Rest in Split Peas

by Hillary Avis

  “Sorry, guys!” she said. “I just need to get set up.” They stepped aside, resuming their discussion in more hushed tones, and she pushed Daisy over to the Souperb Soups kiosk. She put the soup on the warmer and wrote “Epic Chicken Noodle” on her chalk board.

  “Meow!”

  Bethany peered over the counter. Caboose sat at attention in front of the kiosk, flicking his tail. Apparently he thought the soup smelled good, too. “Sorry, sir, I’m not open until eleven. If you’re hungry, you’ll have to go catch a mouse.” She shooed him away; even one stray cat hair could mean a bad review in the paper. He stalked off toward the bakery, his tail straight and indignant.

  She couldn’t help herself, then—she sneaked a look over at Marigold’s booth to see what her soup of the day was. Jen was there, busy stirring a vat of thick, green liquid.

  “Did she copy again?” Olive asked, leaning to peek around the counter at Marigold’s kiosk, too.

  “Yep, split pea.” Bethany tried not to feel too smug. After all, the reporter hadn’t tasted either soup yet, and maybe he didn’t like chicken. Maybe he didn’t like soup that he had to chew. Maybe—oh, who am I kidding? I’ve got this thing in the bag. “Here, have a taste and tell me what you think for the bread pairing.”

  Olive sipped the spoonful of soup that Bethany offered and closed her eyes blissfully. “Wow. Normally I’d say maybe an onion roll to liven up chicken soup, but I’m not sure with this one—it’s so flavorful. It needs a bread to stand up to it but not compete. Plain, old-fashioned sourdough?”

  Bethany nodded. “I could see that, or maybe a brioche to sop up—” she broke off as she watched Trevor storm to Marigold’s kiosk. He seemed to be angry about something, and poor Jen looked terrified.

  “What’s he so mad about?” Olive whispered. Bethany shrugged. Trevor raised his voice, but Bethany couldn’t make out what he was saying. Jen shrank back from the counter, her hands behind her back like she was searching for an escape route. Bethany held her breath—would Trevor step into the kiosk to menace Jen even further? He yelled at Jen again, leaning across the counter and gesturing wildly. When Trevor whirled and left in a huff in the direction of the maintenance room, she finally exhaled.

  “Wow, I’ve never seen him like that! He’s usually so chill.” Bethany shook her head in disbelief. “Poor Jen.”

  Olive nodded. “I know! Maybe it’s just the stress getting to him. His wife is pregnant—their first—and the baby is due this week. That’s enough to send any man over the edge.”

  “You’d think he’d get used to the idea after nine months. I wonder if he’s just passing along the negativity from Ben. I saw Ben yelling at him about something when I came in. I know Trevor’s having a hard time keeping up with the maintenance on the station, but it’s not really his fault—this place needs a lot of work.”

  “Well, whatever the reason he blew his stack, Jen doesn’t deserve it,” Olive declared. “I’m going to go see if she’s OK before Marigold shows up.”

  “Talk to you later.” Bethany stifled a yawn.

  Olive stopped short. “What’s up with you? That’s the fourth yawn in a row. You can hardly keep your eyes open.”

  “I was up all night working on my chicken stock. I hope I can make it through the lunch rush without falling asleep with my head on the counter!”

  “I’ll get you some coffee in a minute,” Olive promised. She left to fuss over Jen. A few minutes later, she brought Bethany an enormous latte from the bakery, the foam decorated with a cocoa swirl.

  “Thanks, Olive. You always take such good care of me.” Bethany smiled at her and downed as much of the hot coffee as she could. It’d be great if her eyelids were open when the reporter showed up.

  “Anything for you, dear.”

  Bethany leaned against the counter and dozed off for a minute, letting the caffeine do its work, but her eyes flew open when she heard the clock tower chime 10:45. The coffee had made its way to her bladder, and she really had to go. With only ten minutes left before the train came in, she couldn’t wait. She’d have no chance later, when she had customers lined up.

  “Marigold, can you watch my—” Bethany looked over and saw Marigold still wasn’t at her kiosk, and now Jen was gone, too. The split pea soup simmered on the warmer, but no one was behind the counter. She walked quickly over to the bakery and stuck her head through the door.

  “Keep an eye on my till while I run to the ladies’ room?”

  Olive nodded, waving a floury hand. Bethany hustled down the concourse, walking as quickly as she could past the ticket booth and maintenance room toward the restrooms. Just as she reached the door to the ladies’ room, she saw Jen opening the door to the men’s. Caboose prowled in the hallway nearby.

  “Is the ladies’ full?” Bethany asked.

  Jen shook her head. “Um, it’s”—she winced—“clogged or something.” She slipped into the men’s room and closed the door, clearly as anxious as Bethany to get back to the kiosks in time for the lunch rush. Bethany waited, tapping her foot impatiently. Caboose yowled and pawed at the door to the maintenance closet across from the restrooms. Two minutes passed, then three. She couldn’t wait any longer. She dashed back down the concourse, through the main doors, and across the street to Café Sabine.

  She went through the back entrance and stuck her head into the kitchen. “Hey Kimmy! Can I use your restroom? The train station’s is clogged.” Kimmy nodded, sliding a tray of vol au vents from the oven, and Bethany ducked into the small restroom that was only used by the kitchen staff.

  She made it back to Souperb Soups just in time. She heard the 10:55 train pull in, but there was no rush of passengers exiting the platform. Strange. She didn’t have long to think about it, though, because the newspaper reporter, Milo, strolled up to her counter and slapped down his notebook.

  “I hope that look of puzzlement isn’t because you forgot I was coming, Ms. Bradstreet.” He grinned mischievously.

  She felt her cheeks turn pink. “Forget you? No way—I made something to blow your mind.” Bethany pointed to the chalk board.

  “Epic chicken noodle,” he read aloud. “Sounds promising. I wonder what Ms. Wonder came up with to compete.”

  “Take a wild guess.”

  “Soup of the yesterday?” He winked at her.

  “Oh, so you’re funny and smart.”

  Ack, that was flirting! What if he thought she was trying to butter him up to give her a good review? Bethany died a little inside. “Uh...I mean...just kidding. I’m sure you’re normal...average. Whatever.” Bethany flushed beet red—this was only getting worse.

  Milo seemed intent on ignoring her awkwardness. “How about that soup?”

  Bethany gratefully turned to the stock pot and was ladling out a bowlful of epicness when she heard a loud commotion. People were yelling and running from the platform.

  “Someone got hit by the train!” a man shouted. The swinging doors to the front entrance smashed against the wall as a pair of paramedics ran in carrying a stretcher, followed by a couple of police officers.

  “Everybody stay in the building,” one of the cops announced through a bullhorn. “I repeat—remain in the train station until an officer takes your statement. This is a crime scene.”

  “Are they really going to lock the whole place down?” Milo asked.

  Bethany nodded, her heart banging in her chest. “They must suspect foul play if they’re calling it a crime scene. I guess we’re stuck here until they can figure out what happened.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Milo said. “I really have to go.”

  “You can’t leave! The cops just said we have to stay here.”

  He shook his head. “If nobody can come in or out of the station, that means I’m the only reporter with access. I have to call my editor and tell him we have the scoop! No offense, but the food feature isn’t exactly front page news.”

  “‘No offense.’ Why does that always precede something really offensive?”
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  “I’ll make it up to you?” He smiled apologetically and stuffed his notebook back into his jacket. “I have to go cover this—a good crime story could be my big break! I’ll come back later to try the soup, I promise.” He tapped the counter with his fingers like he was playing a set of tiny drums. “Wish I could stay—I really do, but...” He pointed at her and then left without finishing the thought.

  Bethany sighed. It was petty to think that her soup was more important than someone getting hit by a train, but she couldn’t help being a little disappointed. She glumly stuck a spoon in the bowl that should have been Milo’s and ate it herself. The taste perked her right up. The broth had the perfect balance of richness and brightness, the handmade noodles were perfectly cooked, the vegetables were crisp-tender, the organic chicken was abundant. A tiny ping of cayenne and the freshness of parsley rounded out the flavor. She closed her eyes—it was a winning soup.

  “You open?” a customer asked.

  Bethany opened her eyes and nodded. The passengers from the 10:55 were milling around the concourse, looking a bit lost now that they had been kicked out of the platform area by the cops. Might as well serve them lunch. “Sure am.”

  “I’ll take a bowl. Looks like we’re stuck here until they can get through talking to everyone.”

  “Did you see what happened?” Bethany snapped the lid on the container of soup.

  The man shook his head. “I felt the operator slam on the brakes, but I guess it was too late. Sad, really.”

  “Someone jumped in front of the train?”

  “I don’t think so. I overheard someone say the conductor was shaken up because he saw a person push the lady. That’s the rumor, anyway.”

  “Thanks for filling me in.”

  “No problem. Can I get bread with this?”

  Bethany pointed him to the Honor Roll and moved to serve the next person in line. It made her stomach hurt to think about someone intentionally pushing another person in front of the train, especially right here in Newbridge Station. Who would do something like that? She hoped it was just an accident.

  As Bethany served her chicken noodle soup, more and more of the 10:55 passengers noticed their fellow travelers eating and came over for their own bowl of soup. Even Marigold’s kiosk was bustling—it seemed like Jen was working her fingers to the bone getting out that split pea with ham, her cousin nowhere in sight. It figured that Marigold would stick the poor woman with all the hard labor.

  Bethany stirred the stock pot, already down to the dregs. It’d probably be gone by the time Milo came back. That figured, too.

  “Hey, Bethany. How’re you doing?” Charley asked, her face unusually serious. Her detective badge was pinned to her navy-blue blazer, and she was clearly on duty.

  “OK, I guess—soup’s pretty much gone, though—sorry. It was a popular one.”

  “I’m not here for lunch. I’m here about Marigold.”

  Bethany groaned. “What has she done now?”

  “Hon, she’s dead. She’s the one who was hit by the train.” Charley looked at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”

  Bethany felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh god. That’s terrible.”

  “Do you have any contact information for her next of kin? We didn’t find her purse, so we’re not sure who to call.”

  Bethany racked her brain. “Um, I don’t know her family. We weren’t really friends. Oh, wait—her cousin Jen is visiting! She’s over there, working in Marigold’s kiosk. She’ll know.” Bethany motioned to where Jen was serving soup, and was surprised to see another person standing next to her behind the counter—a bearded man she didn’t recognize, wearing a snap-back hat that said “I’ve Been Better.”

  “Wait here while I notify the relatives,” Charley said grimly. “I need to ask you some questions.”

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday afternoon

  Bethany watched as Charley walked over to Marigold’s kiosk. She could tell her friend dreaded giving the bad news, and Jen didn’t take it well. She was so shaken that she leaned on the bearded man for support. He looked strained, his face tense and unhappy, as he rubbed Jen’s shoulders to comfort her. Must be a boyfriend or husband.

  I should do something for Jen, the poor woman, Bethany thought. But what? Maybe Olive would have an idea; she was great at that stuff. Bethany realized that Olive might not know what had happened to Marigold. She glanced over at Charley, who was still asking Jen questions. Of course, she had to take statements from everyone. It would only take a minute to run into the bakery and update Olive on what had happened. Charley probably wouldn’t even notice she was gone.

  Bethany slipped into the Honor Roll. A nod to Olive’s former career as a history teacher, the bakery was school-themed. The walls were white with blue horizontal lines to resemble notebook paper, and the legs of all the chairs were painted to look like number-two pencils. The walls were hung with pull-down maps, and every table had a deck of trivia flashcards so bakery patrons could test their history facts. Even the baked goods were inspired by the classroom—on the menu were A+ Pastries, Top of the Class Breads, and Dean’s List Desserts.

  To her surprise, Olive wasn’t there. Instead of Olive’s neat silver bob and warm smile greeting her, a bald old man wearing a plaid shirt and suspenders glowered behind the counter as he bagged baked goods and made sandwiches. Olive’s husband, Garrett, a retired carpenter, helped out at the bakery when Olive was short-handed. Usually he was building shelves or fixing a broken table, but sometimes he got roped into running the register.

  “Hi.” Bethany smiled. “Is Olive around?”

  “Errands,” he grunted.

  “When do you think she’ll be back?”

  Garrett shrugged. His face looked drawn—maybe he’d heard about Marigold. “Not soon enough.”

  “OK, thanks—I guess I’ll talk to her later.” Weird that Olive was running errands during the lunch rush. Bethany hadn’t seen her leave, so she must have left while Bethany was using the restroom at Café Sabine—but why would she go somewhere when she was supposed to be keeping an eye on Bethany’s kiosk? It wasn’t like her to flake on something like that, but maybe she’d delegated the task to Garrett. Bethany shook her head. It didn’t matter now; nothing had been taken from her booth.

  When she got back to her kiosk, Charley was standing there, drumming her fingers on the countertop. “I told you to stay put! Where’d you go?”

  “Into the bakery to tell Olive about Marigold.” Bethany shrugged apologetically.

  “Just because I’m your friend doesn’t mean you can ignore my instructions. This is a murder investigation, Bethany! When you disobey me, it makes you look bad, and things already aren’t great for you.”

  Bethany’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean? Do you think I had something to do with it?”

  Charley sighed. “Everyone knows you were upset about her serving soup at her kiosk.”

  “Not upset enough to push her in front of a train!”

  Charley tapped her clipboard. “Let’s take a step back. Where were you just before the 10:55 train came in?”

  “In the restroom,” Bethany answered automatically.

  Charley clicked her pen a few times and didn’t write anything down. “You sure about that?”

  “Of course I’m sure! Olive brought me a huge coffee this morning because I was exhausted from cooking all night, and my bladder wouldn’t have made it through the lunch rush, so I went to the restroom before the train came in.”

  “OK, we have a problem, then, because Jen says she was in the bathroom, and you say you were in the bathroom, and there’s only one toilet in the ladies’ room. So you wanna tell me how you were both peeing in the same pot?”

  Bethany let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, yeah. The ladies’ room was out of order. I saw Jen going into the men’s room, but I didn’t have time to wait for her to come out. I went over to Café Sabine and used the kitchen restroom—you can
ask Kimmy.”

  “I will.” Charley jotted down some notes. “What’d you do after you left the café?”

  “Um, came back here to serve lunch. I heard the 10:55 train pull in right after I got back, and then the food reporter showed up to taste my soup.”

  “Was he writing a review?”

  Bethany nodded. “Marigold called him to do a food feature comparing our two kiosks. It was kind of a surprise.”

  “And how did you feel about that? Were you upset?”

  Bethany gaped at Charley. “No! I mean, yes, but not murder-level upset. I thought it was unfair that I didn’t know about the competition when the reporter showed up yesterday, but I was glad for the chance to have my food reviewed, so I asked him to come back today so I could prepare a better soup. He agreed.”

  “What’s his name? I’ll need to talk to him to verify your story.”

  “Milo Armstrong, I think.”

  Charley rolled her eyes. “Oh, that guy. He’s been following us around and asking annoying questions all day. I’ll check with this Armstrong guy and Kimmy about your alibi, Bethany, but don’t go anywhere, OK? Until we clear you, it’s important that you stay in the station. And think about anyone you might know who had a beef with Marigold.”

  “Yes, officer!” Bethany mock-saluted, grinning, and Charley rolled her eyes.

  As Charley walked away from her kiosk, Bethany felt her throat tighten. How could her friend think she was capable of hurting someone like that? She didn’t want Marigold to die, she just wanted her to go back to making smoothies or something—anything—other than soup. Of course, now the whole head-to-head food feature was pretty pointless, so Milo wouldn’t be back for a tasting. Leave it to Marigold to mess up people’s lives even after she was dead. Bethany angrily brushed the tears from her eyes. Maybe she had a pinch of ill will toward Marigold, after all.

  Just then, she noticed Olive rushing toward the bakery, looking every bit like a ruffled hen. Bethany stepped out to meet her. “What’s wrong? Are you OK?”