The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  “Fifteen minutes, tops,” Bethany added. She went to the walk-in and stared at the selection of fresh herbs. Mint, definitely. Maybe some rosemary or thyme?

  “Tarragon,” Kimmy said from behind her. She handed Bethany a large, stainless-steel bowl of fresh peas. Bethany dumped them in the pot along with a bundle of tarragon and mint.

  She tasted the soup after it’d simmered for a few minutes. Good, but something was missing. She grabbed another spoon and offered it to Kimmy.

  “Hey!” Charley protested.

  “It’s not there yet. I need a professional palate,” Bethany explained.

  Kimmy tasted the broth and rolled it around on her tongue. “More salt. I like the herbs, though. Maybe a bit of cream when you blend it?”

  Bethany giggled. “You always say cream. You’re right about the salt, though.” She added a bit, tasted again with a clean spoon, and smacked her lips. “Better!” She fished out the bundle of herbs, moved the pot off the heat, and used the café’s giant immersion blender to emulsify the soup. She ladled out a couple of small bowls and handed them to Kimmy and Charley, watching them closely as they tried the finished soup for the first time.

  “I’d put in some cream, but it’s good,” Kimmy said, closing her eyes. “Really good.”

  “Add some bacon and it’d be perfect.” Charley grinned.

  “I thought you were going to say chili peppers. Maybe I’ll make a bacon garnish, so people who want it can add it, but the vegans can skip it. Bacon crumble? Bacon breadcrumbs?”

  “Breadcrumbs,” Kimmy and Charley said together.

  Bethany nodded. “Breadcrumbs it is. And I’ll use gluten-free bread, for Marigold.”

  THE POT OF SOUP WAS so heavy that it took all three of them to haul it over to Newbridge Station. Bethany gasped when she saw how Olive had transformed the concourse for the memorial.

  The benches in the passenger waiting area were arranged so they faced the archway over the platform entrance, where a large sign on an easel proclaimed, “In Memory of Marigold” in curly script. Each bench was decorated with a nosegay of marigolds, and arrangements of marigolds and gerbera daisies brightened the food service table. Olive had set up a warmer on a long table in the back for serving food that was already stocked with bowls, spoons, and bread plates. Another station to the right of the benches had coffee, tea, and lemon water.

  “Don’t forget to give me the signal,” Charley said through her teeth as they heaved the pot onto the warmer. “I’m going to circulate and keep an eye on everyone, but I’ll be watching for your sign.”

  Bethany nodded and searched the small crowd to see who’d already arrived. Olive was bustling around welcoming people to the memorial. She saw Bethany and gave her a thumb’s up. Trevor was there, too, beaming in a light pink button-up shirt. He stopped by the table as Bethany was writing “Spring Pea with Bacon Breadcrumbs” on her chalk board.

  “It’s a girl!” he said, cheeks as pink as his shirt. “We named her Olivia. Eight pounds. Want to see a picture?” He pulled out his phone.

  “Congratulations!” Bethany and Kimmy said together, leaning to see the photo of the red-faced newborn with a tuft of blonde hair.

  “Olivia is a great name,” Bethany added. “Olive must be thrilled.”

  “Julie and I had our first date at the Honor Roll.” Trevor beamed. “Do you need any help? Don’t let this get-up fool you...I can still lend a hand with anything you need.” He pointed to the keys attached to his belt.

  “Oh, Trevor!” Olive interrupted, Jen and Aaron in tow. “Could you be a dear and wheel over the cart of breadsticks from the bakery? And tell Garrett to get off his keister and come help, too. You didn’t need him, did you?” she asked Bethany, as Trevor left for the Honor Roll. Bethany shook her head.

  “We decided to serve food first, then have the service, so people can grieve on a full stomach,” Olive said to Jen.

  “Everyone in Newbridge is so thoughtful,” Jen murmured.

  Aaron rolled his eyes. “The Newbridge cops very thoughtfully released the prime suspect for the memorial, too.”

  “Ah!” Olive clasped her hands as Garrett and Trevor wheeled the bakery cart to the table. “Put the breadsticks in these baskets. The ones in the green bin are the gluten-free. Garrett, will you serve? I want to be able to chat with people.” Garrett grumbled as he rolled up his sleeves and took his place behind the bread station, but Olive ignored him.

  “Just perfect!” she said, straightening the tablecloth and moving the cutlery around. She turned to Jen. “What do you think? Would Marigold approve?”

  Jen nodded. “I’m sure she’d be thrilled with all the attention.”

  Aaron stiffened as Ben walked over with tears in his eyes. He put one arm around Olive and the other around Trevor. “Things look great, you two. You really pulled it off.”

  “Ben!” Olive squealed, turning and grabbing his face with two hands. “Now this is just the icing on the cake.”

  Ben’s eyes were tired, but they were glowing. “It’s thanks to Bethany. She convinced the police that I was innocent. They even gave me back the check for the restoration fund.” Bethany smiled, but inside she was tense, watching the faces of the people standing by the food service table. She couldn’t help feeling guilty that Ben thought he was off the hook, too—there was a chance he’d be arrested again if her plan didn’t work.

  “Really?” Trevor asked. He seemed surprised that the money had been returned so soon. Jen was near tears and Aaron glared at Ben, but that was to be expected—they still thought he was the killer. Olive looked overjoyed, while Garrett wore a dour expression...the usual. Bethany sighed. No indication any of them were especially interested in the money. Maybe this trap idea is stupid.

  Ben nodded. “The check is in my office right now. I’m going to deposit it right after the memorial, and then we can start planning the restoration. This place is going to get the facelift it needs and deserves.”

  “Bravo!” Olive said, clapping her hands. “Oh, look, people are really filing in. I’d better go be the welcoming committee and let them know to come get some food.”

  “I think we’re going to get a rush. Do you mind helping me?” Bethany asked Kimmy.

  Kimmy shook her head. “I’d rather serve than mingle—I’m a back of the house girl.”

  Bethany took her place behind the food service table, elbow-to-elbow with Kimmy, and set out the dishes of bacon breadcrumbs. On the other side, Garrett slouched at his station, his eyes resigned and his tongs poised to distribute Olive’s fragrant herbed breadsticks. Bethany wanted to say something to him, offer him some kind of condolences about his cancer diagnosis, but she wasn’t sure what to say. It seemed cruel to bring it up, especially at what amounted to a funeral, so instead she stood beside him and served soup as she watched Newbridge residents offer Jen and Aaron their condolences before coming over to partake of the free meal.

  Bethany was surprised to see Ryan stride through the door. He actually showed up! And he must have hit the shelter’s wardrobe closet—his tailored, navy-blue suit fit him perfectly. Yum.

  Kimmy elbowed her. “You’re blushing! Is that the reporter?”

  Bethany felt her cheeks redden even more. “No, that’s Ryan—the artist from the shelter.” She quickly ladled a bowl of pea soup and handed it to the next person in line. She wasn’t the only one who had noticed Ryan come in. Across the room, Olive plucked a marigold from one of the table arrangements and tucked it into Ryan’s buttonhole, patting his lapel like a proud mother.

  “You didn’t tell me he was smoking hot,” Kimmy said under her breath. “I can’t believe you left that out. He makes a girl want to switch teams.”

  Bethany giggled. “Cute, but not my type.” My type has a paying job. Speaking of her type, someone was notably absent—Milo-stinking-Armstrong. His promise of a food feature was probably empty, just a nicety to smooth over their awkward meeting under the library awning. Or a ploy to dig up dirt for his
story on Marigold’s murder.

  That’s it, no more flirting with reporters. They only wanted one thing: column inches. Milo would come when he heard Ben had been released from jail, and she wouldn’t let him bail on the food feature again—not after he’d been stringing her along all week.

  She quickly ladled some soup into a small pot and ran over to her kiosk to put it on the warmer there. She wasn’t going to miss out on a review just because he was late. When he showed, he’d have no excuse not to try her cooking. As the line for soup grew longer, she scanned the crowd to see if he had arrived. No such luck.

  “Still looking for Milo?” Kimmy asked, handing a bowl of soup to an elderly woman in a large hat. Bethany nodded. “Don’t worry, he won’t miss this—not if he gets to see you. Plus, he promised he was writing the food feature about you, didn’t he?”

  Bethany offered bacon breadcrumbs to the next person in line. “I’m not so sure. I think he was just being nice because he wanted inside info about Marigold for his other article. Or maybe he felt guilty because the head-to-head feature with Marigold was canceled. I doubt he’ll follow through, though.”

  “He’ll be here for the memorial even if he’s not here for food. He’ll want to cover Ben being released from jail, right? Hey, is that him?”

  Kimmy was right. Bethany stood on tiptoe to peer over the line of waiting customers and spied Milo near the entrance. He had on a rumpled jacket and tie, she noticed—he looked nice, even if he wasn’t quite in the smoking hot category. As she predicted, rather than heading for the food service table, he made a beeline for Ben. He pulled out his notebook, and the two men began an animated conversation.

  “Maybe when he’s done interviewing Ben, he’d have a few minutes to taste the soup,” Kimmy said reassuringly.

  Bethany shrugged. “He will or he won’t. I’m not going to waste energy worrying about him.” It was a lie, but her pride wouldn’t let her admit how much she wanted that food feature. Kimmy didn’t say anything, but her look was knowing.

  Now that she wasn’t on the lookout for Milo, Bethany noticed someone else was missing from the crowd. She gasped. Of course.

  “Is it time?” Kimmy asked.

  Bethany nodded. She caught Charley’s attention and flashed her an “OK” sign. “I think so. Can you hold down the fort while I go check?”

  “Of course,” Kimmy said confidently, in full sous-chef mode. “Go get ’em.”

  Bethany untied her apron and, after stashing it under the table, walked quickly toward the hall to the stationmaster’s office. She checked both restrooms on the way—empty.

  She put her ear to the door of Ben’s office and could hear someone rifling through the desk drawers. It was really happening. The killer had taken the bait and was trying to steal the check! She put her hand on the knob and slowly pushed the door open. The figure inside froze. Bethany scanned for a weapon and then breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t see one. She stepped inside the office. “Looking for something?”

  Jen straightened, tucking a slip of paper into the purse under her arm. “I just thought I dropped my earring in here.” She stepped toward the door, but Bethany blocked her way.

  “You dropped your earring inside Ben’s desk?”

  Jen shrugged, her eyes darting around the room. “Maybe. You never can tell. They were my grandmother’s, so I’d hate—”

  “You can stop lying. One, you’re wearing both earrings. And two, you’re in here to steal the restoration fund check. I knew it would be you. Charley—Officer Perez—wasn’t sure, so we set a trap. But deep down, I knew you were the only one who could have killed Marigold.”

  Something in Jen’s face changed, and she sighed. “How’d you figure it out?”

  Bethany pointed to the sparkly handbag on Jen’s arm. “The purse. There just wasn’t enough time for you to swap handbags on the morning of the murder. Plus, I know Marigold wouldn’t have given away her bedazzled beauty for a plain black bag, no matter what the designer label was inside.”

  Jen chuckled humorlessly. “I guess you knew her well. But you’re wrong—I was in the restroom the whole time. You saw me go in there.”

  “I think you had Trevor’s keys, and you used them to access the maintenance tunnel in the men’s room. You went down to the platform, grabbed that purse”—Bethany motioned to the handbag on Jen’s arm again—“and pushed Marigold onto the tracks. Then you ran back through the tunnel to the men’s room. You realized that having two purses would look suspicious, so you threw away your own purse with Trevor’s keys inside, and went back to the kiosk to serve split pea soup. You must have been disappointed when you realized the check wasn’t in Marigold’s purse.”

  The corner of Jen’s mouth twitched. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “So this was just about the money? I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why someone would kill their own cousin. Fifty thousand dollars doesn’t seem worth it. Even if Marigold was obnoxious, she was your family!”

  Jen’s face slowly turned a dark purple-red. She finally spat out, “She wasn’t my family. She was me!”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I’m not her cousin, Nancy Drew. I’m Marigold. This purse, with the ‘M.W.’? It was mine first. She stole it from me. Along with my name, my appearance, my credit cards, and my smoothie concept. It’s taken me six months to track her down. I wouldn’t have known it had happened if she hadn’t registered to vote in my name! When I tried to vote in the special election this winter, they wouldn’t let me cast my ballot. Then the creditors started calling.”

  Bethany shook her head. “Wait, what? Is that why she had your social security card in her bra?”

  Jen rapped on the desk with her knuckles. “Knock knock, wake up. It’s not my social security card!” She pulled the card out of her purse and flicked it toward Bethany. “Look at it—what does it say?”

  “Jennifer Smith,” Bethany read dutifully.

  “Right—not me. That was her social security card in her bra. She wasn’t on that platform to meet Aaron’s train. She was making a run for it—with the money she owed me.”

  “Why did she owe you money?” Bethany glanced toward the door. Where was Charley? She hoped her friend was listening to the conversation, because she was already confused.

  “She racked up over fifty grand in credit card debt in my name and didn’t pay any of it. I’ve had collections people calling me night and day. I finally got a copy of the charges and noticed most of them were here in Newbridge, and it didn’t take long to find her, considering she was using my name! So I came to make her pay her own bills. They’re threatening to take my business!”

  Realization dawned on Bethany. “So you told her she needed to give you fifty grand—”

  “Fifty-three, to be exact.”

  “And you were there when Ben said he’d gotten the donation to the restoration fund in almost that exact amount. So you told her to get that money any way she could, or you’d expose her whole deal and send her to jail.”

  “Bingo. If she went to jail, I’d still have to untangle the whole mess.” Jen—Marigold, Bethany mentally corrected—tried to push past her again, but Bethany stood firm.

  “Couldn’t you just say it wasn’t you who made the charges?”

  Jen smirked. “You don’t think I’ve tried? They have security camera footage from the bank where she’s been taking out cash advances. She looks like me, honey! The only way I can get rid of this debt is to declare bankruptcy or pay it off. I thought the latter was a better option.”

  “So you didn’t care that she was blackmailing Ben to get the money?”

  Jen stared at her like she was crazy. “Why should I care? First off, it’s not even his money. Plus, it’s up to her to pay me back however she can. She stole from me. If she has consequences, then they’re deserved.”

  “Why did you decide to kill her, though? Now you’ll never get the money.” Bethany looked over her shoulder again, willing Char
ley to come through the door. Jen’s eyes were wild, and Bethany began to be afraid of what she might do to get out of the office.

  “I didn’t decide. It just happened. She gave me Trevor’s keys to return and told me she was going to the bank and then meeting Aaron’s train on the way back. I believed her”—Jen laughed bitterly—“because apparently I’m gullible. But while I was waiting at her soup stand, I looked over at your kiosk and remembered that she’d dyed her hair the same color as yours that night after the poker game. She knew as soon as I showed up that she was going to make a run for it. She was never going to give me that check.”

  Bethany gaped. “I made you decide to kill her?”

  “I told you, I didn’t decide. You just made me realize that she was stealing your identity just like she’d stolen mine. Of course, she planned to spend a little longer doing it, practicing your recipes and perfecting the look, before she took off. I guess she needed to find a new victim once my credit cards were maxed out, and she chose you. You’re lucky, you know. I saved you from becoming me.” Jen absentmindedly ran her hands over the pen set on Ben’s desk.

  Charley, get in here! Bethany screamed inside her head. What could be keeping her? Had Charley misread her signal and stayed at the memorial? Or was she waiting for another reason? Realization dawning, Bethany groaned internally. Charley was waiting for a confession. Bethany needed to get Jen—she’d given up on remembering her name was really Marigold—to say what she’d done.

  “So when Trevor asked you about his keys, you told him you didn’t have them?”

  Jen nodded. “I almost handed them to him, but then when he said he needed them to access the maintenance tunnels, I realized I could use the tunnels to get down to the platform and get the check from her before the train came.”

  “So that’s when you decided to kill her.”

  “No.” Jen’s mouth was in a tight line. “I still thought I could convince her to give me the money.”

  “Then why not take the stairs down to the platform? You chose the tunnels because you wanted plausible deniability. You wanted an escape route.”