Rest in Split Peas Read online

  Rest in Split Peas

  A Death du Jour Mystery #2

  Hillary Avis

  ©2018 Hillary Avis www.hillaryavis.com

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, events, or organizations is purely coincidental, and all are the creation of the author.

  Cover by Mariah Sinclair

  Editing by Anna Hight at Hobbies Odd

  For permissions contact: [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Recipes

  Sneak Peek at Next in Series!

  Chapter 1

  Books by the Author

  Chapter 1

  Monday

  Bethany Bradstreet leaned over the stock pot and inhaled the intoxicating scent of her latest creation. It was almost ready—she just had to whisk in the eggs and lemon juice. She scooped out a few cups of steaming broth into a mixing bowl.

  “Do you have a sec to pour for me?”

  “Why don’t you use the whisk attachment for the mixer?” Kimmy asked, wiping her hands on her Café Sabine apron.

  Bethany shrugged. “I don’t know—I just like to do things by hand. For some reason it tastes different.”

  “You’re right. I can always tell when chefs use some elbow grease. I’d never get plates in front of diners if I did everything by hand, though.” Kimmy poured a slow, steady stream of beaten eggs into the broth while Bethany furiously beat the mixture with a whisk so the eggs wouldn’t curdle in the hot soup. “Avgolemono—brave choice. How are you going to make sure it doesn’t turn into scrambled eggs while you serve it?”

  Bethany laughed. “Very careful babysitting. That’s the upside of only making one soup per day! It gets all the love.”

  “I want some love!” Charley poked her head through the swinging doors of the kitchen. Kimmy rolled her eyes and gave her girlfriend a peck on the lips. Charley shook her head. “No—I meant I want some of Bethany’s soup.”

  Kimmy’s mouth dropped open in mock dismay. “Should I be jealous that you like Bethany’s cooking better than mine?”

  Charley blinked innocently. “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know, because you come by the café every morning now that Bethany makes her soup here, when you never did before?”

  Charley kissed Kimmy again. “You know I like your home cooking. All the French stuff here is too fancy for me, though. Give me a bowl of comfort food any day.”

  Bethany ladled out two servings of the avgolemono and added a pinch of chopped herbs to the top of each. “What would I do without my two professional tasters?” she asked, hoping to stop their argument before it started. She handed them each a spoon.

  “Fine.” Kimmy rolled her eyes and dipped her spoon into the bowl. “Oh, wow, Bethany! This is fantastic. Just the right amount of lemon—and those herbs! Marjoram?”

  Bethany nodded.

  “Mmm,” Charley said. “What did you say this was? Avocado-mole?”

  “Avgolemono,” Bethany said. “It’s Greek.”

  “Well, it’s all-good-emono if you ask me.” Charley glanced at her watch. “Can I take it to go? I’ve gotta get to work.”

  “Shoot, is it that time already?” Bethany slammed a lid on the stock pot and heaved it onto a dolly. “Come by the kiosk later—law enforcement eats free.”

  “Better not tell my buddies that, or you won’t have any left for paying customers.” Charley grinned at Bethany and then tugged the ends of Kimmy’s braids. “I’ll see you later, hon.”

  “Hm.” Kimmy crossed her arms. “Will you?”

  Charley batted her eyelashes. “I don’t know—are you going to make those yummy little cookies dipped in chocolate?”

  Kimmy motioned to the rows of madeleines cooling on a rack behind her. “Every day.”

  “Then you will definitely see me later. Want help loading, Bethany?”

  Bethany nodded. “I could use a hand. Thanks for letting me cook here, Kimmy.”

  Kimmy patted her on the back. “Don’t let Charley eat it all on the way out.”

  Together, Charley and Bethany wheeled the dolly out the back door of Café Sabine and loaded the stock pot onto the cargo trailer hitched to Bethany’s yellow bike.

  Charley waved as she mounted her own bike and headed off to the police station. Bethany locked the empty dolly to the bike rack and gingerly pedaled across the street to the train station, careful not to jar the trailer as she navigated the curb and a manhole cover. She dismounted and pushed her bike through a vaulted entrance that seemed a little too grand for such a small depot.

  Newbridge Station was as old as the town, but it was tiny—only a single platform in each direction, and the ZamRail trains only ran on weekdays, mostly to service commuters headed to New Haven. The compact concourse housed a small bakery, the ticket office, and a circle of antique benches for passengers to wait on, and not much else. The Souperb Soups kiosk, Bethany’s pride and joy, was squeezed against the wall across from the bakery with another kiosk. Nothing in the station was glamorous except the beautiful arched entryway and vaulted ceiling. Still, it was a lovely, historic building with enough foot traffic that Bethany’s business was brisk.

  She wheeled the bike to the back of her kiosk and unloaded the avgolemono onto the warmer, careful not to scuff the worn marble floor. She lit the burner and turned it down as low as it would go so the eggs wouldn’t curdle in the broth. “OK, little soup—be good while I lock up old Daisy, here.”

  When she got back, a small line was already forming by her booth, but before she could get behind the counter and start serving, Olive flew out of the Honor Roll Bakery toward her, turquoise earrings jangling and her hands fluttering wildly.

  “Oh, honey!” she said, her large brown eyes full of concern. “Don’t look. Just ignore her.”

  “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  Olive put her hand to her mouth, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows. “Oh, I can’t even say it—I don’t want it to be true. It’s just too much. She’s just too much.”

  Bethany groaned. “Say no more.” She knew exactly who Olive was talking about—only one person in Newbridge was too much for Olive, and that was Marigold Wonder. She rented the kiosk next to Bethany’s and made weird smoothies that were supposed to be healthy out of things like mushrooms and algae. During Marigold’s grand opening last fall, she’d handed out pamphlets of anti-gluten propaganda that Olive did not appreciate, to put it mildly. “What’s she making now, dirt smoothies?”

  “Maybe you can hang up a curtain so you don’t have to see it,” Olive said.

  Bethany glanced over at Marigold’s kiosk and almost fell on the floor. The booth was shrouded in canvas and had a big banner that said “CLOSED—Grand Re-Opening Tomorrow.” Marigold was teetering on a ladder as she installed a new sign: Souperior Soups.

  “You have got to be kidding me!”

  Olive shook her head. “I know. I know.”

  Bethany marched over to the base of the ladder. “What the heck, Marigold?!”

  “Isn’t it amazing?” Marigold picked her way down the ladder, carefully placing her spiked heels on each rung, and gazed up at the sign admiringly. “Newbridge isn’t very health conscious, so the smoothies weren’t really working out here. I looked at your lines�
�—she motioned to the people standing at Bethany’s kiosk—“and I knew a good idea when I saw one!”

  “Maybe if you made your smoothies out of something other than sticks and leaves—” Bethany sputtered.

  “Too late now, I already changed the sign. Anyway, making soup is going to be fun! We can be soup buddies. Do you have a mirror? I probably look awful after sweating over all the renovations.” Marigold fluffed her bleach-blonde curls, her fingers sparkling with rings. “Oh—look who I’m asking. Of course you don’t.”

  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.”

  “Everybody 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.”