The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  Viv tapped her on the back. “I got this, Kimmers,” she said, using Charley’s pet name for Kimmy. “It’s not even that busy today, and the prep is all finished. Go do wedding stuff.”

  Bethany held her breath as she watched the creases in Kimmy’s forehead smooth.

  “You sure?” Kimmy asked.

  “Go! Go!” Viv waved her away and went back to the counter where a small, antsy line of commuters was forming.

  Kimmy leaned forward and rested her forehead on Bethany’s shoulder. She moaned. “How am I going to get through the next two weeks? Not one single thing is ready for the wedding!”

  “Everything’s going to be fine. Go have fun trying on your dress,” Bethany said. “Then you can check one thing off the list, at least.”

  “Two.” Ryan held up two fingers. “We’ve got you covered on the venue.”

  Kimmy smiled, her face still strained. “Two down, two million to go.”

  Chapter 2

  RYAN LEANED FORWARD over the steering wheel, squinting through the rain-battered windshield before turning down the long, tree-lined drive of the LaFontaine estate. “Phew! This weather is not playing around!”

  Bethany stared out the window at the manicured grounds. To the right of the drive, an expansive meadow stretched to the tree line, the dark sky hanging heavy above it. The bright green grass would have been cheerful under any other weather conditions.

  Lightning flashed to their left, silhouetting a crumbling stone chapel and an old cemetery packed with leaning gravestones. Bethany shivered as the answering thunder seemed to vibrate her bones. “This place is kind of spooky!”

  Ryan chuckled. “It looks a lot less creepy when the sun is out. I’ll have to bring you back on a nicer day so you have a better impression. I’ve spent so much time here in the past few months that I feel like I live here now.”

  They pulled up in front of the sprawling main house. Built in the nineteenth century of local bluestone, the mansion had been in the LaFontaine family for nearly two-hundred years before the Lazams had purchased it. It rose up imposingly from the gravel drive, as though the house knew that it was destined to be an important building someday and not just a private residence.

  They got out of the car and walked to the front doors, fifteen-foot oak slabs with giant iron hinges. The doors looked like they belonged at the entrance to a medieval castle, not a house in Connecticut.

  “I can’t imagine living here.” Bethany shook her head. “It’d be like living in a—”

  “Museum?” Ryan finished.

  Bethany grinned at him. “I was going to say a hotel, but yeah...now that you mention it!”

  Ryan held one of the doors open. “When this place was built, it had a huge live-in staff, plus lots of important guests coming and going, so it was kind of like a hotel,” he explained as he ushered her into the building. The huge doors swung closed behind them with a bang.

  “I just don’t understand how anyone could relax in a place like this.” Bethany shook her head, looking around. Though the foyer was cluttered with construction materials and equipment, its grand scale was unmistakable. Beyond the foyer, she spied another room that looked larger than her high school gymnasium. The living room? It was downright intimidating. Homes were supposed to be like a hug, warm and comforting. This place, with its soaring windows and enormous chandeliers, was the opposite of cozy. “It’s just so...empty. I don’t think I could ever relax in a room this huge.”

  “My parents’ house is bigger than this, so I guess it doesn’t seem strange to me. I actually love living in big open spaces. It’s kind of like—I don’t know. It feels like freedom.” Ryan smiled a little self-consciously. “You probably think that’s weird.”

  Busted.

  “It’s like you can read my mind.” She grinned at him. “We just come from very different worlds. You’re at home in a palace, and I’m happier in the kitchen. In another time, you’d be king and I’d be a scullery maid.”

  At her joke, Ryan’s face stilled and he looked away from her. “I’m just as comfortable on a cot at the homeless shelter or in a bunk on my boat as I am in one of these big houses.”

  “Aw.” She bumped him with her hip. “You know I’m teasing. I just get a little intimidated by your world.”

  “My world?” He bumped her back. “There’s just one world, Bethany. The line you see between us is in your imagination, just like the line you saw between us when you thought I was homeless was imaginary, too. Anyway, I’m not moving in here. I’m making it a place that anyone can come to feel the same freedom and inspiration that I do.”

  A smile spread across her face. “That’s true. I hadn’t thought of it that way. That’s actually really cool that you’re opening the doors to everyone instead of just fancy people and presidents.”

  He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the huge living room. “Come on, let me show you around a little bit. This is the space I thought Kimmy and Charley could use for the wedding. It’s the old ballroom.”

  A ballroom? Who has a house with a ballroom? People like the Lazams, that’s who.

  Bethany followed him into the room. Several workers in white overalls were on ladders, carefully restoring the ornate plasterwork. A small crew of electricians was installing recessed lighting in the ceiling, their drills whirring as they cut circles out of the lath and plaster. Every so often, a chunk of ceiling would smash to the floor, sending up a puff of white dust. Bethany could see where the walls had been marked for gallery lighting, too. She stepped around a stack of paint buckets, folded drop cloths, and rollers as she followed Ryan across the room.

  Ryan nodded to a tanned, silver-haired man in a denim shirt who seemed to be supervising the work. “Hey, how’s progress?”

  The man’s frown made deep creases around his mouth as he scanned the room. He took his time answering. “Slow. Slower since you made all those changes.”

  “This is Ernesto Bautista, the estate manager,” Ryan explained to Bethany. “He knows this place better than anyone.”

  Ernesto grunted in agreement, and his craggy face almost cracked a smile. “Worked here my whole adult life. Can’t say I like drilling holes in this plaster here, but”—he shrugged—“I don’t write the checks.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes and grinned. “We need light to see the artwork, Ernie!”

  “Like I said. Your business, not mine. I just don’t like fixing things that ain’t broke. The LaFontaines had this place for a couple centuries without pot lights and somehow they could still see their dang paintings.”

  Ryan’s smile was still wide but Bethany saw his forehead furrow a little. “All right, thanks for the input. Complaint noted. How long you think it’ll be before this room is up and running?”

  Ernesto narrowed his eyes as he looked around the room, moving his lips as he performed some mental calculations. “Three weeks? Four, maybe.”

  “But the wedding is in two!” Bethany blurted out, dismayed.

  Ernesto rounded on her, his hands on his hips. “We’ve got to finish electrical and then get the painters in—a week at least with all this detail work—and then the floors’ll get sanded a coupla times. Then three coats of poly, minimum, and it’ll be days between finish coats. I can’t have a crowd of hens in heels marking up the floors while the finish is still tender! If you think you’re getting married here in two weeks, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “It’s not my wedding,” Bethany said in a small voice.

  Ryan put his hand on Ernesto’s shoulder. “You don’t have to lay into her. I’m the one you should yell at, if you’re going to yell at anyone.”

  “Then the same to you. You can’t go booking a room I haven’t finished working on without even giving me a heads up, man!” Ernesto’s eyes blazed and the workers slowed their tasks to see what the commotion was about.

  Bethany watched Ryan to see if he’d lose his temper. I know I would if my employee talked to me like that. But he didn’t. His sm
ile disappeared, but he just nodded.

  “Understood,” he said mildly. “That’s why we’re here, to consult you about the timeline, not to spring a big event on you and the team.”

  “A big event?! What big event are we talking about? The opening?!” A voice behind them rose up at the end of the sentence and cracked. Bethany turned and saw a rotund, ruddy man bustling toward them, the tails of his plaid sport coat flapping. He wore round glasses and had a full beard, but the top of his bald head shone with sweat. He reminded Bethany of some of her culinary school professors back in the day.

  Ryan patted Ernesto on the shoulder, signaling the end of the conversation, before turning to Bethany. “Sorry,” he mouthed, nodding his head toward the new arrival. Then to the man approaching, he said, “No worries, Lucien. The opening won’t be for a couple of months.”

  Lucien’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank the heavens. It’s bad enough trying to get work done with all the noise. And the dust! It covers everything. Everything!” He flapped his hands at the workers agitatedly.

  “Lucien Boucher, the conservator who manages the collection,” Ryan said. “Lucien, this is Bethany, my...good friend.”

  Friend? Ouch.

  Bethany put out her hand to shake, and Lucien grasped it in his moist palm.

  “Enchanté. Call me Luc.” He said and bowed, pressing his lips to her hand. “A friend of Ryan’s is always a friend of mine. Come, let me show you my studio.” He began to lead her toward the stairs, but Ryan caught her other arm.

  “I’m afraid we’re on a mission today,” he said apologetically to Lucien. “We’ll let you get back to work.”

  Lucien stared at him like Ryan had claimed whipped cream was made from boiled potatoes. “Work? Work? I can’t work, can I? Not with this dust everywhere! It’s seeping into my pores, Ryan. I can’t even uncover the paintings, let alone do any restoration! It’d be criminal! Negligent! Criminally negligent!”

  “No, of course not,” Ryan said in a soothing tone. “Perhaps cataloging instead of restoration work? This will all be wrapped up soon—we’re all anxious for it to be finished.”

  Lucien nodded, seemingly placated. “As long as you don’t expect the entire collection to be ready the instant you finish all this banging and whacking. So many paintings need my help before they can be on public display.”

  “Not at all.” Ryan clapped him on the shoulder. “The new museum plan I drew up means we’ll only have half the Peregrines on view at a time.”

  “Fabulous,” Lucien said, the pink in his cheeks deepening. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket and then waved it at Bethany. “Until we meet again, lovely lady. I’d still like to show you the studio if you ever grace it with your presence. You must bring her back, Ryan!”

  Who does he think he is, Fitzwilliam Darcy? What a creep. Bethany nodded and smiled until Lucien made his way back to the foyer and up the stairs. “Wow. He’s a lot.”

  Ryan chuckled. “You said it. But he’s the foremost expert on Jasper James Peregrine—and he was a package deal with the purchase of the estate. The LaFontaines wouldn’t sell the art collection unless we retained Luc’s help with maintaining it. Together, the paintings are the most important collection of Peregrine works in the world. We were lucky they were willing to sell them at all.”

  The back of Bethany’s neck prickled. The most important collection in the world? Wow—and I thought this was just a little Lazam family project to keep Ryan out of trouble!

  “I’m impressed!” she said. “How does it feel to be the big boss of such a big deal?”

  “A little uncomfortable,” he admitted. “I’m in over my head most of the time, but I believe in what we’re doing here. Especially now, with the new plan.”

  “New plan? I thought the museum was always the plan.”

  “It was always going to be the Peregrine Museum. But the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t like a museum dedicated to some dead white guy. Peregrine was extraordinary in his time—a self-taught folk artist who went viral, basically! Everyone who was anyone in the nineteenth century wanted a painting by him, and he traveled around painting just about everyone, too. But now you have to be a millionaire to own a Peregrine, and it looks like fancy old art, not something for regular people.” Ryan paused for a breath, and he looked so cute and excited that Bethany couldn’t help giving him an impulsive hug. He looked at her, pleased. “What was that for?”

  She stepped back and shook her head, blushing. “Nothing. I just caught your enthusiasm.”

  Ernesto cleared his throat beside them. “Excuse me, lovebirds. My guys need to put their ladder right where you’re standing.”

  “Sorry, man,” Ryan said, stepping aside. He raised his eyebrow at Bethany. “Shall we talk and walk?”

  She nodded, and they headed for the foyer where Lucien had disappeared. “Go on—what changed about your museum plan?”

  “Well, I wanted the museum to be more accessible, I guess. More community-minded. More inspiring to young artists. So I thought...why not dedicate one wing to emerging, self-taught artists?”

  “Ah, artists like Jasper James Peregrine was, in his time,” Bethany exclaimed.

  “Yes, you get it! That’s exactly right. So I’m working on building a collection for that wing.” Ryan’s words were happy, but something about his expression bothered Bethany. His face was usually so open and free, but now he seemed distant and preoccupied by something.

  “So what’s the problem?” She put her hand on his arm and he paused at the front door. She raised an eyebrow. “Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

  “So much for my poker face,” he said ruefully. “It’s just—well. The museum was supposed to be open before the end of the month, and it’s going to miss the window because of my changes. My dad’s not happy about the delay.”

  Bethany frowned. “Surely he understands, though. I mean...a little delay isn’t a big deal if it means the museum is going to be better.”

  “Well, better is subjective, isn’t it? I don’t think my dad is going to love it when I tell him that half of the astronomically expensive art collection he bought is going to be in storage so that I can hang pieces by unknown street artists.”

  “Wait, you haven’t told him?” Bethany stared at him in disbelief.

  Ryan winced. “No.”

  “So he thinks you’re going to open next week...”

  “And he’s probably going to disown me when it doesn’t.” He ran his finger around the inside of his shirt collar and then fumbled the button open. “Can we talk about something else? This conversation is making me itchy.”

  Poor guy. His dad must have a real temper if Ryan is this intimidated by him.

  She nodded. “OK. Let’s talk about Kimmy’s wedding, then. Since we can’t use the ballroom, is there room for a tent in the garden?”

  He pushed the door open and peered outside. “Looks like the storm has let up. Let’s go see.”

  They walked around the side of the estate to the formal gardens, where gravel paths and tightly manicured hedges surrounded a central flat lawn. It looked like the perfect place for a large wedding tent—until they stepped out onto it and sank nearly up to their ankles. The soggy ground had been hidden by a thin layer of green grass, but it was practically a swamp.

  Ryan made a face as he tried to clean the mud from his oxfords. Bethany giggled at the sight of him. When she’d met Ryan at the homeless shelter, he was wearing an old T-shirt and covered in paint. She never thought he’d wear a suit and fuss over a little mud on his shoes. He saw her amusement and stuck out his tongue at her. “I have a meeting this afternoon!”

  “I know—I’ve just never been more glad to be wearing my chef’s clogs. I can hose ’em off later.”

  He finished wiping his shoes and looked dubiously at the lawn. “I doubt this will dry out in two weeks, unless we don’t get another drop.”

  Bethany checked the weather app on her phone an
d groaned. Rain every day, all day, until the big day. She showed him the screen and he bit his lower lip thoughtfully.

  “Well...there’s the chapel.” He pointed toward the stone building near the gates to the estate. The stone building had an arched doorway and a small steeple that marked it as a religious building. Neither Kimmy nor Charley was particularly religious, but both had grown up in devout households. Their families might like a ceremony in a churchlike setting.

  A seed of hope flared in Bethany’s chest. Maybe I can go back to the Railway Café with good news for Kimmy.

  They walked briskly along the path to the chapel. As they grew closer, Bethany saw that what she had perceived as crumbling on first glance was actually a stout little building. The stonework was old enough that lichen and moss grew on it, but it was in good repair. Leaning headstones in the small, fenced cemetery bore the surname LaFontaine. The family graveyard.

  The wind picked up and the surrounding trees creaked as they swayed in the stiff breeze. Bethany shivered as they made their way to the chapel’s front door. “It’s a little unsettling, isn’t it?”

  Ryan wrapped his arm around her as they walked and pulled her close. His embrace was surprisingly comforting. He planted a kiss on top of her head and grinned at her. “You’re not scared, are you?”

  She shook her head, embarrassed, and regretfully extricated herself from his embrace. “I just can’t quite picture a wedding here. A Halloween party, maybe!”

  “Give it a chance.” Ryan held the door open for her, and Bethany peeked hesitantly into the dark interior, lit only by the faint gray light that penetrated the stained glass windows.

  She located a light switch and flipped it on. A row of dim overhead chandeliers illuminated the tiny sanctuary. It was a simple room, with a symmetrical design and a soaring ceiling that made it feel at once holy and homey. Several rows of rustic benches faced the altar, which was backed by the largest and most spectacular of the stained glass windows. A few colorful rays of light—red, orange, and blue—fell from the window onto a large, ornate, marble box in the front of the altar.