The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  Bethany’s mouth opened and closed a few times. She didn’t know how to respond to that. Thank goodness for Olive, who bustled over and herded Bethany back to her kiosk before she said something she’d regret.

  “Hush now, just serve your soup like you always do. After lunch, go to the stationmaster’s office and file a complaint. You know Ben didn’t approve this!”

  Wordlessly, Bethany went through the motions of setting up her kiosk as fast as she could. She wrote “Avgolemono” on the chalkboard, tied on her Souperb Soups apron, and set out her “Soup’s On” sign.

  “It’s about time,” the first customer in line said.

  Bethany nodded apologetically. “Sorry about the wait. I think this one will be worth it, though.” The avgolemono was still looking creamy and perfect, the fresh scent of lemon and herbs lingering on its surface, the comforting chew of orzo floating underneath. Just right for a bright winter day.

  “Can I get bread with this?” a tall, thin man she didn’t recognize asked. First-timer.

  Bethany pointed to the bakery just a few feet away. “The Honor Roll has the best bread. Ask Olive for something to go with the soup—she’s great at pairings.”

  “Thanks!” The man headed for the bakery, his steaming container of soup in hand. Wouldn’t be surprised to see him back tomorrow, Bethany thought, as she served soup to the long line of loyal customers. One of them even proclaimed the avgolemono her “best soup yet,” and he’d tried them all.

  “Lots of happy diners today,” Charley said, leaning on the counter. “Did I miss my chance for lunch?”

  “Nope, still got a bowl or two. The bottom of the pot is always the best, anyway.” Bethany ladled a generous portion into a to-go container and paused with her hand on a second container. “Do you want to take some for Coop?” Andrew Cooper was Charley’s partner and never passed up a free meal.

  Charley shook her head. “He’s off for the week. Went to Vegas to get married, the lazy bum!”

  “It’s a good thing—I’m not sure I had enough left for both of you!” Bethany grinned and handed the container of soup to Charley with a spoon. “Here you go—on the house.”

  “Yikes, sold out and it’s not even noon. You better start making two pots of soup.”

  Bethany grinned. “I don’t know. A one-hour workday isn’t so bad.”

  Charley rolled her eyes. “You work a lot more than one hour. Think about all the time you spend in the kitchen!”

  “Doesn’t feel like work, I guess.”

  “Um, excuse me?” the customer in line behind Charley piped up. “Are you really out of soup?”

  “See you later,” Bethany said to Charley, and then raised her voice so the person behind Charley could hear. “No, ma’am, still have enough for you.” Charley moved aside, affording Bethany a view of the customer, and Bethany froze.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Marigold said. She plunked her bedazzled purse on the counter and pulled out an overstuffed wallet. “I just had to try it—it smells so good. How much do you charge?”

  Bethany put the lid back on the stock pot with a clang. “Why do you want to know? So you can charge less for yours?”

  Marigold waved her hand. “Oh, no. I’ll charge exactly the same. I wanted to know so I can pay you.”

  “Oh,” Bethany said in a small voice. Of course, Marigold just wanted lunch—there was no reason to be so suspicious all the time. “No charge, Marigold. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Well, aren’t you a peach?” Marigold took the bowl of soup and slurped it noisily. Bethany tucked away her “Soup’s On” sign and erased the chalkboard now that the avgolemono was gone. Marigold licked her spoon and pointed it at Bethany. “This is some excellent soup. You know what would be a blast?”

  Knowing Marigold, she probably meant putting glitter on something that should not be glittery. “No, what?”

  “We should soup-swap every day! We can trade our soups-of-the-day so we can taste each other’s recipes.”

  Bethany needed to eat more soup like she needed a hole in the head, but figured it wasn’t worth discussing the finer points of her diet with Marigold. “Sure. Uh, fine—as long as your soup doesn’t have algae in it.”

  “You’re such a silly-goose!” Marigold poked her spoon at Bethany again. “Silly-willy-billy-goose! Oh, we are going to have so much fun. Toodles, soup sister!”

  “Kill me now,” Bethany muttered under her breath as soon as Marigold left. She carried the stock pot back across the street to Café Sabine, where Kimmy was in the middle of the lunch rush. She peeked into the dining room and saw the café packed with people having business meetings and lunch dates.

  Kimmy’s definitely too busy to chat. Bethany would have to tell her about Marigold’s shenanigans that night when Kimmy got home from work.

  Bethany and Kimmy had been roommates since graduation from culinary school and often had a drink—whether herbal tea or something stiffer—at the end of the day, a ritual they started back when they were both first-year chefs learning to sharpen their knives. Even now that Kimmy was dating Charley, they still made time for it if they could.

  “I’m all sold out across the street. Can I pitch in and help?” she asked. Kimmy seemed to be stirring four pans at once.

  Kimmy shook her head, never taking her eyes from the stove. “Nope. If Monsieur Adrien wants me to get food out faster, he needs to hire a chef de partie.”

  “OK, suit yourself. See you at home after dinner service.”

  Bethany eyed her yellow bike locked up in the alley next to Café Sabine’s recycling bin. It was the perfect day to take Daisy out—sunny and bright, despite the cold. Unfortunately, Bethany had some business to take care of before she could ride on her favorite route along the waterfront.

  Time to talk to Ben about the kiosk situation. She sighed. She hated to be a complainer, but she also didn’t think Marigold was really being a team player. Bethany could be serving bread with her soup and Olive could be making soup to go with her sandwiches and rolls, but they weren’t. If Marigold wanted her kiosk to succeed, she needed to find synergy with Souperb Soups and Honor Roll—not compete directly with them. Really, Bethany was doing her a favor by filing a complaint.

  She knocked briskly at the door to the stationmaster’s office. Ben Kovac answered, his collar unbuttoned and his eyes so weary they made his face look like a Basset hound’s.

  “Make it snappy. I have to do the track maintenance before the 1:55 comes in,” he grumbled, motioning her into the office where Caboose, Newbridge Station’s fluffy orange mouser, lay curled up on his desk.

  Bethany scratched the cat’s chin and he stretched out, purring, so she could better reach his belly. “Why isn’t Trevor doing it?”

  “Trevor,” Ben said derisively, “hasn’t finished the sprinkler system repairs, and I can’t pull him off that because it’s a safety violation. So I’m stuck doing his job and mine. What do you want?”

  “Marigold changed her kiosk name.”

  “So?”

  Bethany shifted uncomfortably. “To Souperior Soups. She’s basically made her kiosk a carbon copy of mine. Can you talk to her about it?”

  Ben sighed. “Can’t you talk to her first?”

  “I did! She seems pretty gung-ho. And I’d rather not file a complaint with ZamRail if I can avoid it...” She hoped that leaning on his distaste for paperwork would motivate him to put the kibosh on Marigold’s new venture.

  Ben threw up his hands. “Just what I need. It’s not enough that this building is crumbling around my ears, now I have a soup mutiny.” He picked up a keyring bristling with keys, and Caboose startled at the noise, jumping off the desk onto the office floor. “Listen, the fleabag and I have to do the rounds. But I’ll bring it up with Marigold tonight at our weekly poker game. She’s usually more open to discussion when she’s had a couple of martinis. Maybe I can talk her out of it.”

  Bethany smiled. “Thanks, Ben. I owe you one.”

  “Everybo
dy owes me one,” Ben muttered as he and the cat followed her out. “Wish some of them would pay up.”

  “MARIGOLD IS A SHADY lady.” Kimmy shook her head disbelievingly. “‘Souperior Soups’? Superior to whose?”

  “Mine, I guess.” Bethany heaved a sigh and took a sip of her chamomile tea.

  “Not possible. Has she ever made a soup in her life?”

  “Who knows. Smoothies are kind of like soup. I mean, I blend some soups. And there are fruit soups, like cold dessert ones. So maybe she’s right, and hers will be ‘souperior.’” She made air quotes around the word.

  Kimmy pulled a patchwork quilt over her lap and snuggled into the shabby green sofa. “You are just making excuses for her now. On Julia Child’s grave, I swear I’ve never had better soups than yours. That Greek one you made this morning blew my mind, it was so good. You have nothing to be worried about.”

  Bethany put her tea down on the coffee table. “What am I going to do if my kiosk closes, Kimmy? No restaurant will hire me in this town, not after what happened last year.”

  “Nobody remembers that.” Kimmy gave her a sympathetic look. “And if they do, they also remember that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Bethany shook her head and willed herself not to cry. “That kind of rep sticks with you. No restaurant wants that notoriety.”

  Kimmy scooted over and put her arm around Bethany’s shoulders. “Come on, now. That’s your fear talking. You’re thinking like ten catastrophes into the future. Some shady lady is not going to put you out of business. She’ll try, and you will crush her. You don’t even have to compete—you just keep doing you.”

  Bethany grinned in spite of herself. “Yeah, I will. I am going to crush Marigold by pretending she doesn’t exist.”

  Chapter 2

  Tuesday

  “WHAT ARE YOU SERVING today?” Olive asked.

  Bethany stirred the huge stock pot. “Split pea with smoked ham hock. Seemed perfect for such a foggy day.”

  “What’d be good with that? Maybe my cornbread muffins...or a cheddar biscuit.”

  “Can’t go wrong with either one if you ask me. Uh oh—here comes trouble.”

  Even though she’d sworn to pretend Marigold didn’t exist, it was impossible to ignore her. Bethany tried not to stare as Marigold swept through the entrance doors. She wore her usual skintight wiggle dress and red, patent-leather heels, but something about her seemed different. She held the door open for another woman who was pulling a red wagon loaded down with two giant pots.

  “Oh my goodness!” Olive gasped. “She didn’t!”

  “Morning, ladies,” Marigold said. “What do you think?”

  “About what? The wagon?” Bethany asked.

  Olive groaned. “About her hair. It’s...new.”

  “Oh!” Bethany took a closer look. Marigold’s white-blonde curls had been dyed a lustrous auburn and were arranged in a messy bun on top of her head. “It looks—like mine.”

  “Exactly!” Marigold squealed. “Isn’t it great? Soup sisters for life!”

  At least until your roots grow out.

  “Is that your actual sister?” Bethany asked, nodding to the woman pulling the wagon up the kiosk, who was puffing with the effort. She looked remarkably like Marigold—at least, Marigold before she dyed her hair. She had the same blonde hair, the same voluptuous figure, and the same glitzy style. The only difference in their appearance was the prominent beauty mark on the woman’s upper lip. Marigold penciled one on, or sometimes glued a small gem in the same spot, but it was obvious that this woman’s was real.

  “Oh. No.” Marigold pursed her lips. “Cousin Jen. Surprise visit.”

  The cousin blushed and extended her hand.

  “We hug around here.” Olive ignored Jen’s hand and embraced her. “I’m Olive—I own the bakery. Welcome to Newbridge. How long are you staying?”

  “That’s up to her.” Jen motioned to Marigold and shook Bethany’s hand across the kiosk counter.

  Bethany did her best to smile. “Must be nice for you two to catch up.” Jen nodded shyly. Hm, however much she looked like Marigold, she certainly had a different personality!

  “She’s going to be my assistant for the grand opening,” Marigold said. “There’s so much to do! Why don’t you put that soup on the warmer? We don’t want it to get cold, do we?” Jen nodded and slowly dragged the heavy wagon over to the Souperior Soups kiosk.

  Marigold shook her head. “She’s been stuck to me like glue since she came in yesterday. Crashed the poker game even though she didn’t want to play. Wouldn’t even have a martini. What a party pooper.”

  Bethany’s ears perked up at the mention of the poker game. “Oh, did Ben talk to you last night?”

  “Of course he did. All Ben does is talk, talk, talk. ‘Marry me, Marigold.’ Who has time for that? Marriage, shmarriage.”

  Olive and Bethany exchanged a look that said one thing: poor Ben.

  “He didn’t mention anything about changing your kiosk?” Olive asked.

  Marigold stuck out her chin. “No—not that it’s any of your business. Why are you over here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be baking or something?”

  “She was just helping me with bread pairings,” Bethany said.

  “Ooh!” Marigold leaned on the counter. “What would you pair with avgolemono? That’s my soup of the day.”

  Bethany choked. Olive patted her on the back until she regained her composure. “You mean like I made yesterday?”

  Marigold nodded eagerly. “Mhm. It was a tasty little number—perfect for my grand opening! Everyone loved it, so I know they’ll be back for more.”

  “Well!” Olive said, smoothing her silver bob. “Everything I make has gluten in it, so I don’t think I can help you.”

  “What about your—” Bethany had been about to say gluten-free dinner rolls, but Olive shot her such a steely glare that she stopped in the middle of her sentence.

  Marigold waved her hand breezily. “No worries. I bought a case of saltines at Cheapko. I’ll just serve those.” The clock tower chimed a quarter-till, and Marigold straightened. “Oopsie, I better get things set up before the 10:55 comes in! Toodles!” She minced off to her kiosk.

  If ever a tea kettle was steamed up and ready to shout, it was Olive Underwood. “Unbelievable! Un-be-lievable. The nerve of copying your recipe and serving it with crackers!” Bethany returned the favor and patted her on the back until Olive turned a less volcanic shade of red.

  “Soup of the day,” Bethany said, rolling her eyes. “More like soup of the yesterday.”

  “Poor Jen.” Olive frowned. “To be related to that woman. She’s treating her own cousin like garbage.”

  Bethany sighed and wrote “Split Pea with Ham” on her chalkboard. “Do you think my regulars will choose Marigold’s soup instead of mine?”

  “No, of course not! Don’t even think that way. Your customers love what you do. Why would they gamble on someone else when they know they’ll love every drop of your soup? Uh oh! There’s the train. I better get those cheddar biscuits warming.” Olive scampered back into the Honor Roll just in time. A flood of passengers exited the platform, and Bethany’s heart swelled when a good number of them lined up at Souperb Soups.

  “Here you are.” She ladled soup into a container and handed it over the counter. “Olive’s got cheddar biscuits and corn muffins today if you want something on the side.”

  “Perfect, Bethany.”

  “Smells great.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I haven’t had a good split pea soup since my grandma passed.”

  “Can I get the recipe?”

  Bethany basked in the glow of satisfied customers. Nourishing people’s hearts and stomachs had to be the best feeling in the world. Her pot was half-empty and the line was still long. Maybe there was enough room for two soup kiosks at Newbridge Station after all. She glanced over at Marigold’s kiosk. A few people she didn’t recognize milled around the booth.


  “Avgolemonooooo,” Marigold called, her hands to her mouth. “Get it here!”

  Bethany was horrified to see a few people from her line step out and hurry to the other booth. Her dismay must have showed on her face, because the kindly man at the front of the line said, “Oh, everyone’s in a hurry these days. Your soup is worth a few minutes’ wait.”

  “Thanks,” she said, relaxing. That was it. She just needed to serve faster. The defectors would get a bowlful of disappointment and be back tomorrow, anyway. She put down her head and ladled soup as quickly as she could so she could get through as many customers as possible.

  “I brought you some, hon.” Marigold plunked a container of soup down on the counter. “Wanted to soup-swap before you ran out again.”

  “Who is serving at your—oh,” Bethany said, spotting Jen at the counter. She bit her lip. If she gave some split pea soup to Marigold, Marigold would probably just copy it tomorrow. But if she didn’t honor the trade, Marigold was likely to make a scene, and the customers waiting patiently in line didn’t need to see that. She slid a bowl of soup over to Marigold. “Take it.”

  Marigold leaned over the bowl and inhaled deeply. “Smoked ham! Nice. Are those carrots in there or sweet potatoes?”

  “Carrots.” Bethany craned her neck to see the next person in line. Marigold didn’t budge. Instead, she scooped up a spoonful of the soup and savored it like she was tasting wine. Bethany sighed. “Do you mind, Marigold? I need to serve the rest of these people.”

  “Not until you try mine!” Marigold tapped the lid of the unopened container with her spoon.

  “Fine.” Bethany cracked open the avgolemono and took a small bite, not expecting much. Rich, bright, comforting. It was a perfect replica of the soup she’d made yesterday, down to the hint of marjoram. Marigold might not have her own ideas, but she was a darn good cook.

  “What do you think?” Marigold pretended to bite her long purple fingernails in anticipation.

  “I can’t lie—it’s good.”