The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  Charley looked thoughtful. “I’d like to keep it as quiet as possible. I don’t want anyone freaking out about a serial killer”—she frowned at Bethany—“or getting wound up about criminal activity. Maybe you could chat with the key holders to see if they know anything about it?”

  Ryan nodded. “Sure thing.”

  Milo raised an eyebrow. “Can I come?”

  “With me?” Ryan asked, perplexed. “Why?” He shot a look at Bethany to gauge her reaction and she gave a small shrug.

  Who knows what Milo’s thinking, but I don’t love the idea of them hanging out together unsupervised.

  “Purely professional interest. I’d love to write an article about the mummy. It’s a fascinating mystery even if it’s not a crime.”

  Charley slapped her palm down on the table and their beer bottles rattled. “No. No press. Not until after the wedding. You need to chill out, dude. Not everything is a story you need to publish.”

  “You can’t stop me,” Milo said sulkily, crossing his arms. “Freedom of the press. The cops can’t suppress journalists.”

  “I can’t stop you, but I can sure make things hard for you.” Charley stared him down until he looked away.

  “Police harassment,” he said, his tone only half-joking.

  “Come on, man, have some sympathy. I can’t have you ruining my wedding!” Charley’s mouth was tight with frustration. “Can’t you just wait a couple weeks to write it? Then we’ll be on our honeymoon and the fuss will die down before we get back.”

  “How am I supposed to write anything if I’m not allowed to investigate? If I wait until after the wedding to even start, the leads will be cold. Nobody will want to talk about it if it’s scooped by another paper.” Milo groaned. “I am doomed to write restaurant reviews forever.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Ryan said sympathetically.

  “The pay ain’t great,” Milo snapped. “And you don’t win Pulitzers for it, either.”

  Charley sighed heavily and covered her face with her hands. “Stop. Just stop. Do whatever you want, man. Write your article, track down the story, whatever. Who cares about a dumb wedding, right?”

  Bethany put her arm around Charley’s shoulders and squeezed. Kimmy’s not the only one with wedding stress. “Hey. It’s going to be OK. You are definitely getting married in twelve days, and it’s going to be beautiful. I won’t let anyone ruin it for you.” She shot a look at Milo, who yelped in protest.

  “Hey! I’m not trying to ruin it!”

  “Kinda seems like it, though.” Ryan scooted his chair a few inches toward Bethany so the three of them were facing Milo. “You really can’t give an inch in your career for one of your friends, even though you’re in the wedding?”

  Milo shifted uncomfortably. “It sounds terrible when you put it that way. I’ll wait to publish, Charley. I just need to write it now. Surely you can understand that. I promise I won’t send it to print until you’re on your honeymoon. Kimmy will be too busy drinking daiquiris to catch the headlines, and the fuss will die down by the time you’re back.”

  Charley dropped her hands from her face. “Promise?”

  “I swear.”

  She sighed heavily. “Fine then. Just...try not to stir people up, OK? Don’t ask them directly about a mummy. The newspaper isn’t the only place Kimmy could find out about this.”

  Milo jumped up from his chair. “Awesome! Thank you so much, Charley. You won’t regret it. I’m off to do my background research. And”—he clapped Ryan on the back—“you and I are going to find some time together!” He grinned at all of them and practically ran out the door.

  Ryan looked at Bethany, bewildered. “Did I somehow sign up for a date to your other boyfriend?”

  She giggled in spite of herself. “Sorry. It’s just professional interest on his part. It’ll be fine.”

  “You hope.” Ryan’s dark expression made her giggle more.

  “You can just show him around, let him talk to people who might know something. Pretend you’re a babysitter.”

  Ryan tugged her hand toward him. “You’ll have to come with me. Please don’t leave me alone with that guy!”

  “They’ll need an umpire on the field, Bethany!” Charley’s good spirits were apparently restored after the confrontation with Milo. As they all laughed, the street door to the café swung open. For a moment, Bethany thought it might be Milo returning, but it was Kimmy who walked in, her face tear-streaked and her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  Charley instantly leaped up and went to comfort her. “Sweetheart, what happened? Are you OK?”

  Just what we need—another crisis. Bethany took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I need to be the calm. Kimmy needs me to be the calm.

  “Should I pick you up here tomorrow?” Ryan asked her quickly. “What’s a good time?”

  “Where are you going?” Kimmy dabbed her eyes with a tissue as Charley guided her into the seat Milo had occupied before taking her own. “You two have a date?”

  “No,” Bethany said at the same time that Ryan said, “Yes.”

  They looked at each other, and Ryan forged ahead. “I was just asking her on a date tomorrow morning.”

  “But I have to work,” Bethany added. “So. No date.”

  Kimmy tilted her head to the side. “Aw. You should go. I don’t want the café to get in the way of your love life. Viv and I can handle it tomorrow.”

  Bethany’s heart squeezed at the word “love,” even if it was an overstatement. Sometimes she thought Kimmy liked Ryan even better than she did.

  Well, that’s probably an overstatement, too.

  Ryan grinned at Kimmy, his posture straightening inside his well-cut suit jacket. “Thanks. See? No problem?” He smirked at Bethany. “I’ll pick you up here at the restaurant, say ten a.m.? For our date?”

  Bethany nodded, only slightly chagrined, and he gave a cheeky wave to all of them as he headed out. After he left, Kimmy and Charley were both staring at her with a goopy expression. “Oh, stop, you two! Just because you’re getting married doesn’t mean we all have to!”

  “I just want you to be as happy as I am,” Kimmy said. She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with the tissue.

  Yeah, you seem really happy. The moment the thought entered her mind, Bethany pushed it away. Of course Kimmy was happy to be marrying Charley, she just wasn’t happy about all the stress. “Is everything OK? You seemed upset when you came in.”

  Kimmy nodded. “Well, on top of the whole venue debacle—”

  “They found us a venue!” Charley crowed. “You don’t have to worry about that! It’s a conservatory and Bethany says it’s gorgeous!”

  Kimmy’s head sagged in relief. “Oh, great. I can’t believe it, actually. I told the seamstress today that it seemed like everything was falling apart.”

  “Now you have the perfect venue and the perfect dress,” Bethany said, smiling...that is, until she saw Kimmy’s face fall at the mention of the dress. “Uh oh. What happened?”

  Kimmy burst into tears again and scooted into Ryan’s old seat so she could cling to Bethany. “I just haaate it!” she wailed.

  “What’s the matter with it?” Charley asked. “Did they send the wrong one?”

  “No, it’s the one I picked.” Kimmy sobbed, her forehead pressed to Bethany’s shoulder. “It seemed perfect on paper, but in person...” She choked, unable to finish.

  Charley chewed her lower lip. “So return it. Pick another one.”

  Kimmy raised her head. “Do you know how long it takes to order a wedding dress? It’s weeks, if not months. I don’t have time!”

  “Surely they have something in the store that would fit?” Charley asked.

  Bethany made a slicing motion across her neck. Kill this line of questioning, immediately. But Charley didn’t get the message.

  Kimmy’s chin trembled. “You don’t understand. The dresses they have in stock are all so boring. Like paper-doll cut-out dresses. Generic dresses for g
eneric brides. And I don’t want to be generic! I want to be myself!”

  Charley snorted. “I don’t understand? I’m wearing a tuxedo, Kimmers! They literally all look alike.”

  “Exactly!” Kimmy flung her hands up in frustration. “You’re generic, I’m generic. What kind of weird generic wedding are we having?! It’s like you’re playing the dude and I’m playing the lady and we’re pretending it’s a regular hetero wedding, but it’s not! It’s our wedding and it doesn’t even feel like it! We’re just checking boxes on someone else’s list.”

  Bethany put her arm around Kimmy and patted her back soothingly. “I’m sure the dress is fine. In fact, I bet you look gorgeous in it.”

  Kimmy glared at her. “How would you know? You didn’t see it!”

  “C’mon, hon, she’s just trying to help,” Charley said. “Why don’t I wear your dress and you can wear my tux. Would that make you feel better?”

  Kimmy gestured wildly. “No, it wouldn’t. For one, I wouldn’t fit in your jacket because my arms are about a foot longer than yours. Two, if we swap outfits, we’ll still be the same generic couple, just reversed. And three, I just want to wear a stupid princess dress. I want to be Cinderella for once, not a pumpkin.”

  “Aw, but I love you as a pumpkin, pumpkin. We can be pumpkins together.” Charley grinned, but Kimmy just glared at her.

  “I know what you need.” Charley reached under the table, pulled a beer out of the cooler, and set it down in front of Kimmy. Bethany quickly popped the cap. Kimmy eyed it, her expression softening.

  “Thanks,” she said grudgingly, and took a few small sips. “That does help...a little.”

  “Maybe it’d help even more if I told you some details about the spectacular new venue?” Bethany asked hopefully.

  “Spectacular, huh?” Kimmy leaned back and nursed her beer. “Go on.”

  “Well, it’s a huge Victorian conservatory. The ceilings must be twenty feet high. All glass, very romantic. And it has views of the gardens in every direction. I’ve honestly never seen a more beautiful place to have a wedding.”

  We’ll just leave out the little detail about the mummified guy under the tarp.

  Kimmy finally cracked a smile. “I can’t wait to see it. Let’s drive up there tomorrow after we close.”

  Panic shot through Bethany’s chest. Even if Ernesto’s team managed to move all the junk out by then, the place would still be filthy. “Um...maybe another time? I’m not sure how involved my date with Ryan is going to be.”

  “Oooh.” Kimmy grinned. “Romantic.”

  Yeah, that super romantic date investigating the origins of a dead body. Kimmy seemed to be buying the excuse, though, and Bethany’s wild heartbeat calmed.

  “Thanks for giving me the day off yet again,” she said. “I owe you one.”

  Kimmy snorted. “You owe me? No way—I’m the one taking a two-week honeymoon! You’ll be on your own then, so get ready. No day dates for you until Thanksgiving!”

  “By then, I’m sure I’ll be very thankful that the honeymoon is over.” Bethany grinned at them.

  “The honeymoon will never be over.” Charley looked past Bethany at her bride. Kimmy stared back at her, her face softening and her eyes moistening with tears—happy ones this time.

  Bethany groaned. “This is so sweet that I’m getting a toothache! Get a room, already.”

  “I think we will, actually. It’s getting late.” Kimmy stood up and held her hand out to Charley. “It’s almost bedtime, honey.”

  “I love how our idea of late has changed since culinary school,” Bethany said as they gathered the cooler and said their goodbyes. “Then, two a.m. was late. Now it’s six p.m. I guess that’s what happens when you start getting up at three in the morning.”

  “I’m not sure I can sleep tonight anyway, with that dumb dress on my mind.” Kimmy sighed and Charley squeezed her close.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it all out tomorrow.”

  Bethany watched them leave together, leaning on each other as they walked out to the parking lot. They kissed before they got into their respective cars.

  Couple goals. Serious couple goals.

  She shut off the lights. When she picked up her purse from the table, she noticed a scrap of paper underneath it. She grabbed it and was about to toss it in the trash when she saw it had writing on it.

  “To the woman I love:

  You’re the food of my soul

  The music of my heart

  The fire of my dreams

  The sweetness of my life

  The key to my happiness

  I can’t live without you

  My secret hope

  is that you’ll choose me”

  Bethany’s heart swelled. She felt herself turn red, then pale, then red again. Someone had written a poem and slipped it under her purse so she’d find it after they left. She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching, even though she knew everyone had gone. She half hoped that Milo or Ryan would be standing there, waiting for her to find the note. But of course, the restaurant was empty.

  The food of my soul. Whoever wrote that line knew her. Whoever wrote that line was someone she could love—someone she could love like Kimmy loved Charley.

  But was it Ryan?

  Or Milo?

  Chapter 5

  Tuesday

  THE NEXT MORNING, RYAN stopped by the Railway Café after the morning commuter rush had subsided. When she saw him pull into the parking lot, she grabbed a couple of coffees to go and waved goodbye to Viv and Kimmy. They were taking a breather, chatting about the wedding and whether or not the chai muffins (made with the spicy tea leftover from yesterday) were going to sell out, so they hardly even noticed she was leaving.

  The benefits of having a business partner—and an employee!

  Ryan hopped out of the car to open the door for her since her hands were full with coffee. “It’s pretty great having a girlfriend with a restaurant,” he said as she handed him his cup.

  “Soy latte, extra foam,” she said, getting a cheap thrill because he used the word “girlfriend.” Was Ryan admitting that he was the one who wrote the poem? It did say he hoped she’d choose him, and girlfriend—combined with his confession yesterday—sort of implied that he was choosing her.

  She sipped her own coffee (regular old joe with cream, no sugar) as they headed toward the estate and tried to come up with a way to ask him that wasn’t too obvious.

  Would you say that I sweeten up that drink? She groaned internally. Gross, awkward, cheesy...just no.

  Ryan glanced at her as he drove. “So, ready for some detective work, Indiana Jones?”

  “You bet. I found a mummy yesterday, so today I’ll figure out who put him there.”

  “I like your confidence.”

  She shrugged. “There are only so many possibilities, right? How many keys to the conservatory are there?”

  “Hm.” Ryan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I have one, Ernesto has one, Lucien has one. That’s pretty much it.”

  “Nobody has lost any keys? Dropped them somewhere? No other copies?”

  Ryan laughed. “Nope. You should see the keys—they’re huge old skeleton keys, like something out of a movie. You’d have to try to lose them. They’ve lasted over a hundred years, and nobody’s lost them yet.”

  That you know of. There could have been any number of keys made originally. “What about the LaFontaines? Did they keep a copy of the key?”

  Ryan shrugged. “I guess they could have. Simon turned over three to me, but there could have been more originally.”

  “So maybe Simon still has one.”

  “Or Bella.”

  “Bella? Who’s Bella?”

  “Simon’s mother. Well, stepmother. She’s actually younger than him. She’s Bernard LaFontaine’s second wife.” Ryan slowed the car and eased into the estate’s long drive. Bright fall leaves swirled up around the car as he drove toward the main house. “I
haven’t met her—she’s been in Spain since her husband died. Simon said she joined a convent.”

  Bethany blinked. A convent? “That seems like a pretty extreme reaction to her husband dying!”

  “Maybe she just needs some time away to recover from the death of her true love. I can’t blame her. I know I’d want to run away from everything if my wife died.”

  Because I’m the key to your happiness? She shook her head. All this wedding business was getting to her. There was no way Ryan was talking about marrying her...was he?

  “So she might still have her key to the conservatory?”

  He nodded as he parked. “She might. Although it’d probably increase her baggage fees if she took it with her to Spain—I swear the thing weighs three pounds!”

  She laughed and pushed open the car door. The moment she stepped out, the wind flattened her hair to her head. She braced against it as it whistled in her ears. It seemed almost like the estate didn’t want them there. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Are you cold?” he asked. “Let’s go through the house instead of walking around the building.”

  She nodded gratefully and followed him inside. The place seemed deserted compared to the bustle of the day before. Plastic drop cloths fluttered in the breeze from the door, but nobody was working in the foyer or ballroom. Nothing seemed to have been accomplished since they left yesterday. But as they walked through a few more rooms and down the hall toward the kitchens, Bethany could hear the scrape and mutter of people moving boxes. Ryan’s team must be at work clearing out the conservatory.

  The glass in the doors was covered with paper, so it wasn’t until Ryan pushed them open that Bethany could understand the true scope of the task. Dozens of people were hard at work, folding up the tarps and then loading the piles of furniture and boxes onto dollies and wheeling them outside in the direction of the stables. A huge portion of the room had been cleared and it looked even larger and brighter than it had before.

  Ryan gave a low whistle. “They’ve been working hard.”

  Ernesto, who’d walked over when he saw them come in, overheard the comment and grunted. “Between the afternoon and this morning, we could have had the ballroom done by now.”