Crime Chowder

by Hillary Avis

  Bethany looked around. The church was simply built, with a plain brick exterior, straight bell tower, and rectangular courtyard. Pretty in its own way, but it’s no cathedral. “It doesn’t have much architectural detail. What is there to document?”

  Fancy screeched and jerked her head out from under the black cloth. “This is the most important church in Newbridge! It’s not the oldest or the most ornate, but it’s the only one established by freed slaves before the Civil War. It deserves to be remembered, even if it doesn’t have gargoyles and stained glass.”

  “We agree on that,” Amara said. “But that’s all. This church replaced the one that was built originally. There’s nothing special about the bricks, just about the people who placed them. And that boy Todd promised me to put up a monument in the courtyard of the new building. Just because we aren’t living in the past doesn’t mean we can’t remember it.”

  Fancy glared at her. “Your neighborhood is going to crumble once this church is gone, and you have no one to blame but yourself. Someday this town will regret this night. You’ll remember the sound of that church bell ringing for the last time.”

  As if on cue, bells began chiming again, and Fancy Peters glanced around, bewildered. Bethany looked at the bell tower, equally confused, until she saw Amara pull out her cell phone. The bells ceased as soon as she answered the call. Ringtone. Bethany giggled, but Fancy didn’t even crack a smile.

  “Disgusting invention,” she said. She picked up her camera and tripod and left. Bethany looked over at Amara to share a laugh, but Amara held up a finger, the phone still pressed to her ear.

  “I have to take this. Won’t be a few minutes,” she mouthed.

  Bethany nodded and motioned for her to step away from the service table. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

  They’d served almost all of the initial crowd of people. Some of the guests in line now were back for seconds, but Bethany recognized some new faces, too, like Amara’s neighbor George.

  He looked over his shoulder as he approached. “She gone?”

  “Who?” Bethany asked.

  “Amara, that’s who. Is she still thinking I had something to do with that fire? The police keep coming to my house to talk. I already told them everything!”

  “Have some soup, Mr. Washington. Good for what ails you,” Bethany said. She dotted some of the basil oil onto a cup of chowder and handed it to him.

  He slugged down the tiny cup, and his face brightened. Bethany didn’t have the heart to tell him that a cop was probably looking for him right now. He moved out of the line to stand by her elbow and surveyed the line passing by the food service table.

  “I can’t believe all of these folks having a blast now that the development is a done deal.” He shook his head and helped himself to a cup of lemon-cucumber water. “They should be protesting! Or maybe something more drastic.”

  Bethany grinned at him. “For a protestor, you sure seem to like the refreshments. Did you protest when Todd helped you put your mower in the shed?”

  His brow furrowed. “How’d you know about that?”

  “Todd told me he gave you a hand. I wasn’t sure if he was lying about it, but I guess he was telling the truth.” Bethany kept her eyes on the line, nodding and smiling as gala guests complimented the chowder. “Thank you. Napkins are on the end, sir. Go ahead and help yourself.”

  “Even snakes do us a favor sometimes,” George mumbled. “Whether that helps or hurts us, who knows.”

  The pot was getting low, and her wrists were sore from ladling and squeezing the bottle of basil oil. She hoped everyone had gotten their firsts since so many people were back for seconds. It seemed like the whole gala was on an endless loop past the food service table. George was planted beside her though, with no apparent intention of leaving, so she decided to probe him a little more. “Did you see anything else weird that evening around Amara’s place?”

  He snorted. “Nothing but the usual. Giant swan heads, white dudes with clipboards, crazy lady on a tricycle.”

  “Wait, Fancy Peters was there on Sunday night, too?” Bethany paused. Maybe Kimmy and Amara were right to think that Fancy had something to do with it. Maybe Fancy and George were in it together—they certainly had the same opinion of Amara!

  George nodded. “Yup. She’s there every day, taking pictures for our permanent record. The good and the bad, she’s got it on film.”

  “Do you know her very well?” Bethany asked innocently. She straightened a few of the cups on the tray and slowed her ladling pace so the soup wouldn’t get cold before people drank it.

  George shifted where he sat on the low brick wall. “Nah. You just see people every day, and you recognize them. She’s no friend of mine.”

  Bethany noticed they were about to run out of napkins. Time to grab another pack from the car. “Where has Amara gotten to?” she wondered aloud.

  At that, George stood and motioned to the building behind them. “I’m gonna take a tour of the old church before Amara comes back and bites my head off.”

  She laughed, but stopped short when she saw Alex heading for her table again, his fists clenched as tight as his jaw. “Uh oh, looks like I’m the one who’s going to get their head bit off. See you around, Mr. Washington.”

  “Where’s Todd?” Alex demanded. “Where’s he hiding?”

  Bethany shrugged. “I don’t know! I’m just the help, remember?”

  “Don’t lie to me. I know he’s your boyfriend.” Alex glared at her. “The kid has skipped out on his own party. Where’d he go?”

  Bethany stood on tiptoe to scan the far corners of the courtyard. Todd was nowhere to be seen. “I haven’t seen him since you yelled at him,” she said, flustered.

  “Since I yelled at him?” Alex looked confused. “I haven’t yelled at the guy yet.”

  “Not you—Amara.” Bethany turned, expecting Amara to be beside her, but then remembered she had taken a phone call. “Never mind, she’s not back yet. He had an argument with Amara that turned into kind of a food fight. His suit got dirty—maybe he decided to go change.”

  Alex snorted and put both his hands on the table so he could lean toward her. “Your boyfriend’s a loser. Don was looking for him, too—said this whole deal might be off if Todd doesn’t show his face. You can bet your sweet bippy that I’m going to clinch my franchise deal when the condo development falls apart just like this mess of a party!”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Bethany said weakly as he loomed in front of her “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Is this guy bothering you?” Charley leaned around Alex and made eye contact with Bethany. A concerned-looking Coop tapped Alex on the shoulder.

  “He was just looking for Todd.” Bethany smoothed her apron, feeling instant relief. Thank goodness for Charley!

  “What a coincidence, so were we,” Coop said. He nodded to Alex, and Alex swiftly left the table without even a backward glance at Bethany.

  “Like I said to him, I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since my cooking demo. He rang the church bell right after I finished, though. He must be tied up with guests somewhere. The mayor, maybe?”

  Coop shook his head. “We’ve made the rounds—nobody’s seen that yahoo anywhere.”

  “He may have gone home. His clothes were pretty stained after Amara slung the veggies at him. I’m sure he’ll be back, though. While you’re waiting for him, would you like some soup? I’m about to run out.”

  Charley peered skeptically over the rim of the chowder pot. “I don’t know—what’s in it?”

  Bethany grinned. “The usual suspects.”

  “C’mon, Perez! Don’t be scared!” Coop jostled Charley’s arm.

  “Fine. I’ll try it. But I can’t promise to finish if it has funky things floating in there.”

  Bethany filled a cup and dotted it with basil oil, then handed it gingerly across the table. Charley took a tentative sip, and her eyes opened wide.

  “Wow, this is fantastic! N
o weird stuff at all. It’d be great if it was a little more spicy, though.”

  Bethany nodded. “If you solve this case, I’d be happy to make you a spicy version.”

  Coop rubbed his hands together. “My turn! Don’t be stingy.”

  “Why don’t I give you a bowl instead of a cup, then?” Bethany grinned and used the ladle to scoop the bottom of the pot. As she pulled up the ladle, she froze.

  There was a gun.

  In the soup.

  Chapter 14

  Wednesday

  COOP STARED AT BETHANY. “Is this a joke?”

  Bethany stared back. She couldn’t tell if Coop was serious or playing some kind of game. Did he slip that in there when I wasn’t looking?

  “I don’t know. Is it?”

  “What’s going on?” Charley asked. Bethany raised the ladle higher so that Charley could see the tiny, pearl-handled pistol half-submerged in the creamy broth. “What’s that doing in there?”

  Bethany shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. It’s not there for flavor, that’s for sure.”

  Coop pulled a plastic bag from a pouch on his utility belt and shook it open. “Can you put it in here? Without the soup, if possible. And try not to jog the trigger while you do it—we don’t know if that thing is loaded.”

  Bethany stretched to reach the grill tongs and used them to fish the gun out of the chowder. She dropped it into Coop’s outstretched bag. He sealed it and turned to Charley.

  “This gala suddenly got a whole lot more interesting,” he said.

  Charley nodded solemnly. “If you didn’t put that gun in the soup, who did?”

  “Is it even real? Maybe it’s part of someone’s costume.” As soon as she said it, Bethany realized how stupid she sounded. Nobody at the party was in costume, unless you counted Fancy’s Victorian getup.

  “It’s real.” Coop held the plastic bag up to get a better look at the gun. “It’s a classic pocket pistol. You can hide these things just about anywhere—although I’ve never seen one in a pot of soup.”

  “Glad you’ve retained your sense of humor,” Charley said dryly. “We don’t even know if there’s a crime here, though.”

  Bethany stared into the depths of the pot, hoping it might provide an answer. “Maybe it fell in by accident?”

  “Sure, or maybe someone wanted to hide it. We’ll try to find the owner and go from there. Who had access to your soup?” Charley pulled out her notepad.

  “I mean, I did,” Bethany stammered, racking her brain for information. “Um...”

  “Amara,” Charley prompted. “She helped serve, didn’t she?”

  Bethany nodded. “Kimmy helped cook, too, but it’s not hers.”

  Coop held his hand up. “Let us draw the conclusions, please. Is she here?”

  “No, she’s working at Café Sabine. That’s where we prepped all the food. But I guess just about anyone here at the gala could have slipped it into the pot.”

  Coop stretched across the table and pantomimed dropping something into the pot. “I think you’d notice that, don’t you?”

  Bethany nodded. “Probably. So you think it’s either Kimmy’s or Amara’s? Where is Amara, anyway?” She scanned the gala. George Washington was leaning against a tree, chatting with one of the city council members. She spied the mayor chatting in a small group with Alex and Robin Ricketts, the reporter. Fancy Peters was taking photographs of the church door. No sign of Amara’s turban. “If the gun belongs to anyone, it belongs to her.”

  As she spoke the words, Bethany felt a chill run up her spine. Why would Amara bring a gun to the gala, anyway? Who was she afraid of—or who should be afraid of her?

  Charley moved around the end of the table and stood next to Bethany. “Wouldn’t be too hard to slip something into the pot from here without being noticed.”

  Bethany shook her head. “Nobody came back behind the table. Wait—a few people came over to chat, and I told them to stand here so they wouldn’t hold up the line.”

  “Who was that?” Charley asked.

  “Um, I guess Don Hefferman, George Washington”—she ticked off each name on her fingers—“Fancy Peters. Alex Vadecki. I think that’s it.”

  “Good.” Charley nodded to Bethany. “If you remember any more, let me or Coop know. I’d like to interview everyone on this list before they leave the party.”

  “We should let Todd know,” Bethany said. She raised her voice. “Anyone seen Todd?”

  Every face in the courtyard turned toward her.

  “Great,” Charley muttered. “Real subtle.”

  Coop smiled and raised a hand. “Hi, folks. We just have a couple questions.”

  A buzz ran through the gala. Robin Ricketts stepped forward. She had a small voice recorder in her hand that she held out toward Coop.

  “Excuse me, officer, is that a gun in that bag?”

  The crowd buzzed even more loudly, and most people took a step back from the food service table. A few on the fringe began edging for the street.

  “It’s perfectly safe, ma’am,” Coop said. “Everything is under control. We’re just hoping to chat with a few people, starting with Todd.”

  “Is that his gun?” Robin stepped closer to him.

  “We didn’t say that.” Charley tried to herd Robin back into the group of people. “Please, carry on with the party. If we need to talk to you, we will.”

  “Help!” a voice cried. It sounded far away, but it was perfectly clear. “Call an ambulance!”

  The crowd looked up, and Bethany realized the voice was coming from the top of the bell tower.

  The voice came again. “Someone’s been shot!”

  Panic rippled through the gala guests. Bethany felt the blood drain from her face. Could the gun in my soup have shot someone at the party? Her stomach roiled at the thought.

  “Out of the way, please!” Coop yelled as he ran for the bell tower. The crowd parted wordlessly to let him through.

  Charley waved to get the crowd’s attention. “Everybody stay calm. I’ll call this in.” As she gave information over the radio, the mayor stepped out to calm the partygoers. A few people sat down, apparently faint from the excitement. Once Charley finished her call, she, too, ran for the tower.

  “I have water over here,” Bethany called. She filled cups and put them out on the table, and George Washington came over and ferried water to those who needed it. In a few short minutes, the ambulance arrived, lights flashing. Two paramedics in orange uniforms jumped out of the back and jogged into the courtyard.

  “Where’s the victim?” the lead paramedic, a tiny blonde woman, asked. Everyone in the courtyard pointed to the bell tower.

  The other paramedic groaned as they headed for the door at the base of the tower, a stretcher held between them. “Ugh, stairs.”

  “Do you know who got shot?”

  Bethany jumped. She turned and was surprised to see the reporter at her elbow.

  Robin smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought you might have information. You found the murder weapon, right?”

  “Murder? Who said anything about murder?” Bethany looked anxiously at the church doors. “I’m sure the shooting was just an accident.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it.” Robin raised her eyebrows, prompting Bethany to go on.

  “What? No, I don’t know what’s going on. I’m just the caterer, and I only got the job because Todd’s my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend,” Bethany explained. “I know as much as you do.”

  “Where’d you find the gun?”

  “I was just serving soup to Charley and Coop, and there it was. In the pot.” Bethany cringed, remembering the look on Coop’s face. “I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe this happened. Who’s going to want to eat my food now that a murder weapon was found in it?”

  “I thought you said it was an accident?” Robin moved her hand closer, and Bethany realized she was being recorded.

  “You said mu
rder, not me!” she stammered. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you just did.” Robin wrinkled her nose, her fake smile still plastered on her face. “You said the murder weapon was in your food. Do you think the murderer put it there on purpose to frame you?”

  Bethany’s mouth dropped open, but before she could say anything more, the paramedics burst through the church doors with the stretcher. Someone was strapped to it, but Bethany couldn’t make out who it was. Charley and Coop were just behind them and helped the paramedics load the stretcher into the ambulance.

  Robin sprinted for the ambulance without even pausing to acknowledge Bethany. Talk about a nose for news. Even though she’s dressed up, she wore flats for a reason. Smart woman.

  Just as Robin reached the ambulance, Charley stepped in front of her, preventing her from seeing inside. Robin stamped her foot and tried to push past, but Charley held her off until the ambulance doors closed and the vehicle pulled out of the church parking lot.

  The gala started to break up, guests leaving in twos and threes on foot and in cars. Coop tried desperately to keep people in the courtyard, to no avail.

  For the first time since she’d pulled the gun up out of the soup, Bethany looked down at the food service table. It was trashed. The soup pot was basically empty, but drips and drops of chowder studded the white tablecloth. The water coolers had been emptied, too, and the trash cans beside the table overflowed with napkins. Piles of dirty champagne flutes and espresso cups were collected in dishpans by the hired servers to be delivered back to the rental company.

  Time to clean up my stuff, too. She began loading the cart with items to go back to Café Sabine. What could be keeping Amara?

  “Bethany.”

  She looked up and saw Charley standing in front of the table. “What is it?”

  “Can someone else clean this up? We need to talk.”

  “No,” Bethany said distractedly, as she stacked the silver trays. “I don’t know where Amara is. I’m sure she’ll be back soon, though.”

  “I’ll help you, then.” Charley grabbed one side of the tablecloth and Bethany grabbed the other. As they folded it, Charley seemed to be trying to transmit something with her eyes.