“True,” Penelope relented. “Look, I’m supposed to be getting things together for dinner. Will you be around later? Maybe I can call you before bed.”
“Sure. But text before you call. I’m heading out now with friends. Don’t want to have to yell at you over a crowded bar.”
A wave of disappointment washed over her. “Okay, have fun. I wish I was going with you.”
Joey’s voice turned serious. “Penny, I know it’s hard when we don’t know why things happen, like what you’re all going through out there now.” He fell silent as a bus rolled by on the other end of the line. “But everything will be okay. I promise. Just be careful.”
“I will. And I hope so,” Penelope said. “I really do.”
“Look, I just got to the restaurant. I should let you go,” Joey said. “You still up for a visit?”
“Joey, I’m dying to see you. Six weeks is a long time to be apart.”
“Okay, done. Are you still going to throw a birthday party for Arlena?”
Penelope’s stomach dropped. “I’d like to, but now with everything going on, we may have to scale it back.” She shook her head. “It’s kind of depressing now. I’m not sure a big birthday bash would be appropriate. Maybe in a few days things will feel different. I’ll have to play it by ear.” Penelope sat down heavily in the rolling chair behind the desk and shook the mouse, bringing the screen to life on the desktop monitor. The phone next to it began to ring, and Penelope glanced at it, unsure whether to answer.
“You know best. If you think it’s bad timing, I’m sure Arlena would understand,” Joey said.
“It’s a surprise. She’s not expecting a party. At least I don’t think she’s guessed. Sam’s flying in from where he’s filming in Oregon, said they rescheduled his shoot so he could get a few days off to visit Arlena for her birthday. What a mess,” Penelope said, deflating. The phone on the desk stopped ringing abruptly and immediately started ringing again, the sound cutting like a knife through the still office air. “Obviously a lot is happening now,” she said, gazing at the phone.
“You have to get that?” Joey asked.
Penelope bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to, but I probably should.” Penelope put off telling Joey about helping at Festa, knowing he’d be concerned she was overdoing it. For the first time since Ava and Megan had asked, she regretted agreeing to it.
“Go ahead and get it,” Joey said, his tone lightening. “I can’t wait to see you, Penny Blue.”
Penelope’s chest warmed and tears pricked her eyes again. She squeezed them closed and willed her voice to remain clear. “Can’t wait.”
Penelope ended the call and put the desk phone to her ear, hearing the dull metallic thrum of a dial tone. She set the receiver down. The message light blinked red on the handset. Not knowing how to retrieve messages, and figuring they were probably for Ava anyway, she turned her attention to the computer. She typed in the password Ava had given her. FAILED LOGIN blinked back at her from the screen. Her head was swimming and she was overwhelmed, but she was almost certain she’d typed it correctly.
She tried again, and even though she was convinced she typed the same exact password, the screen went black for a moment and then came to life, three silhouetted avatars staring back at her in the same spots as always, one with her name, one with Jordan’s, and one with Ava’s. She hovered the arrow over hers, then slid it over and clicked on Jordan’s. A screen opened up with various folders labeled Recipes, Menus, Wine lists, and Guests. The last one was designated as Personal and Penelope hesitated, then double clicked it.
A list of documents filled the screen, some appearing to be letters to or from customers, a couple of news articles, and other correspondence. Penelope clicked the menu to arrange them in time sequence, with the latest document appearing first on the list.
“Last night,” Penelope murmured as she opened the file. “‘Dear Jacob,’” she whispered as she read, “‘as previously stated, I intend to take legal action against you if you continue to slander my business and my good name, and damage my reputation with your putrid lies. Your jealousy is clear, but you can’t continue to misuse your position to malign my character or skill any longer.’” The letter ended and Penelope sat back in the chair, crossing her arms at her chest. “Jacob.” She tried to remember where she’d seen the name. When it came to her she sat up straight and searched for the review she’d read, pulling it up on the screen. “Jacob Pears,” Penelope said in a clear voice to the empty room. “He was the important guest last night.”
The desk phone began to ring again and Penelope snatched it up. “Festa, can I help you?” She spoke in a sharper tone than usual. Her iPhone vibrated on the desk, Ava’s name appearing on the screen.
Someone started pounding on the back door of the kitchen. Penelope stood up from her chair, causing it to roll away from her and bump into the office wall. She craned her neck to peer out, but couldn’t see the back door from where she stood.
“Who am I speaking to?” An abrupt male voice urged from the other end of the line.
“Penelope Sutherland. Who is this?” Penelope asked, distracted by more pounding from the kitchen. Her phone vibrated again, Ava’s name flashing insistently.
“This is Sheriff Bryson. Open the kitchen door, please,” he said sharply before hanging up on her. Penelope logged off on the computer and snatched up her iPhone. “Ava?”
“I’m on my way back,” Ava shouted. “Can you go across and let the police into Festa? They’ll be there soon.”
“Yeah, I’m already here, was going to put a new order in for tomorrow,” Penelope said, her heartbeat skipping as she walked toward the door.
“Okay, they’re going to...” Ava’s voice crackled and the connection went dead just as Penelope slid the deadbolt aside and swung open the door. Two police officers dressed in brown uniforms stood behind Sheriff Bryson, their wide-brimmed hats casting shadows over their faces. A young woman in a baseball cap stood off to the right, a leather bag slung over her shoulder.
“Miss Sutherland,” Sheriff Bryson said. He stepped into the kitchen, his team right behind him. The cold followed them in, clinging to their leather bomber jackets.
“Ava said you were on the way. How can I help, Sheriff?” Penelope asked as she closed the door. Sheriff Bryson pointed out different areas of the kitchen to his officers and they dispersed.
“I’m going to have to ask you to step outside,” Sheriff Bryson said.
Chapter 10
Penelope rocked her boots on the pavement of the loading area behind the kitchen, taking regular glances at the door, hoping someone would come out and tell her what was happening. Ava’s SUV bounced up the hill toward the restaurant, her headlights flickering as she sped over the cobblestones. The sky was darkening, a sheet of slate gray clouds further dimming the fading light. Ava’s SUV jerked to a stop and she hopped out, hurrying over to Penelope.
“What are they doing in there?” Ava said breathlessly.
Penelope’s teeth chattered from the cold as she shrugged. “They just came in, asked me to wait outside. I guess they’re looking for evidence.”
Ava’s eyes flashed and grew wide. “Evidence of what? He wouldn’t tell me anything on the phone. This can’t be happening. They’ve made a mistake.”
Penelope’s mind skipped back to finding Jordan’s body. She tried to see the scene in a different light, grasp onto something out of the ordinary. Something nipped at the edge of her mind, but she couldn’t focus in on it.
“I wonder what they’re trying to find.” Ava said, hugging herself.
Penelope shook her head. “I’m freezing. I’m going to head back to the inn—”
The door swung open and a deputy waved them over.
“Sheriff, what is happening?” Ava asked after they’d stepped inside the warm kitchen.
Sherriff Bryson handed her an envelope with several sheets of paper inside. “We’re getting our ducks in a row, making sure we have all the necessary information to create a full picture of what happened to Jordan.”
“Well, I can help with whatever you need, of course,” Ava said, glancing at the paperwork.
“Do you have a security system on the property?” the sheriff asked.
“Sorry, we don’t,” Ava said. “I thought about putting one in, but Jordan always said his town was safe.”
Sheriff Bryson grimaced. “Normally, that’s true. Look, we don’t think Jordan died alone. It’s looking more and more like it wasn’t a suicide, I hate to say. Jordan had bruises, several of them, that maybe someone gave him, helping his death along.”
“Bruises?” Penelope asked. “Where?”
Sheriff Bryson’s face flushed and he kept silent.
“Where was he bruised?” Penelope persisted.
The sheriff considered another minute then said, “Bruises inconsistent with self-inflicted hanging. That’s all I can really say.”
“Sheriff, what you’re saying...look, everyone loved Jordan,” Ava said. “He didn’t have enemies.”
“Everyone has enemies,” the sheriff said.
Ava stared at him, looking like she was trying to work out a complicated math problem in her head.
“Jordan was active,” Penelope offered. “He ran the forest trails, he hunted, dressed deer out in the woods.” She pulled up the sleeve of her sweater, revealing a bruise on her forearm. “I got this from dropping a pan on myself the other day.”
“Not the same kind of bruising. Look, we know what we’re doing. I know the fact that someone might have had a problem with Chef Jordan is shocking, but that might just be the case.”
Penelope watched the woman in the baseball hat behind the desk, staring at the computer monitor. Her stomach dropped when she remembered the note she’d found. Maybe Jordan did have enemies after all.
“The lab is going to gather your fingerprints, everyone who works here, members of the film crew,” Sheriff Bryson announced.
“You’re talking about a lot of people,” Ava said. “We have delivery drivers in and out of both places, not to mention sales reps, farmers, customers, friends. You might as well fingerprint everyone in Forestville.”
Sheriff Bryson nodded. “If that’s what it takes to solve a homicide, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Homicide?” Ava echoed hoarsely. She put a hand on her forehead and turned away from the sheriff.
“I’ll make a list of the crew,” Penelope said quietly. “And help with the one for the inn and Festa. Whatever we can do to help.”
“That’s a start. And we’ll need a formal statement from both of you too. I need official details about what you saw this morning, things of that nature.” He squinted up at the halogen lights, thinking.
“That’s going to take forever,” Ava said weakly.
“We’ll move as quickly as we can. No one wants this to be resolved more than I do,” Sheriff Bryson said.
“I know. I’m only thinking of all the arrangements that have to be made here—the staff, and Jordan’s funeral.”
“I’m not saying it will be easy, but we can’t let a killer walk free.”
Chapter 11
Penelope made her way back over to the inn while Ava stayed behind to give a statement to Sheriff Bryson. Penelope agreed to gather her staff and meet him a half hour later downstairs in the great room. Fighting the instinct to rush across the courtyard, she breathed in the cold air and slowed her pace to clear her head. She felt numb, her legs rubbery as she thought about what the sheriff had said about bruises on Jordan’s body. Penelope had picked up her fair share of bruises working over the years, and sometimes she couldn’t figure out how they ended up where they did. She hoped the sheriff was being overly cautious and they would turn out to be incidental.
Penelope paused as she reached for the handle on the heavy wooden door, the fleeting thought about that morning when she’d found Jordan landing with a thud in her mind.
“Why did he take off his boots?” Penelope whispered to herself. Her mind skittered back to the scene, Jordan’s blue toes twisting just above the metal floor of the refrigerator. She hadn’t noticed his boots in the kitchen. Even though the inn had been remodeled, the floors in winter were still cold. Why would he be barefoot? She made a note to check the office at the inn. Maybe he’d slipped his boots off in there before heading into the kitchen. But still, a commercial kitchen floor, even a clean one like the one at the inn, wouldn’t be a place any trained chef would walk around barefoot.
The dry heat from the fireplace warmed Penelope instantly. A few members of the crew were filling crystal tumblers from a bottle of scotch on the bar and speaking in low voices. The windows on either side of the bar were edged in frost, the sky almost completely dark behind them. Penelope slipped past unnoticed and headed upstairs.
Penelope rapped her knuckles on the door to Jennifer’s suite. Normally it was open, but now it was locked, and there was no answer. Penelope turned and went to the opposite end of the hall to Arlena’s suite, knocking once and entering when she heard Arlena call “come in” softly.
“There you are,” Arlena said when she saw Penelope. She stood on a raised platform in front of a tri-fold set of full-length mirrors. She had on her primary costume, the one she wore in most of her scenes: a long black dress with a squared collar. She looked every inch the unreliable frail governess from the story, at least what Penelope remembered from when she read The Turn of the Screw back in school. Skylar was perched on a low stool in front of Arlena, holding a section of the skirt in her hand. She glanced over her shoulder at Penelope, brightly colored pins pinched between her lips, before sticking one in the hem of the dress.
“Is this a bad time?” Penelope asked.
Arlena shook her head and waved Penelope over. “It’s never a bad time to see you. I’ve lost some weight since we’ve been here. They need to bring in the dress again.” Arlena had gained fifteen pounds a few months earlier as part of a push to land a role in a movie. She didn’t get the part, and had been losing the extra weight ever since. “Jennifer is going to flip out if I have a ten-pound weight variance during filming. It will be too obvious, I think.”
“Keep coming to dinner. I can make you some extra shakes too,” Penelope said. She suddenly felt exhausted and looked for a place to sit down.
Arlena’s assistant, Sarah, emerged from the adjoining bedroom and shuffled through a few script pages. Her thick slouchy sweater pulled down her narrow shoulders and left bright pink balls of fuzz on her leggings. “I’ve marked all of tomorrow’s dialogue changes,” the young girl said, tucking a red pen behind her ear. Her black hair was styled in a pixie cut and dyed purple at the fringes, the same color as the frames of her glasses.
“What’s wrong?” Arlena asked, her expression becoming concerned as she looked closer at Penelope. Skylar and Sarah stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to her also.
“The police are at the restaurant,” Penelope began.
“Who, the sheriff again?” Arlena asked. Skylar pulled the pins from her lips and stood up from her stool. The three of them waited silently for Penelope to continue.
“They’re saying Jordan’s death might not have been a suicide. That maybe he was murdered.” Penelope plopped onto the nearest chair.
Arlena stepped down from the platform and went to Penelope, draping an arm over her shoulders. “So there’s a maniac on the loose in this little farm town?” Arlena asked with disbelief. “Who killed Jordan?”
Penelope shrugged. “They don’t know. It’s an open investigation now.”
“He was killed here?” Sarah asked in disbelief. She put her hand over her mouth immediately afterwards and mumbled “Sorry” through her fingers.
“It’s not safe,” Skylar said, sounding more excited than scared. “They’re definitely going to shut the movie down now.”
Arlena looked at them and said, “Would you two stop? Go on, give us a minute.”
Skylar and Sarah got up and went into the adjoining bedroom reluctantly, appearing anxious to hear what was happening. They left the door partially open and began a hushed conversation.
Arlena hugged Penelope closer to her side on the settee. “They’re right, you know. I love Jennifer, but I’ve never worked with a director who had so many day-to-day changes. Scenes, dialogue, schedule changes…she’s rewriting every day. Some of the crew members are disgruntled—the accommodations here aren’t working for everyone. Now a murder?”
“I know. I’ve heard grumblings around the set too. I’ve never been on a project that felt so…depressed.”
Someone knocked on the door, a persistent series of raps. “Who is it?” Arlena asked, sighing.
Whoever it was knocked again, a playful series of beats that reminded Penelope of a childhood rhyme.
“Who’s there?” Arlena asked again, becoming impatient with the unannounced visitor.
There was no response, just the continued rhythm on the door. Arlena pushed herself up from the settee and took a few long strides, then yanked it open. She looked like she was about to give the person on the other side a strong opinion about their interruption, but then Penelope saw Arlena’s face move from irritation to delight in a matter of seconds.
“Daddy!” Arlena cried, reaching up to throw her arms around Randall Madison’s neck.
Chapter 12
Randall Madison always liked to make an entrance. This wasn’t the first time Arlena’s father had shown up on her doorstep unannounced, much to Arlena’s delight. Randall lived his life on the road, never staying in one place too long, moving from one movie set to another. He’d been doing it his entire career, for over forty years. Arlena was one of Randall’s many children—Penelope was never quite sure of the exact number—who had resulted from various relationships and marriages during that career. But even though Randall had a lot of kids, and he said they were all unique in their own way, Penelope knew he had a special place in his heart for Arlena.
Murder Is the Main Course Page 7
