Murder on the Rocks

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  Penelope glanced up at the house and saw no movement. She walked carefully through the damp grass to the spot where Nadia had been attacked. Her stomach turned slightly when she saw a dark patch of blood, and she pictured Nadia’s arm bent in the wrong place. She was about to turn and go when something shiny caught her eye from under the bushes. Bending down and parting two branches, Penelope spotted Nadia’s phone, the sparkly purple jeweled case reflecting the soft morning sun.

  Penelope looked at it for a moment then reached to grab it, being careful to pick it up at the edges with her fingertips. Slipping it in her sweater pocket, she went up the porch steps and pulled on the front door handle, which was locked. Penelope fished around in her other pocket for her set of keys and let herself into the main house.

  Penelope put a pot of coffee on in the main kitchen and sat down at the table, waiting for it to brew. She gingerly removed the phone from her pocket and placed it on the table in front of her, pausing for a moment then swiping it open.

  “No passcode,” Penelope mumbled. The coffee gurgled behind her as she navigated to Nadia’s photos. She tapped it and let out a low whistle. “Eight thousand photos?” She sighed and opened the first one. It was a picture of her and Arlena in the tent the night before at the party. There were eight more just like it, taken one after the other. That seemed to be a pattern. The next several pictures were of the food, then some of her staff, and at least twenty of the crowd.

  The coffee pot beeped and Penelope got up to pour a cup. She sat back down and went through the pictures of the crowd more closely, enlarging them with her fingers here and there to get a closer look at faces. She didn’t know what she was looking for but hoped to catch a glance of the man from the bus stop.

  He didn’t show up in any of them, so Penelope went further back in time, swiping through the last few days of Nadia’s life. There were a hundred or so of Arlena playing tennis on the court and several crowd shots of the stands.

  Penelope took a sip of coffee and froze when she saw his face. Her finger hovered over the glass as the man with the stained lip stared up at her from the table, a look of menace on his face. It wasn’t from the first day at the courts from what she could tell. It was from the day before, when they started out there, then had to move everything back to the main house for the party.

  “Good morning,” Jeremiah said from the doorway. He had on cargo shorts and was shirtless, his arms crossed at his chest as he leaned in the doorway.

  Penelope mumbled a greeting and clicked the phone closed.

  “I just called the medical center,” Jeremiah said quietly. “They’ve transported Nadia to Burlington to have surgery on her arm. She was hit on the head and has a concussion. But the arm is the big thing.”

  “How did it happen?” Penelope asked. “Can the doctors tell anything?”

  Jeremiah looked out the kitchen window towards the lake, his expression stricken. “They think someone stomped on it. There were shoe marks on her skin.”

  Penelope put a hand over her eyes and concentrated on breathing. The edges of her vision began to fuzz over, but she brought herself back around, focusing on his voice and the scent of coffee.

  She swiped open the phone and said, “Who is this?”

  Jeremiah stood next to her chair and looked down at photo of the man on the screen. “I’m not sure.”

  “If you know who he is, you better tell me. Or the police,” Penelope said in a threatening tone.

  “I’ve never seen him before,” he said firmly. He was so close Penelope could smell the scent of soap on his skin. She inched away from him.

  “What’s going on with you and Nadia?” Penelope asked.

  Jeremiah went to the coffee maker and poured himself a mug. “We’re connected. Spiritually.”

  “Is that what you call it?” Penelope scoffed.

  “I see you doubting me,” Jeremiah said. “That’s your right.”

  Penelope bit her tongue, then reconsidered and said, “You’re in a position of power. Over women and men. You should be careful where and how you wield it.” With that she stood up and left through the back door, snatching the phone from the table and tucking it in her pocket.

  Chapter 47

  Penelope pulled her Jeep into the parking lot of the Micklesburg Market. The sun was warm that morning, and she welcomed the warmth on her shoulders.

  “Good morning, Cheri,” Penelope said as she walked through the door.

  Cheri was behind the counter in her usual spot, leafing through another magazine.

  “Penelope,” Cheri said, nodding. “Nice to see you again.”

  “I have something to show you,” Penelope said, reaching into her sweater pocket. She opened the photo app and enlarged the face of the man with the stained lip. “You said you saw him before, right?”

  “Yeah,” Cheri said, nodding. “First Tuesday of last month.”

  “How do you know it was that exact day?” Penelope asked.

  “That’s when THEM magazine comes out. I always read the new copies when they come in, keep up with the news.”

  Penelope closed her eyes for a second, then opened them and said. “You saw him in a magazine? I thought you meant you saw him here.”

  “I never said that,” Cheri said defensively.

  “Okay,” Penelope said. “My mistake.” She sighed. “You wouldn’t still have a copy of that one, would you?”

  Cheri smiled, which looked unusual on her normally flat, expressionless face. “I do.”

  Cheri crouched down and opened a sliding door beneath the counter. After rifling through a stack, she stood up, a dog-eared magazine in her hand. “Page 29.”

  “You remember the page?” Penelope asked incredulously.

  Cheri shrugged. “I remember stuff like that.”

  Penelope turned to the page she indicated, halfway thinking she would be wrong, and found herself staring at a photo of the man with the stained lip. Donald Matthews.

  “Oh my…” Penelope said. “…God,” she finished as she read the article.

  “You think he’s up here? In Micklesburg?” Cheri said, craning her neck to see the article.

  “I know he is. I’m afraid I know why, too,” Penelope said. “Some kind of obsession with my friend, or he blames her for what happened to his daughter.”

  “What happened to his daughter?” Cheri asked.

  “She died.”

  Cheri looked at her placidly although Penelope saw a touch of sadness in her eyes. “Is Nate here?”

  “In the office,” Cheri said.

  Nate opened the door after Penelope knocked twice. He looked at her sheepishly, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “I’m sorry about the other morning,” Nate said. “I’m embarrassed you saw me acting that way.”

  “Nate, I get it,” Penelope said. “No need to apologize. I have something to tell you. It’s important. But first, can I borrow your phone?”

  Chapter 48

  Penelope sped down the two-lane road towards the medical center at the edge of Micklesburg. The trees blotted out the sun in spots as she passed in and out of shadow, and Penelope thought about the picture she’d seen. Finally, she had a name to put to the face. The face she’d been seeing over and over again. Donald Matthews.

  Penelope pulled into the medical center and walked to the front desk. A tired-looking woman in nurse scrubs buzzed her through the door and into the back, where a nurse’s desk anchored the back wall, and three rooms lined the walls on either side.

  Nadia dozed in a hospital bed, her head and one eye covered in bandages. Her arm was in a cast and was suspended slightly above her chest. Penelope approached her quietly, studying the face of the girl she’d known so long ago. The one who had become famous, the fierce competitor.

  Nadia stirred when she got to the edge of he
r bed.

  “Penelope,” Nadia whispered. Her voice was thick and slow.

  “How are you?” Penelope asked. It seemed a silly question at the moment, but she didn’t know how else to ask.

  “Awful,” Nadia said, closing her eye.

  “They’re moving you soon,” Penelope said. “Donald won’t be able to hurt you again. I’ve called the police. They know to keep you safe.”

  “Donald?” Nadia croaked, then shook her head once. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms. “Why?”

  “What were you doing in New Hampshire the other day?” Penelope asked gently. “You told us you were going to Burlington, but I checked your phone after they took you away. You searched an address in New Hampshire, in the other direction.”

  Nadia closed her eye and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I offered them money. Heather’s family blames me for what happened, for everything.”

  “They blame you for their daughter’s death?” Penelope asked.

  Nadia nodded slowly, pain causing her to grimace.

  “Heather Matthews overdosed,” Penelope said. “Why do her parents think it’s your fault?”

  Nadia fell silent for a moment, and Penelope thought she’d fallen asleep. She sat down in the chair next to the bed and waited.

  “I was the senior player on the women’s tennis team,” Nadia said groggily. “We competed separately, but we trained together, traveled as a unit. Lived together. I introduced Heather to my personal trainer.”

  “Then what happened?” Penelope asked.

  “Heather was falling behind,” Nadia said, opening her eyes and looking at Penelope again. “She thought drugs were the answer. My trainer always said they were herbal, that they wouldn’t show up on any tests. I know how to trick the tests. I told Heather how to also, but she didn’t listen.”

  “The article I read said she was ejected from the team,” Penelope said. “And later overdosed on prescription drugs. Why do you have to beat the drug tests? Are you taking something you shouldn’t?”

  Nadia’s voice hardened. “You don’t know what it’s like in my world. Being an athlete, competing for a living. How would you feel if your job, your livelihood, was on the line every day? You have a bad day, a bad match and your career is over. You...you cook a bad meal and you still have a job the next day.”

  “Not quite the same,” Penelope hedged.

  “You don’t have to strain yourself physically day in and day out,” Nadia continued.

  Penelope let her talk, unconvinced cheating was the only path to success for athletes. But who was she to judge someone else? She glanced at Nadia’s broken arm and felt she’d been judged enough lately.

  “I saw Heather’s father at the tennis courts,” Nadia said. “He’s been furious with me, has left me threatening messages, even driven by my house.”

  “He followed you all the way to Vermont,” Penelope said.

  Nadia winced and closed her eye again. This time she did fall asleep, her breaths falling into a regular rhythm.

  Penelope left the room quietly and stepped into the hallway. Three nurses sat at the main desk in blue scrubs, two of them staring at monitors and one talking quietly on the phone. She took a few steps away from Nadia’s room and pulled out her phone.

  “No cell phones in here,” one of the nurses called quietly to her.

  Penelope nodded and pushed the door into the lobby. A doctor passed her on the way, wearing the same powder blue scrubs as the others and a white jacket. He brushed Penelope’s shoulder as she scrolled through the messages on her phone, and she looked over her shoulder at him as he hurried past. He ducked his head as he studied a chart in his hand, his sooty black hair dampening his collar.

  Penelope put her phone to her ear and called Joey. As she listened to the rings, she looked back through the double windows on the doors and saw the man pause at the nurses’ desk, then proceed to Nadia’s room. Penelope went to the parking lot after glancing at the waiting-room attendant.

  “There she is,” Joey said.

  “A lot has happened since we spoke,” Penelope said. “We had an incident on the set and...”

  “Penelope?” Joey asked after her pause went on a bit long.

  At the edge of the parking area, Penelope spotted a familiar pickup truck. The mud was gone, but she remembered the license plate numbers. And the big words that read “Live Free or Die.”

  “I have to call you back,” Penelope said. She walked toward the truck and looked in the window. The floor was littered with paper, a map book of Vermont, and fast-food wrappers. On the floor of the passenger seat was a crumpled hair dye box with a man staring up at her with dark black hair.

  Penelope remembered the sooty tint of the doctor’s hair and her legs went numb. She turned and bolted back inside the medical center.

  “Call the police,” Penelope shouted at the waiting room attendant. Her eyes widened, and she stared uncomprehending. “Now!” The woman picked up her phone with shaking hands and dialed.

  Penelope pushed back to the nurses’ area and through Nadia’s door. The nurses stared after her unmoving, then one of them sprang into action, coming out from behind the large desk.

  “She’s in with the doctor,” the nurse called.

  “I don’t think so,” Penelope said over her shoulder.

  When she entered the room, she saw a sleeping Nadia and the “doctor” sitting in the chair next to the bed, staring at her.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Matthews?” Penelope asked. Her heart was pounding, but she kept her voice level.

  He looked up at her, blonde roots under his shiny black hair. The wine stain quivered on his lower lip. Nadia woke at the sound of her voice and looked startled as the man dressed as a doctor stood up and hovered over her.

  “She had everything going for her,” he said in an oddly calm voice. “We sacrificed everything we had. Lessons, pro consults, up before dawn, driving to practices and matches for years. Then you come along, and now...”

  He reached over Nadia and gently put his hands around her neck.

  “Stand back,” Penelope said.

  The nurse came in the room and stood behind Penelope. “Oh!” she yelled.

  Mr. Matthews panicked at that and began to squeeze. Nadia choked out, “Help.”

  Penelope closed the space between them and threw her arm around the man’s neck, pulling as hard as she could in a head lock. Donald released Nadia’s neck and whipped around, trying to throw Penelope off his back.

  “Stay out of this,” he sputtered. “It wasn’t your little girl.”

  Penelope pressed harder as Donald backed her into the wall next to the bathroom. The back of Penelope’s head hit the wall, and her grip around his neck loosened. She dropped to the floor, and began grabbing at his coat as she got to her knees. Penelope grabbed hold of his legs and held tight. Donald tried to pull away but stumbled. When Penelope couldn’t hold on any longer, he turned and kicked her in the chest.

  She couldn’t breathe. He’d knocked the wind out of her with one kick, and she staggered on her hands and knees. The edges of her vision went gray and started to fuzz over like they had at Nate’s store and again at the tennis courts.

  Penelope gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. A small breath pushed through into her lungs and she welcomed it, then focused on pulling in even more the next time.

  A weak cry from Nadia caused her to open her eyes again. She pulled herself up to her knees and pulled in as much air as she could. She looked around the room, not seeing anything she could use as a weapon. Her eyes fell on the IV stand, hooked up to Nadia’s arm.

  Standing up, Penelope made her way to the bed. His hands were at Nadia’s throat again and he squeezed slowly, like he was enjoying watching her terror.

  “This is over,” Penelope said. She picked up the IV pole behind him and swung, c
rashing Donald on the side of the head.

  He let go and fell to the floor. Penelope stood over him with the pole, ready to swing again if he got to his feet. A clear plastic tube had been pulled from Nadia’s arm and saline solution dripped onto the floor.

  “He’s there,” the nurse shouted from the doorway. Two officers rushed past her into the room.

  “Put it down, ma’am,” the nearest one said. He motioned with his hand for her to lower the IV pole.

  Penelope kept her eyes on Donald, who lay with his hands over his head, sobbing on the floor.

  Chapter 49

  A week later, Penelope wiped the edges of two matching plates. She’d grilled two T-bone steaks to perfection with wood chips behind the lake house and made a roasted potato medley with fresh rosemary. A large wooden bowl of salad sat in the center of the kitchen table, the lettuce picked fresh that day from the Truegoods’ vegetable garden.

  “Penelope,” Nate said from the back door of the kitchen.

  “Come in,” Penelope smiled, greeting him at the door. He clutched a bottle of wine in his hand and entered nervously.

  “Smells great in here,” Nate said, placing the bottle on the counter.

  Penelope opened the oven and pulled out a loaf of homemade bread to cool on the countertop. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m glad you could make it for dinner.”

  “I’d never pass up a dinner with you,” Nate said. “Although I was picturing somewhere other than here.” He looked uneasily around the old kitchen.

  Penelope blushed and smiled. She opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses, urging Nate to take a seat at the table. He hesitated, standing behind one of them.

  “Nathaniel,” Jeremiah said from the dining room doorway.

  Nate’s smile faded and was a replaced by a look of resignation. “Hi, Jerry.”

  Jeremiah smiled. “That’s when I know I’m home. When someone calls me Jerry.”

  “You two have a seat,” Penelope said, pulling out one of the chairs and motioning to Nate.