Murder Is the Main Course

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  Sheriff Bryson’s jaw tightened. “It would be quite a coincidence if the two incidents aren’t related.”

  “Maybe it was just kids, someone who knew the restaurant was closed,” Penelope said.

  “Could be,” Sheriff Bryson said. “Except that candle business on the bar looks like attempted arson to me. It’s my guess they were hoping that liquor would catch on fire when the candles burned down.”

  “But why not just start a fire? Turn on the gas stove and set some paper towels on top? That’s all it would take.”

  “That’s pretty dangerous. Maybe they were afraid of blowing themselves up. A slow burn like the one out there would do the job and they’d already be gone,” Sheriff Bryson said.

  Penelope folded her arms. “True. If it was a prank, it was a dangerous one. Have you seen anything like this before?”

  The sheriff shook his head and went back to studying the pile of meat on the floor. “You say you locked up last night, right?”

  “Yes, after you finished questioning the staff. I remember locking the doors,” Ava said.

  “And who else has keys?” Sheriff Bryson asked.

  “The two managers, night and day shifts,” Ava said. “I think that’s it. Oh, and Jordan had a set, of course.”

  “Does Megan have spare keys at the house?” Penelope asked.

  Ava’s eyes widened. “Yes, I think Jordan did keep an emergency set there too.”

  “Lots of keys, lots of opportunities for people to get hold of them,” Sheriff Bryson said, putting his hands on his belt. “I imagine it wouldn’t be hard to slip away, get a copy made from any one of those sets if someone had a mind to.”

  “I should change the locks, right?” Ava asked.

  “I would if I were you,” Sheriff Bryson said. “My crime-scene tech is on the way. She’ll dust for prints, take a look around outside. I’ll keep you in the loop, let you know what we find out. It goes without saying, but the kitchen will be closed until we release the scene.”

  Ava’s face fell and she looked even more exhausted.

  “Ms. Sutherland,” the sheriff said, pulling her aside. “We were able to independently verify Mr. Moretti’s alibi. His bunkmates at the inn all confirmed separately that he never left the room last night. Still doesn’t explain his fingerprints on the necklace.”

  “Actually, he did touch the necklace once when it fell on the floor in here,” Penelope said quickly.

  The sheriff nodded tightly. “Okay, no way to prove that. He does have a prior record. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

  “I knew,” Penelope said. “From a long time ago.”

  “Ten years isn’t that long. I am going to ask him about this here,” he said, sweeping his arm at the mess on the floor.

  “There’s no way Francis had anything to do with this,” Penelope said with a sigh.

  The sheriff excused himself and went back through the door as he pulled his phone from his pocket, a puff of frigid air pushing past him.

  Ava cleared her throat and looked at Penelope. “Go back to bed. I’ll stay here with them, then clean up when they’re through.”

  “Are you sure?” Penelope asked, reluctant to leave but grateful at the chance to go back to bed.

  “Yes,” Ava said, waving her off and turning around to look for a broom. “You’ve got a busy day ahead. Morning call, right? Plus you might start receiving inquiries from new chefs.”

  “Yeah, but after all of this…when do you think they’re going to let you reopen the restaurant?”

  “I hope soon,” Ava said. “We’ve lost thousands already. We can’t afford to stay dark much longer.”

  “Now there’re two crime scenes,” Penelope said. Ava’s features pinched together and Penelope regretted reminding her. She wondered how long investigating a crime scene like this took, and reminded herself to ask Joey next time they talked. “Do you think Jordan being murdered is going to keep people away?”

  “It could,” Ava said. “We’ll have to be careful how we handle the news of his death, once we’re allowed to move forward.”

  “Handle?” Penelope asked.

  “You know, we don’t want to appear insensitive, but we need to carry on with the business at the same time.”

  Penelope made sympathetic noises and tried to imagine how customers might feel, staying in an inn where someone had been killed, eating from a menu designed by a murder victim.

  “Festa is a monument to Jordan’s success, a tribute,” Ava said, seeming to read Penelope’s mind. “Who knows, business might increase because of what’s happened. His legend might draw more people in. Like when an artist dies and their paintings triple in value.”

  Penelope nodded uncertainly and gazed at the pentagram on the freezer. She felt cold, even though her pajamas were warm against her skin and she was still wearing her coat. Maybe Ava was right—maybe there would be visits from the macabre. Her tongue tasted bitter in her mouth.

  “See you later,” Ava said as the sheriff walked back through the kitchen door.

  “Yeah, see you,” Penelope said.

  Chapter 16

  A few hours later, Penelope sucked down her third cup of coffee, raising the blue and white Greek-patterned paper cup to her lips with one hand and waving at Francis from behind the kitchen truck with the other. He backed toward her slowly, tapping on the brakes until she made a fist and the truck lurched to a spot next to their matching pantry truck.

  Francis hopped down from the cab and sauntered over. “The broiler is busted, Boss. I tried reattaching it, but the element has burned out.”

  Penelope drained her coffee cup, immediately thinking about refilling it from the urn inside. “I’ll go online in a minute and order a replacement.”

  “We doing our regular breakfast today?”

  “Yeah, but the restaurant kitchen is…it’s not clean. We’ll cook out here today, maybe tomorrow too. Maybe the rest of the shoot.” An image of Joey flashed in her mind and she had the sudden urge to drive to the airport and head home.

  “Sounds good, Boss,” Francis said. “You know me, I was born to cook on the trucks. I’m used to living tight.”

  Penelope punched him lightly on the bicep through his puffy jacket. “Let’s just stay close, do our work, and get out of here. You hear from the police again?”

  “Nope,” Francis said.

  “Good. You still might.” She told him briefly about the incident the night before.

  The rest of her team was huddled nearby, their limbs stiff, hands wrapped around their coffee cups for warmth. “Yo, let’s get set up. Usual breakfast,” Francis called to them.

  They broke into two teams and hustled under the tents and into the truck. The two in the tents were on salads and cold sides. The truck team would cook off a few sheets of bacon in the oven, whip together the egg mixture they’d use for omelets, and shred potatoes for their signature hash browns. Breakfast was the easiest meal of the day since most crews liked the basics, what was essentially diner food. They’d make pancakes and waffles, get the cast and crew fed, and get them to set for their long morning of filming ahead. Penelope pulled a large chalkboard from the storage area beneath the truck and started writing up the morning menu in colorful chalk pens.

  A few minutes later she stepped inside, breathing in the warmth from the grill and ovens and pouring herself another coffee. The radio chirped from her back pocket. “Go for catering.”

  “Penelope, will breakfast be ready in an hour?” Jennifer’s voice crackled.

  “Good morning, Jennifer.” Penelope sighed. “Yes, no delays.”

  “Good. Just a head’s up, not sure what the day will be like, considering the news. We might get some lookie-loos from town.”

  “What news?” Penelope asked.

  “They ran a story about Jordan’s murder in the Indianapolis pa
per. The news has been picked up by the AP too. It’s all over.”

  “Oh no,” Penelope said. Her attempts at putting aside the events of the previous day drifted away.

  “Just be on the lookout for press, anyone unfamiliar wandering around on set. Remind your crew to keep comments and opinions to themselves. If someone from the press does show up, refer them to the media coordinator.”

  “We have stanchions if we need them, right?” Penelope said. “This is the first set I’ve worked on where we haven’t had to keep onlookers behind ropes.”

  “Another reason Forrestville was an appealing location. It’s not so appealing anymore.”

  “Right,” Penelope said.

  “I’ll be down soon,” Jennifer said and signed off.

  Penelope clipped her radio back onto her pocket and climbed into the cab of the truck, which doubled as her mobile office. She swiped her iPad to life and searched for the story.

  Local Celeb Chef Murdered blared the headline. Penelope read the whole article, which told her nothing she didn’t already know. A professional picture of Jordan, his familiar smile in place, accompanied the article. There was no mention of the previous night’s break-in or the vandalism at the restaurant.

  Sighing, she closed the article and ordered the replacement part for her oven, then sent an email to the placement office at her culinary school, briefly describing the head chef position at Festa. Afterwards she rested the iPad on her lap and closed her eyes, resting her head against the seat. She felt like she was suffocating, that control of things was slipping away, and she had to regain her footing, hold tight to her team and loved ones. The feeling of being accused or held responsible in some way for what was happening was constantly nipping at the back of her mind. She opened her eyes and set her jaw, resolving to regain her footing before climbing back down from the cab and getting back to work.

  Chapter 17

  “You think I’m bad. Admit it,” Jackson Wilde said.

  “I don’t think you’re bad. You’re my precious little boy,” Arlena responded, folding her hands together at her waist and pacing the carpet in her long black dress.

  “You don’t think I’m evil, then? Possessed?” Jackson asked in a challenging tone.

  “How does a child speak of such things?” Arlena asked.

  Jackson smiled at her sweetly from the school desk in the corner of the room as Arlena paced, but his smile was tinged with darkness.

  Penelope stood next to the craft-services table, holding a silver tray with two peanut butter banana smoothies. She watched the scene they’d been filming all morning unfold again from just behind the camera line along with a dozen other crew members. The clapboard under the assistant director’s arm said it was the fifteenth take of the day. The crew was filming on the ground floor of the event space adjacent to the inn. They’d cordoned off a corner and the set designers had transformed the space into a vintage playroom, complete with a study area with bookshelves, desks, and a small chalkboard. The frosty light seeped in from two large picture windows, casting Jackson and Arlena in shades of blue. Stage lights lit the corner of the room from the opposite direction, one of the production assistants holding up large round filters in front of them as Arlena and the children moved around the space.

  “Continue your lessons, and don’t speak of evil again,” Arlena scolded the boy.

  Dakota, who had been waiting just outside camera range for her cue, skipped onto the rug and began teasing her brother. “I’ve just had the most lovely walk with Mrs. Grose, and she gave me some sweets. Too bad for you, in here studying like always.”

  Jackson shot his sister an evil look, then his face went slack and he looked back down at his desk.

  “Take your seat, young lady,” Arlena scolded her. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Grose again about playing favorites, and what’s expected of you both during the day.”

  Dakota took her seat and smiled sweetly, her eyes cutting across the room to find the camera.

  “And cut,” Jennifer said quietly from behind the monitor she was staring into. “We’re going to do this one again after lunch. Everybody reset before you break.” She pressed a button below the monitor and marked the sheet she held in her lap with a red pen, jotting a note in the margin of the script.

  The crew members reset the scene, rolling up cables, sliding cameras back to their starting positions, and raising the boom mic in the air.

  Jackson and Dakota hurried to Penelope, eyeing the smoothies.

  “One second,” Sybil said, plucking the straw from one of them and touching the bottom of it to her tongue, shaking her head immediately after tasting it. “This is peanut butter. I specifically asked for almond butter. Peanuts are garbage nuts. Almonds are much more nutritious and better for their skin.” She plopped the straw back through the hole in the lid, the plastic on plastic screeching loudly.

  Penelope’s cheeks burned. “Sorry. Who did you give today’s menu requests to?”

  “I don’t know,” Sybil said, waving her hand in annoyance. “One of your people. A man with black hair in a chef coat that said Red Carpet Catering. You’re supposed to be the best, according to Jennifer.” She smiled sarcastically and sniffed. Penelope was distracted by her perfectly applied makeup and styled hair that cascaded in symmetrical waves over the shoulders of her designer jacket.

  “I’m sorry for the confusion. I’ll have new drinks made right away.”

  Sybil huffed, clearly perturbed. Her green eyes darkened a shade as she took a step toward Penelope. “Jackson and Dakota have been working all morning and have earned their treat. Get it right.” She turned away and gazed at her children, who were still looking longingly at the smoothies.

  “Ms. Wilde,” Penelope said. “Would the kids like some tomato soup and grilled cheese for lunch?”

  Sybil turned back around and smiled, which somehow didn’t feel inviting. “I gave your man a weekly menu for my children. Please don’t deviate from my wishes or I’ll file a complaint with the studio. Jennifer might think you’re the best, but one call from me will get you thrown off this set.”

  Penelope gave her a small smile and nodded pertly. The children stood perfectly still behind their mom, listening to every word she said. “Of course, Ms. Wilde, whatever you say.”

  Sybil knelt down to straighten Dakota’s socks, tugging the lace flat against her ankles above her Mary Janes. Jackson put his hand on his mother’s back and stroked her shoulder. She smiled up at him and he gave her a quick hug. Sybil rubbed her cheek against his and brushed his bangs from his forehead.

  “I’ll be right back with your smoothies,” Penelope said. The children eyed her cautiously, neither of them speaking.

  Arlena caught up with Penelope as she walked outside, heading for the food truck.

  “What’s for lunch?” Arlena asked.

  Penelope sighed. “Roast beef or chicken, mashed potatoes, mushroom and leek risotto, shaved asparagus, our usual salad bar.”

  “Yum,” Arlena said, throwing an arm over Penelope’s shoulder.

  Penelope took comfort from the closeness and let go of the tension from her conversation with Sybil.

  “You were good in that scene with the kids,” Penelope said. “Very natural.”

  “I guess,” Arlena said. “I can never tell if Jennifer is happy with my work. She’s not giving a lot of feedback, and she always seems on edge.”

  “Well, there’s a lot going on, with Jordan and everything,” Penelope said.

  “True,” Arlena agreed. “But she’s been like that since we started. She’s changing the script and dialogue constantly. What I’m reading and saying now, it barely resembles the book anymore. I read the story and the script before I signed on to the movie, and I could follow the thread. Now she’s deviated so much from the original, it’s like I agreed to a different project. Or this one under false pretenses.”


  “Are you unhappy with the way the movie is going?”

  “I mean, I guess it’s okay,” Arlena conceded. “I want to support her, I’m just not sure we’re heading in the right direction. We’re wearing period costumes, but the rewriting of the dialogue sounds modern.”

  “Are you having what they call ‘creative differences’?”

  “Not yet, but…” Arlena tailed off with a nervous laugh. “Hey, have you ever seen those shows about haunted houses…ghosts? They say a place can have bad vibes, that they can radiate from a physical space.”

  “I suppose that’s the definition of a haunted house,” Penelope said. “People have been telling ghost stories for hundreds of years.” Penelope glanced around the courtyard and thought if she removed the food trucks, the electrical fixtures, and the contemporary clothes of the movie crew that were milling around them, she could picture herself in the 1800s. The cobblestones, the old stone buildings, the remoteness of the location, and the sprawling forest right next to them. She shivered. “I have to get new smoothies blended for the kids. Their mom-ager was displeased with our first effort, so I need to redo them on the fly. See you later?”

  Arlena nodded distractedly, lost in thought as she wandered toward the inn. Penelope knew Arlena liked to immerse herself in the roles she played. The fact that she was thinking the inn and surrounding area might be haunted was not surprising.

  Penelope had made it all the way back to the kitchen truck when she heard Arlena scream. Penelope jolted and her arms went rigid, causing her to drop the smoothies on the ground, the lids popping off as they hit the cobblestones. Thickly blended banana and peanut butter oozed at her feet. Looking up from the mess, Penelope saw Arlena being twirled around by her boyfriend, Sam Cavanaugh, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist.

  Sybil sidled up to Penelope and looked at spilled smoothies, then at Arlena and Sam. “So they really are together. Good for her,” she said with interested admiration. “I wasn’t sure if they were for real or just a publicity couple.”