Murder Is the Main Course

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  Penelope bent down to pick up the plastic cups, tossing them into the trash can near her truck. “They’re the real thing, all right.”

  “Isn’t that nice,” Sybil said with a sly grin, openly eyeing the couple who were now hungrily kissing each other in the middle of the courtyard. “Whenever you have those drinks ready will be great. Sorry if I was a little rough on you back there. It’s already been a stressful day.” She turned on her high heels and headed back to the set, not waiting to see if her apology was accepted.

  Arlena skipped lunch with the crew, her first time since she’d been on this set, preferring to spend her break with Sam in the suite. Penelope sent up a tray for them with two lunches, and a note to call down if she and Sam needed anything else. Penelope smiled as she arranged the platter, thinking how happy Arlena had been when she saw Sam after almost six weeks of being apart. Working on location could be fun—it was always an adventure and an interesting way to see different parts of the world. But it did take you away from your loved ones for long stretches of time, months at least, sometimes close to a year, depending on the movie.

  Penelope’s thoughts moved to Joey. Would their relationship be strong enough to endure her career if she had to be away for months at a time? Maybe she would have to limit herself to taking local jobs, things that kept her close to home. New York was a major filming area, so she thought she could probably work it out if it came to that. Penelope didn’t know many married couples who kept the hours she did, and she definitely didn’t know of anyone with small children who did on-set catering. She was sure there were a few, somewhere, but imagined it would be hard to balance a personal life and children with the demands of a film schedule. She sucked in a breath and put her hand on her lower stomach.

  Her phone buzzed and she felt a twinge of dread when she saw the name. “Hi, Ava.”

  “Penelope, hi. Just wondering if you’ve heard from your school about potential replacement chefs?”

  “Yes,” Penelope said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I got an email this morning listing a couple of potential candidates.”

  “Great,” Ava said. “And will you have time later to come and learn Festa’s menu?”

  Penelope put her hand to her forehead. “Is it okay with the sheriff? I thought the kitchen would still be closed.”

  “No, he released it an hour ago. They came through and dusted for fingerprints, did whatever they were doing, poked around. We’re not going to open back up to customers right away, but I’m hoping we will in a few days.”

  Penelope sighed. “Um, sure.” She thought about what her evening might bring. Hanging out with Ava for a couple of hours wouldn’t be the worst option, especially since Arlena would likely be busy with Sam. “We’re supposed to wrap at four. I can come over afterwards.”

  “Perfect. See you then,” Ava said.

  Chapter 18

  Up in her room after Jennifer called a wrap on the day, Penelope slipped out of her Red Carpet Catering sweatshirt and soiled chef pants, dropping them in the hamper outside the bathroom door. Pulling on a clean pair of pants and undershirt from the bureau, she went to the closet and sorted through her chef jackets, choosing her short-sleeved red one. When she put it on, she felt something in the interior pocket.

  “Crap,” Penelope said, remembering she’d stuck the check she’d found in there and then forgotten about it. She made a mental note to call Denis when she got to the restaurant.

  Penelope placed the well-seasoned filet mignons into the smoking hot cast-iron pan. The steaks would only need two minutes on each side and then another three minutes in the oven to reach the perfect temperature. She wrapped a white kitchen towel around the handle of the sauté pan on the next burner and picked it up, flicking her wrist and causing a wave of mushrooms to somersault in the air and land back in the pan. She rolled them around a few more times and threw in a sprig of thyme and a dash of sea salt. Eyeing the menu she had taped beside the service window, she mentally ticked off the items she’d practiced cooking that evening. She felt confident that, with the support of Jordan’s kitchen crew, running a service at Festa wouldn’t be terribly difficult. If she could stay awake through it.

  “Order up,” Penelope mumbled to the invisible wait staff on the other side. “Ava, dinner is served at the bar,” she called toward the closed office door behind her, nodding when she heard Ava’s faint response. The kitchen floor had been cleaned, but Penelope could still make out the vile scratches on the walk-in door. She hoped Ava was in there looking up how to buff them from the metal. Penelope slid the warm plates through after placing the steaks and mushrooms on top of a smear of golden parsnip puree. She used a towel to wipe the rims, eyeing her work carefully to make sure everything was perfect.

  Penelope walked the plates through the empty dining room and sat them on the bar, which had also been cleaned since the break-in. Ava had lost some of her anxiousness after watching Penelope whip through the specials menu, calling on her restaurant line-cooking skills she hadn’t used since working in a small restaurant back home during high school. Ava had left it up to Penelope to sort through the refrigerator and pantry to see what they’d need to order for their eventual reopening, tucking herself into the office to work on reports and payroll.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Penelope said again, poking her head into the office when Ava didn’t appear at the bar.

  Ava pulled her eyes from the computer, her hand clawed over the mouse on the desk. “Smells great,” she said, clicking a few more times and standing up.

  They sat at the bar and ate, Ava making appreciative sounds as she chewed her steak. The glass shelves along the mirror behind the bar were nearly lined with liquor bottles, the glass reflecting the symmetrical flow of white tablecloths in the dining room. The bottles looked like soldiers awaiting instructions.

  “Have there been any updates from the sheriff?” Penelope asked.

  “About…”

  “The break-in. Does he have any idea who might have done it?”

  Ava shook her head and swallowed a piece of steak. “Kids, that’s what he thinks. Like you said.”

  “That’s so stupid,” Penelope said. “How did they get in?”

  “Apparently, one of them had a key,” Ava said darkly. “Which reminds me.” She pulled a single key from her jeans pocket and slid it across the bar to Penelope. “The front and back are the same now. New locks went on this afternoon.”

  “So the theory is it’s someone who works here?” Penelope asked.

  Ava closed her eyes and sighed. “I hope not. I would hate to think someone we have in our inner circle, our family, would hurt us that way. Even if it was just a prank, it was pretty ugly.”

  “I guess it could be anyone who’s ever worked here, or any family or friends of former employees, if they got hold of a key and made a copy,” Penelope said.

  “I know. The locks hadn’t been changed in years, since we took over, actually,” Ava said.

  Penelope took a bite of parsnip puree and thought about the wait staff. There were four of them, all friendly from what she could tell. They were all in their late teens to early twenties and seemed like a tight group of friends. She’d never noticed anything off about them, but then again, she didn’t know them very well either. She assumed that would change by some degree the following evening.

  “Jordan’s funeral is Monday,” Ava said.

  “I’ll let Jennifer and the crew know. I’m sure some of them would like to go and pay their respects,” Penelope said.

  Ava nodded. “I already told Jennifer. She acted like she wasn’t going to give anyone the time off to go, but I think she thought better of it.”

  Penelope rolled her eyes.

  “She’s been under a lot of pressure. I’m not sure what’s going on with her.”

  “I’ll just stay quiet,” Ava said.

  “I’m
sure you’ve known her much longer than I have,” Penelope said.

  Ava shook her head and ate a forkful of puree. “No, I hardly know her at all. Jennifer, Jordan, and Megan grew up here. I met Jordan in culinary school in San Francisco. I moved here to work with him on the restaurant, and by then Jennifer had moved.”

  “You opened Festa together?” Penelope asked.

  “Yeah. We started with the diner on Main Street, then took over this place.”

  Ava waved around the room with her fork.

  “You don’t cook?” Penelope said, taking another bite of steak.

  “No, I manage the business side. I didn’t go to school for culinary arts. I have a certificate in hospitality management.”

  “Do you miss California?” Penelope asked.

  “Yes,” Ava said without hesitation. “And now with Jordan gone, I feel aimless. He was the reason I came here. Now I don’t know what I’ll do.” She twirled the tines of her fork on her plate.

  “It’s a lot to think about,” Penelope said. “Don’t try to figure everything out at once or make big decisions while you’re upset. The restaurant is doing well, so you still have that.”

  Ava looked down at her plate.

  “Hey,” Penelope said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought all of this up.”

  “I’m okay.” She smiled weakly. “This is a very grand meal, Penelope, but it’s missing something.” Ava slid off her stool and walked behind the bar. She bent down and Penelope heard wine bottles clinking together. “This will make it truly fabulous,” she said, setting an expensive cabernet on the bar. Penelope recognized the label, the swan with its wings in the air forming a circle.

  “That reminds me,” Penelope said, watching Ava open the bottle. “Denis left a case of samples behind. I stored them underneath in the corner.”

  “He’s on vacation this week, somewhere near Chicago. He said he was leaving his work phone behind, destressing at some retreat for sales professionals.” Ava looked down on the floor then back up at Penelope. “You said it’s under here?”

  “Yeah,” Penelope said as Ava filled two large goblets with wine.

  Ava set a glass in front of Penelope and came back around. “There’s no wine down there. Someone must have moved it.”

  “We’re the only ones who have been in here, except the police. Do you think whoever broke in stole the case of wine?”

  “Why would they only take one case of wine?” Ava asked, looking at the rows of liquor bottles on the shelves in front of the mirror, doing a quick inventory.

  “I know, it doesn’t make any sense,” Penelope agreed.

  “Nothing makes any sense right now. Let’s not worry about it. If it was just samples, it wasn’t in the inventory. Hardly a loss.”

  “Still, I’m heading into town tomorrow. I’ll swing by and tell the sheriff so he can add it to his report.”

  “Fine, if you want to,” Ava said. “I don’t want to think about it right now. Let’s talk about something more cheerful. What’s the latest gossip in the world of entertainment?”

  Penelope looked at her incredulously. “You’re asking the wrong person. I barely have time to sleep, much less keep up with that kind of thing.”

  Ava took a sip of wine. “You live with an A-list celebrity actress. I’m sure you hear things.”

  Penelope shook her head. “Nothing lately. Arlena’s not really into gossiping.”

  “Well, how are things going on the set?” Ava asked.

  Penelope groaned. “Ugh, I’d rather talk Hollywood gossip.”

  Ava laughed quietly. “Sorry. Let’s talk about the weather.”

  “No,” Penelope said. “It’s going to snow, I think.”

  “Oh man,” Ava said. “Okay, let’s just drink wine and forget about everything.”

  Penelope nodded. They clinked glasses, but Penelope felt less than cheerful. She tried to put off the feeling of dread in her gut, her mind trying to grasp onto something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “I am going to tell Sheriff Bryson about the missing wine. Maybe it will help.”

  Ava took a healthy sip from her glass. “Sure, sounds good.” She swirled the ruby liquid in her wineglass, not seeming to care one way or the other.

  Chapter 19

  Penelope knew it was going to happen before it did. She thought she might have been the only one who was ready when Jackson Wilde opened his mouth to say his line on the schoolroom set the next morning, then snapped it quickly shut. Penelope saw the boy’s stomach lurch in and out, undulating like a snake under his white button-down shirt and gray flannel pants. His face lost all color and his eyes grew wide right before he opened his mouth and barfed all over Arlena’s skirt.

  “Ah!” Arlena cried, jumping back from Jackson in alarm.

  “Sorry,” the boy said weakly, putting his hands on his knees and retching again.

  A collective groan passed through the crew surrounding the set. Penelope looked away from the pile of vomit at the boy’s feet after her own stomach did a lurch. Dakota screamed, and then she threw up too. Penelope couldn’t tell if it was a reaction from seeing her brother getting sick or if she was also ill. She ran through what the kids had eaten for breakfast, reassuring herself everything they’d been served was fresh and safe.

  “What’s happening?” Jennifer shouted as she stood up.

  “I’m sick,” Jackson whimpered. Sybil rushed to him and hugged him to her side, aiming his face away from her wool slacks as he heaved again.

  “My poor darling,” Sybil cooed, putting a hand to his forehead. “He’s burning up. Call the medic, you idiot,” she said to the assistant director, who clearly wasn’t prepared to be the target of her anger. Stunned, he looked helplessly at Jennifer.

  “Call him. We obviously have a medical emergency,” Jennifer said, defeated.

  Arlena pinched the fabric of her skirt with her fingers, holding her wet dress away from her legs, and looked sadly at her young costars.

  “It must be the flu,” Sybil said, placing a palm on each of their foreheads before crossing her arms in front of herself. “They’ve both got fevers.”

  “Mommy, help,” Dakota said, and began to cry. Sybil wrapped her arms around her children and shuffled them away from the set toward the inn.

  “Perfect,” Jennifer said, throwing her clipboard to the ground. “I suppose Sybil had no idea they were sick before they came down this morning.”

  The assistant director spoke quietly into his phone to the medical team on set and gave Jennifer another helpless glance.

  “I guess that’s a wrap on the day.” Jennifer stalked off, not bothering to pick up her notes.

  The frazzled AD hung up and retrieved her clipboard, then gathered the crew around. “I’m sorry about this, guys,” he said. “Tomorrow will be better.” He apologized in general terms for Jennifer’s reaction to the situation and instructed everyone on how to prepare the set for the next day.

  Skylar hurried to Arlena. Without saying a word, she uncovered the zipper at the back of her dress, pulling it down to her waist and easing the costume from Arlena’s shoulders. Sarah stepped forward and opened a thick bathrobe in front of Arlena, shielding her from the room as she stepped out of her soiled dress. After being freed from her clothes, Arlena cinched the robe tightly at her slender waist.

  “Poor kids,” Arlena said when she caught Penelope’s eye. “Jackson said something about not feeling well at breakfast, but when I asked him if he was okay to do the scene he said absolutely.”

  “It seems like kids get hit with bugs out of nowhere,” Penelope said.

  Arlena felt her own forehead. “I really don’t want to get sick right now.”

  “You do look a little flushed,” Penelope said.

  “I just got barfed on,” Arlena said, sighing. “Not an experience I�
��d recommend. I’m going to get cleaned up and enjoy my free time as much as possible.”

  “You and Sam have fun,” Penelope teased her. “By the way, how are your dad and Max doing out in the woods?”

  Arlena rolled her eyes. “Daddy’s loving it, but Max feels like he’s being punished.”

  “For what?” Penelope asked.

  “Maybe not punished—more like Daddy feels like he didn’t spend enough time with any of us growing up, so he likes to do these immersive activities once in a while. Make up for lost time.”

  “It’s nice he likes doing stuff with you guys,” Penelope said a bit wistfully.

  “Yeah, we’re lucky. Anyway, they’ll be at the inn later. Unless Daddy changes his mind and decides to keep roughing it out there. I’ll call and let you know.”

  Penelope balanced a small tray on one forearm and knocked quietly on the door to the second-floor suite where Sybil was staying with her children. She heard someone padding to the door and stepped back as it opened a few inches, holding the tray in both hands. Sybil leaned out of the door, a look of concern on her face.

  “Penelope,” Sybil said, glancing back over her shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing,” Penelope said. “I brought some chicken broth. Organic,” she added hastily as Sybil eyed the cloches on her tray. “And some saltines and ginger ale for Jackson and Dakota.”

  Sybil’s expression softened and she opened the door all the way, waving Penelope inside. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Of course,” Penelope said, pushing aside some papers on the desk in the main room and setting the tray down. “How are they?”

  Dakota called for her mother from the bedroom. “Excuse me a minute,” Sybil said, hurrying to her daughter. Penelope peeked inside when she opened the door and saw the little girl lying in bed, propped up with bright pink pillows and surrounded by stuffed animals. A cold compress lay across her tiny forehead and her cheeks were the same shade of pink as the stuffed unicorn she had tucked under her arm. Sybil closed the door, and Penelope listened to her comfort Dakota with soothing tones. Penelope revised her opinion of Sybil in that moment. Seeing her caring for her children convinced her that she did have a heart.