charley said, this time grabbing Bethany by the arm. “Where is he?”

  “Ben’s office, because he’s filling in as stationmaster for the rest of the day. But maybe he went wherever the purse is, which is probably the maintenance tunnels or the men’s room!”

  They jogged together across the concourse.

  “Men’s room first? It’s on the way,” Bethany suggested.

  Charley nodded and banged three times on the restroom door with her fist. “Police, anybody in there?” When no answer came, Charley pushed open the door with one hand and shone her flashlight into the dark restroom with the other. She clicked off the flashlight and flipped the light switch. “Come on in. Let’s see this tunnel access point.”

  Bethany looked around. She’d never been in the men’s restroom before and was surprised to see that it was slightly different than the women’s. The women’s restroom was all one room, with a single toilet, a sink, and a baby changing station. The men’s room was slightly larger, and the toilet was separated from a sink and urinal by a stall. “I don’t see a tunnel.”

  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 finding 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.”