by Hillary Avis
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 compar
ing 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?”
Olive waved her hand. “Oh, these police officers. Wouldn’t let me through the doors because of some issue on the tracks. I told them the Honor Roll is my livelihood, and it has nothing to do with the trains. They can’t keep me out of my own bakery.”
“And they let you through?” Bethany asked. She admired Olive’s gumption standing up to the cops.
“Well, I might have promised them some free brownies if they let me in,” Olive said guiltily.
Bethany chuckled, and then remembered why the police were there to begin with. “Olive, the problem on the tracks—someone was pushed in front of the train.”
Olive gasped. “That’s terrible!”
“It’s worse. It was Marigold.”
Olive’s eyes widened. “Marigold pushed someone? Who?!”
Bethany shook her head. “No, she was the one killed.”
“What?! Why would someone do that?”
“Charley said they didn’t find her purse, so I’m thinking maybe it was a robbery.”
“Oh dear,” Olive said, her eyes welling up. “That’s unexpected.”
“I know. I was thinking we should do something for Jen. She must be devastated.”
Olive’s hands fluttered to her cheeks. “Oh, yes, we must. What do you think? Cupcakes? I made some I’m calling ‘Homecoming Queen’ because they have the fluffiest frosting and edible glitter on top, and you know Marigold loves glitter. Loved,” Olive corrected.
“Perfect. A little sweetness and sympathy will go a long way.”
While Olive fetched the cupcakes, Bethany finished closing up the kiosk. Clearly, Milo wasn’t going to show, and the soup was gone, anyway. She’d have to wash up the pots at Café Sabine later, once the police released the scene.
Strange to think that all the worrying about her business she’d done over the last couple of days was for nothing. Though Souperb no longer had direct competition, now there’d be no food feature. No chance to shake off the past and show Newbridge who she really was. No chance to see Milo Armstrong again, either. She sighed.
“Here,” Olive said breathlessly. “I picked white, because the pink ones seemed too happy. What do you think?”
“Good. They’re over there on the bench.” Bethany watched the bearded man holding Jen, his chin on top of her head, while she cried into the sleeve of her pearl-buttoned cardigan.
Olive clucked sympathetically as they walked together over to the bench.
“Jen? I brought you cupcakes—we did. I just want you to know how sorry we are.”
Bethany nodded in agreement. “Is there anything we can do? Do you have a place to stay?”
Jen sobbed, and the bearded man spoke for her. “The police told us to stay away from the apartment. We have a hotel for tonight.”
Bethany couldn’t quash her curiosity about the man who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “And you are?”
“Aaron. I’m her fiancé. I just came in on the 10:55, the one that...well. It’s very upsetting, as you can imagine.” He spoke quickly in a low voice, his fingers stroking Jen’s hair.
Jen lifted her face, streaked with mascara-black tears. “She was meeting the train. It’s so awful—it’s my fault she was down there. It should have been me.”
Aaron shook his head. “No, it’s my fault. I should have canceled my interview in New York and just come with you on Monday. If I had been here, she wouldn’t have been on the platform, and this wouldn’t have happened.”
Olive looked on the verge of tears again herself. “Oh, you poor dears. It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of whoever did such a horrible thing.”
Jen smiled wanly.
“Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against Marigold?” Besides me, Bethany silently finished. “Maybe someone who was upset with her? Did she talk about being scared or worried or anything?”
Jen shook her head. “I haven’t visited her in a while, and we’re not very close. I only really know what I’ve seen since I’ve been here, and it’s not like she introduced me to her enemies. I met a couple of her friends—but now that I think about it, the friends she does have aren’t happy with her. One of the guys she plays poker with even yelled at me this morning.”
Bethany looked at Olive. They’d both seen Trevor blow his top at Jen. “What was he upset about?”
“He said she borrowed his keys, and he wanted them back. I didn’t have them. He wanted to know where she was, so I told him.”
“Where was she?”
“She went to the bank. She was going to meet the 10:55 train on the way back to pick up Aaron, but when I told Trevor that, he freaked out. I thought he was going to hit me or something. He said he needed his keys to do his job and that she was going to get him fired.” Jen looked at the floor and more tears seeped down her cheeks. “What could I do? I just told him I was sorry and asked if anyone else had a set of the keys he could borrow. Then he stormed off.”
Aaron stiffened and squeezed Jen more tightly. “He had no right to treat you that way. No right.”
Olive nodded. “That was out of line even if it were true.”
Aaron stood up. “What do you mean if it were true? Are you calling my fiancée a liar?”
“Oh, no!” Olive waved her hands apologetically. “I meant that I don’t think Trevor would loan Marigold his keys. If she wanted a door opened at the station, he’d just unlock it for her. He needs the keys to do his maintenance rounds. Twice a day, he has to check all the systems in the tunnels, make sure the track is clear, and so on.”
Aaron crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Well, I guess he’s dumb enough to loan them out when a pretty woman asks him.”
“I don’t know if it’s true”—Jen tugged Aaron’s hand so he’d sit back down on the bench—“but that’s what he said. Maybe you could ask him about it.”
Bethany nodded. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. In the meantime, is there anything we can do for you to help you out?”
Jen looked over at Marigold’s kiosk, where the pots of split pea soup were still simmering on the warmer. “I have no idea what to do about the booth. There’s a ton of soup left.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Olive said, patting Jen on the shoulder. “Bethany and I will take care of it. I’ll run the soup down to the shelter where I donate my day-old bread, and s
he’ll have the kiosk closed up in a jiffy.”
“Fine,” Aaron snapped. “It’s none of our business, anyway. We just want to go home and leave this nightmare behind us.”
“Sorry,” Jen said. “It’s been such a terrible morning.”
“Don’t apologize,” Bethany said. “It’s very upsetting. Hopefully the police will let everyone leave soon, and you can go to your hotel and relax.”
“Yes, let us know if you need anything. And don’t forget your cupcakes!” Olive put the bakery box down on the bench next to Jen. As they left the couple to close up Marigold’s kiosk, Bethany looked down the concourse to see if Trevor was among the crowd, but there was no sign of him.
“Why would Trevor give Marigold his keys?” she wondered aloud.
“I don’t know that he did,” Olive said darkly. “You know he guards those keys with his life. Maybe she took them.”
“Oh, just because she’s annoying doesn’t mean she’s a thief.”
Olive snorted and pointed to the split pea soup still simmering on the warmer. “What are you talking about? She is a thief! She stole your recipes—and your hair color, for that matter!”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “I don’t own this hair color. You’re missing the point. Whether Trevor loaned her the keys or she took them, he was angry with her about it. The question is—was he angry enough to push her in front of a train?”
Olive squawked indignantly. “Of course he didn’t! He wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Well, we’ve never seen him that angry before either, have we? And that was at Jen, who wasn’t even involved. Imagine how he’d have acted if he was confronting Marigold. It could get ugly, fast.”
“I don’t even want to think about that,” Olive said, shaking her head. “Oh, dear, lunch is almost over. How am I going to take these pots to the shelter if the police won’t let us out the door!”
“It’ll keep on the warmer. I’ll close up, and we’ll just have to remember to take the soup later when the police release the scene. The shelter can serve it for dinner.”
“Good idea, Bethany—that way I can relieve poor Garrett, too. You know he hates working the counter.” Olive tutted and went back to the Honor Roll.
