Murder on the Rocks

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  “It is,” Thomas agreed. “Jeremiah and I grew up here. This house has been in our family for generations. I’ve been all over the world; traveling, working, filming movies. But this is still the most beautiful place on earth to me. And now we get to film here. You can’t ask for anything better.”

  Penelope’s chefs murmured to each other, checking out the bedrooms and the modern kitchen anchored at the edge of the sitting room.

  “Thank you for inviting us into your home,” Penelope said.

  “Well, we’re family on this set, as I’m sure you heard,” Thomas said, nodding. “And it’s important for us to keep the environment untouched as much as we can.”

  Chapter 14

  After Thomas reminded her team about dinner and returned to the house, Penelope surveyed her new temporary home. It was a cozy space, but large enough she thought the four of them would live together for as long as they needed to without colliding too much. Oars that had been decoratively painted with different nautical scenes hung on the walls. Glass bowls filled with sand dollars and seashells sat on top of the main room’s coffee table and dotted open spaces in the bookshelves. Sliding glass windows faced the lake and were anchored by two sets of French doors leading out to the front dock, which had two sets of cafe tables and chairs.

  Tama opened the French doors and slid out of her chucks, then walked barefoot onto the deck, taking deep breaths of cooling air. Penelope kicked off her shoes also and eyed the boat house’s nicely sized kitchen and book shelves that lined nearly all the walls. There appeared to be at least a hundred novels in the main room and a collection of cookbooks on a taller shelf near the dining area. She peeked inside the first bedroom on the left of the main room and then explored the one on the opposite end.

  Penelope counted three kitchens her team had access to: the one in the main house, this one in their quarters, and the mobile food truck. Every film set presented its own set of challenges, a lot of the time it was lack of space to work. The biggest challenge on this set was going to be upholding the environmentally friendly requirements laid down by the Truegood brothers.

  Francis and Lewis had gone out to her Jeep to retrieve the suitcases. When they got back they opted to take the suite on the left, leaving Penelope and Tama to share the one on the right. They went inside their room to unpack and clean up for dinner, Lewis already rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  Penelope stepped out onto the balcony and pulled her phone from her back pocket. She sat down heavily on one of the Adirondack chairs facing the water and glanced at Tama. The small girl had hoisted herself onto the narrow railing in the corner, her eyes closed while facing the water. Her legs were crossed, her feet tucked onto her thighs, her palms facing upwards while she lightly rubbed her middle fingers with her thumbs. Penelope watched her for a moment in silence, worried that she might topple backwards onto the deck, or worse, forwards into the water. Penelope had no idea how deep it was under the boat house. She was sure the railing was too thin to balance on. Penelope sighed and looked at her phone, careful not to make a noise and topple Tama over.

  A little ring swirled on the screen of Penelope’s phone. No new messages or emails would load. Penelope rolled her eyes, then closed them, easing herself back against the chair.

  “No phone service?” Tama’s voice floated across the breeze.

  Penelope opened her eyes. Tama’s remained closed, and she still faced the water in her contemplative pose.

  “Um, nope,” Penelope said. She set her phone on the table next to her chair. “Doesn’t look like there’s a signal out here.”

  “We really are back to nature then,” Tama said. Penelope could see a faint smile on her lips. Her sharp shoulder blades looked like a hangar under her soft gray t-shirt.

  “There’s no TV in there, either,” Penelope said. “There’s a radio in the kitchen.”

  “Music is nice, but silence is golden,” Tama said, twisting her neck slowly from side to side, keeping her eyes closed. “Quiet helps me concentrate. The less yelling in the kitchen, the more creative I am.”

  Penelope thought about culinary school days, how the instructors sometimes raised their voices when mistakes were made. She had to admit, it wasn’t always easy to perform well under that intense pressure, but she also appreciated her teachers exposing her to what real-life kitchens were like. Working as a professional chef wasn’t for the weak or timid.

  “It’s easy to forget how noisy our lives can be,” Penelope said, her words caught in a yawn at the end. “Until you come to a place like this.”

  Tama began to hum quietly under her breath. Penelope’s eyes drifted closed and she dozed, following Tama’s tune that was somehow familiar, yet too far at the edge of her thoughts to catch onto.

  Chapter 15

  Penelope and her team climbed the hill an hour or so later to the main house for dinner with the Truegood brothers. Fireflies floated along the path to the kitchen and floated among the plants in the garden. The smell of roasted chicken grew stronger as they got closer to the door. Shadows moved around inside, the low murmur of conversation drifting out into the night, punctuated by jolts of laughter. They stepped inside and were greeted warmly by Jeremiah, who was filling a bucket with ice.

  “We don’t get a lot of fireflies where I’m from,” Lewis said. Jeremiah handed him a bottle of vodka and one of gin and motioned them to follow him to the living room. “That must have been the buzzing I heard earlier,” he added as they entered the hallway.

  Jeremiah laughed. “I think you might have heard our bees. Fireflies are pretty quiet. But it would be cool if they did buzz, like little light bulbs turning on.”

  Lewis rushed the words, “I’m pretty sure it was the fireflies. I’ve heard bees before.”

  Francis rolled his eyes as they all came to a stop in front of the bar.

  Jeremiah set the ice bucket down and stepped behind the carved mahogany wood of the antique piece that Penelope hadn’t fully appreciated the first time she was in the room.

  “What can I get you?” Jeremiah asked with a twinkle. He had changed into a crisp white dress shirt and jeans. His hair was slicked back and Penelope could see he was quite handsome beneath his shaggy exterior. “I specialize in vintage cocktails, handed down recipes from my grandmother, in fact.”

  “Something with vodka,” Tama said, taking a step closer. She wore a soft pink halter dress that brushed her fragile legs just above the knees.

  “A vodka sling for the lady coming up,” Jeremiah said with a flourish. “Wait, are you old enough to drink one of these?”

  “She is,” Penelope interjected quickly. She didn’t want her new employer to think she’d allow underage drinking on her crew. Tama was definitely legal. Barely.

  Jeremiah filled a shaker with a dash of sugar and lemon juice, poured a healthy amount of vodka, shook the silver vessel, then filled a martini glass with the filmy liquid, finishing it with a squeeze of orange peel.

  They all agreed it looked and smelled delicious, and elected to have the same, except Francis who decided to stick to beer.

  “A Vermont one, though,” Jeremiah insisted, handing him a brown bottle from the mini-fridge behind the bar.

  Arlena and Nadia entered the room and Jeremiah made them each a cocktail.

  “Where’s Thomas?” Penelope asked.

  “Making dinner,” Jeremiah said, coming around from behind the bar. He clinked glasses with Arlena and stood next to her, sipping from his own glass.

  “Can I help?” Penelope asked.

  Jeremiah shook his head. “Enjoy a night on us. Your first night in a new place should be enjoyed, don’t you think?”

  When they’d finished their drinks, Jeremiah led the group into the dining room where they took their seats around a long wooden table. The place settings were simple yet elegant, rustic china paired with chunky crystal wine and water glasses.
Tapered candles glowed throughout the room, evenly spaced down the center of the table and from sconces on the walls.

  “What a pretty table,” Penelope said. Nadia smiled at her from across the table where she sat next to Arlena. Jeremiah sat at one end of the table, Tama on one side of him and Francis on the other. The chair at the opposite end was empty still, with Thomas still finishing things in the kitchen.

  “You certainly don’t look like you’ve been driving all day,” Nadia said from across the table.

  Penelope smiled gratefully. “Thanks. Luckily, we had a little time to rest and freshen up before dinner.” She glanced down the table at her team. Lewis straightened his silverware on either side of his plate and shook out his napkins a few times before settling it in his lap.

  After another minute, Thomas entered from the kitchen with two large platters in his hands. He set them down gently, then turned without a word and headed back through the door. Penelope admired the appetizers, which appeared to be baked brie en croute in a blackberry coulie, chilled shrimp cocktail, and a spinach artichoke dip. Arlena eyed the shrimp nervously. She was highly allergic to shellfish, something Penelope always kept in mind when cooking at home or on any of the sets where they travelled.

  An older gentleman Penelope hadn’t seen before came through from the kitchen, carrying a plate of vegetables. “Hello, everyone, sorry I’m late. Thomas recruited me into service as punishment for my tardiness.”

  “Nevan!” Jeremiah said enthusiastically. “We’ve saved you a seat.” He pointed to the one next to Arlena. Once Nevan settled in his chair Jeremiah said, “Everyone, this is Nevan Hughes, our on-set historian. He’ll be working with each of you to maintain continuity and historic accuracy during the shoot.”

  Everyone said their hellos as Jeremiah introduced Nevan around the room. Arlena shook Nevan’s hand and said, “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

  “And I you,” Nevan said. He shook out his napkin and placed it in his lap. “All of you in fact.”

  Nevan’s cheeks blushed and he suddenly sneezed, only managing at the last minute to cover his nose with his napkin. “Excuse—” he sneezed sharply again before he could finish talking. After two more barking sneezes, he recovered for a moment.

  “I’m so terribly sorry,” Nevan wheezed. “Do any of you have a dog?”

  Arlena’s face blushed. “I do. He’s upstairs.”

  “That explains—” Nevan sneezed again. “That explains things. Excuse me, I’ll just pop out to the car and get one of my pills.”

  Nevan screeched his chair back and walked quickly out the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” Arlena said.

  Jeremiah smiled and propped his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together. “He’ll be fine. Nevan is a pro, he won’t let an imagined allergy keep him from an opportunity like ours.”

  Penelope crossed her arms loosely at her waist and gazed at Jeremiah. “What do you mean imagined allergy?”

  Jeremiah chuckled. “Nothing. Just a theory of mine, that if you convince yourself you sneeze when you see dogs, that’s what happens.”

  “He didn’t see the dog,” Francis said cautiously. “It’s upstairs.”

  “Maybe he heard it then, scurrying around,” Jeremiah said shrugging.

  Penelope glanced at the shrimp on the appetizer platter and at Arlena, who had a contemplatively worried expression.

  “Arlena would die if she ate that,” Penelope said, lifting her chin toward the platter. The room fell silent as everyone focused on the conversation. “Is that all in her head too?”

  “Maybe,” Jeremiah said. “I’ve studied the philosophy of thought. The brain is man’s most powerful tool, and at the same time most underused asset. There are ways to outthink the things we think are harmful to us.”

  Penelope scoffed. “Severe allergies are biological, not psychological.”

  Arlena cleared her throat and caught Penelope’s eye. She shook her head very slightly, warning her off the debate. Penelope sighed and blinked at her twice, giving her a small smile.

  “But I’m sure what you’ve studied is very interesting,” Penelope added, nodding at her team. Francis studied the appetizer platter and Lewis gazed out of the windows at the fireflies. Tama stared at Jeremiah, her thin elbow propped on the table, a loose fist propping up her chin as she listened.

  Thomas entered the room and stopped abruptly, noticing the lack of conversation among the seven people in the dining room.

  “Dig in,” he said casually as he took his seat. Nevan came through a few minutes later, his expression a mix of embarrassment and relief.

  “Sorry if my dog made you sneeze,” Arlena said to him quietly. Conversation had begun again among the seatmates and the sound of cutlery scraping the plates had replaced the awkward silence of the moments before.

  “It’s okay,” Nevan said. “I’ll just have to keep my pills handy. I usually have some with me.”

  “And I’ll make sure my clothes are clean every day and that I don’t handle Zazoo before work,” Arlena said, nodding. “I can’t eat fish, so I know how it feels dealing with an allergy.”

  Jeremiah looked like he was about to say something until Tama distracted him with a murmured question and a smile.

  Penelope slipped her phone from her pants pocket and glanced at it under the table. She could see there was still no service. “Nadia, can you get cell service here?” she whispered across the table.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Nadia said, sighing. “Thomas says we’re in a dead spot. We have to go into town or something to make a call.”

  “That’s going to be rough,” Lewis mumbled.

  “They have a phone here at the house,” Nadia said. “A landline. But no Wi-Fi.”

  “Wow, no internet for...how long are we here?” Francis asked, a touch of panic in his voice.

  “We’ll be okay,” Penelope said. “There are worse things than being unplugged for a while.”

  Lewis mumbled something under his breath then went back to eating.

  Thomas took his seat at the head of the table as Jeremiah passed around a platter of salad, butter lettuce dressed and seasoned with oil, salt, and pepper. Various vegetables rimmed the edges of the platter including sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers. Thomas passed two bottles of wine around the table from the sideboard.

  After everyone had poured some wine, Jeremiah lifted his glass. “A toast, to great beginnings.”

  “Hear, hear,” Arlena said, lifting her glass.

  “I’m sorry about the shrimp, Arlena,” Thomas said as she served herself some salad. “No one mentioned your allergy.” He shot Penelope a glance, then smiled tightly. “I’m embarrassed we served it on your first night here.”

  Arlena’s cheeks reddened in the soft candlelight. “Oh no, it’s okay. I can eat around it.”

  “But you didn’t take anything else from that platter,” Thomas said. “Even if my brother thinks allergies are made up, please know yours will be taken into consideration.”

  “Better safe than sorry. I’ll go into anaphylactic shock if I come in contact, so it’s best if I just avoid it all together.” Arlena took a bite of salad. “I brought my pens, so it’s fine.”

  An awkward silence filled the room as everyone studied their plates or the platter.

  “It sounds like we’re in for quite an experience the next few weeks,” Arlena said, shifting the subject.

  “We are,” Jeremiah agreed. “What we are undertaking here, with all of your help, will be quite unique.”

  Penelope set her fork down and took a sip of wine. Glancing from Thomas to Jeremiah, she noticed the brothers shared the same deep-set eyes and easy smile.

  “So you’ve studied Helen Wills?” Nadia asked Nevan, leaning forward in her chair.

  “Yes,” Nevan said, setting down his fork. “She lived qu
ite a life.”

  “And that’s the life we’re here to capture,” Jeremiah said. “We’ll all be fully immersed in this experience. We’re going to be the most authentically prepared crew possible.”

  Penelope glanced at Francis seated next to her. His expression was wary, but interested.

  Nadia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, very remarkable. I’ve been reading about her love of the arts. She was friends with Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera! Not to mention senators, actors, you name it.”

  Penelope smiled, impressed Nadia had done some research since their initial meeting.

  “Yes, that’s all true,” Nevan said. “Not to mention she was an eight time Wimbledon champion, a record not broken from her peak in the 1930s until Navratilova in the 90s.”

  “I noticed from the screenplay that you’ve shied away from her personal scandals,” Nevan said. He pierced a slice of cucumber from his salad and popped it in his mouth.

  “I think we covered the events in her life adequately,” Thomas said easily. “You know how it is, you can’t fit everything into a one-hundred-minute movie.”

  Nevan smiled politely and pierced a tomato on his plate. “You might have touched on her two failed marriages. Her aloofness was her charm. She was untouchable.”

  “Hardly a scandal,” Jeremiah scoffed.

  “It was for the time,” Nevan countered.

  “This is so interesting,” Arlena said. She set down her fork and leaned forward.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Jeremiah said. Nevan helped himself to more selections from the platter in the center of the table, piling his plate high.

  Jeremiah reached his hand over to Penelope and urged her to hold it. She placed her palm lightly on top of his after a moment of hesitation. “And for you and your crew, whatever point in life Helen is at during filming, we’d like for you to match the menu to that time period.” He squeezed Penelope’s fingers together.

  “Wait, you want us to cook like it’s the, what 1950s?” Lewis asked. “What did they even eat back then?”