A folder on the desk caught Penelope’s eye and she nudged a piece of paper on top of it over with her index finger. “Herring – Steele” was jotted on the top edge of the folder with a series of numbers underneath ranging from $10,525 down to $5,525. Penelope squinted at the folder, trying to remember where she’d seen the name of the company before. Just as she remembered it was the same name on Denis’s check, the bedroom door opened and Sybil stepped back through, squirting hand sanitizer onto her palm.
“Thanks again for the soup,” she said, picking up a towel from the floor and refolding it a few times as she talked. “Dakota is nodding off now, my poor girl. Jackson fell asleep almost immediately when we got back. The set medic came up right away, diagnosed it as the flu. He’s a kind man, really was concerned for the children.”
“That’s good. I’m sorry they’re so ill,” Penelope said, feeling a sudden urge to wash her hands again. Or just take another shower. “Please let us know what they’d like to eat when they’re ready. Anything at all, we can do it.”
Sybil smiled gratefully, then glanced at the door. “I’m going to lie down myself. You must save your strength when the little ones are sick. It can be very exhausting, especially if they’re up all night.”
“I’m sure,” Penelope said, heading for the door. “I’m heading into town in a little bit. Can I get anything for you or the kids?”
Sybil shook her head and murmured goodbye, closing the door softly behind her. Penelope heard the lock click and stepped quietly back down the hall. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to read a text from Ava, telling her dinner service was on at Festa for that evening. Penelope sighed and continued down the hall.
Chapter 20
Penelope drove her new company truck into town, the Red Carpet Catering logo painted on the side. The large SUV was a recent addition to her fleet of vehicles, and it came at a good time, since they were working in a location with no other way to get around besides driving. The pantry truck was harder to park and burned way more fuel, not practical when she wanted to zip off quickly to run a few errands.
Main Street in Forrestville consisted of five sidewalk-lined blocks, the post office anchoring the east end of town and the police station on the opposite end. In between sat a vintage-looking diner, a hardware store, a beauty parlor, the newspaper’s office, and an old-fashioned general store and produce market that stocked a limited selection of fresh groceries and canned goods. The entire town looked like it had been suspended in time during the 1970s.
Penelope pulled her truck into the space in front of the post office and went inside, the cowbell clanging against the glass door as it drifted closed behind her. No one was behind the desk so Penelope rang the bell, waiting patiently for someone to appear from behind the counter. A corkboard on the wall caught her eye, and Penelope read the various announcements and flyers while she waited. She moved closer when she noticed an array of missing persons posters tacked together at the corners with colorful pushpins. Penelope’s eyes moved over the photos and she read the descriptions under each, moving closer and touching the edge of one as she read. There were five missing teenagers on the wall, all from Forrestville, Indiana. They were all similar in age, three girls and two boys, all gone missing in the last five years.
“Can I help you?” An angular woman with dyed blonde hair and a spray-tanned face stepped out from behind the counter, her eyes following Penelope’s to the posters. “Looking for someone?”
“No,” Penelope said. “I’m picking up an express package, should have arrived this morning.”
When she disappeared behind the counter to retrieve their new oven element, Penelope pulled out her phone and took a picture of the flyers.
“Those are the Forrestville Five. Gone missing, all of them,” the woman said, placing Penelope’s box on the counter and eyeing her phone with a mild look of reproach.
“Who are they?” Penelope asked, tucking the phone back in her pocket.
“Local kids,” the woman said, shaking her head. “One by one they up and disappeared. In the forest, most people think. It’s not safe up there at night. But try telling the kids that. They don’t believe all the scary monster stories our parents used to tell to keep us out of there.” She clucked her tongue.
Penelope glanced at the dates again, noting the oldest one was a girl who would turn twenty-two in a few months. The flyer showed what looked like her school photo. “So they all disappeared over a three-year period?”
“Yep. About six months apart, each time,” the woman said.
“That’s so sad,” Penelope said. “What has the town done to find them? They couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.”
The postal worker shrugged. “We keep an eye out for them, of course. They had search parties up in those woods for weeks right after each disappearance. There are some strange folks who call the woods their home, transients, homeless camps and the like. Then you have the tourists who come through, hikers out for an adventure, hard to track someone like that. Anyone could have snatched them up. And it’s so huge, once you’re lost, it’s hard to get found again.”
“I’ve been running through there on the trails,” Penelope said, suddenly feeling cold. “I’ve never seen anyone suspicious.”
“You go up in there enough times, you’ll come across someone. You best be safe when you’re out there alone,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “You should carry a whistle. If I were you, I’d stick to running through town. Safer.” She eyed Penelope up and down, then gazed at the flyers on the wall. “Someone grabs you up there, you’re just gone.”
Penelope shivered.
“Anything else I can do for you, Ms. Sutherland?”
Penelope took a step back and looked down at the box with her name on it. “No,” she said hastily, backing toward the door.
“Okay, you take care now. And watch yourself out there. Trust me, you should.”
After placing her package on the backseat of her truck, Penelope slid her hands into her jacket pockets and made her way to the police station. She passed by the Forrestville Gazette’s office and peered inside. The lights were off behind the glass window and a tug on the door confirmed they were closed. The latest edition of the paper was in a metal box next to the door and Penelope grabbed one as she walked past, folding the thin tabloid in half and tucking it into her jacket pocket.
Penelope stopped short in front of the hardware store, remembering that they were in need of a new screwdriver for the kitchen truck. She’d watched Francis snap the end off their old one while trying to remove a stubborn screw on a loose sauté-pan handle. She stepped inside and breathed in the scent of sawdust, the wooden floor creaking under her boots. An old man in a plaid flannel jacket and knit hat nodded to her from behind the counter and waved her to the rear aisle when she asked where she could find a set of screwdrivers.
Penelope wandered through the store, glancing at the different shelves, thinking about what else they might need in the kitchen. When she came to the small selection of household items, she grabbed two sheet pans and a set of metal animal-shaped cookie cutters. Baking cookies would be a fun project on the set, maybe something Jackson and Dakota would enjoy.
When she got to the tool section at the rear of the store, she almost stumbled over a man sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a box and tossing different-sized screws into a collection of plastic bins in front of him.
“Sorry,” Penelope murmured as she walked around him.
“No worries,” he said, looking up at her with piercing dark eyes. He tossed another screw from the box. “Help you find something?”
“I’m looking for a screwdriver,” Penelope said, gazing at the tools, the sheet pans tucked under her arm.
“You’re in the right spot,” he said in a relaxed manner. He pushed himself up and stood close to Penelope, pointing out the di
fferent tools. “This is the best set, if you want to know the truth. Pricy but worth it.”
Penelope inched away, putting more space between them, but he immediately moved again, closing the gap she’d created. Penelope picked up the set he suggested. “Thanks, I’ll take them.”
He turned to her and smiled. “I knew you would. You have a good rest of the day, okay?”
Something about him was familiar to Penelope, something she couldn’t quite place. His eyes were so distinctive, she was sure she’d seen him somewhere before. The restaurant, maybe. He began humming a tune and went back to sitting on the floor. Penelope listened as she walked away, the clinking of the screws he tossed providing the beat to the song.
“Ms. Sutherland,” Sheriff Bryson said curtly as he emerged from his office. The police station was narrow, uniform in size with the neighboring buildings on Main Street. There was an unmanned reception desk and a few metal chairs lined up against the glass of the front window. A short hallway led to the sheriff’s office and a few more closed-off rooms.
“Sheriff,” Penelope began, then paused when she saw two young men walk out from the office behind him. Penelope recognized them as one of Festa’s waiters and the bartender. “Hey guys,” Penelope said. They offered mumbled greetings as they passed by on their way out the front door.
Sheriff Bryson put his hands on his belt and looked at her with a questioning glance.
“What were they doing here?” Penelope asked as the front door swished closed.
“Giving statements,” Officer Bryson said. “What are you doing here?”
Penelope shifted the bag from the hardware store into her other hand. “I’m here to report a missing case of wine from Festa. I thought you might need it for your report on the break-in.”
Sheriff Bryson motioned for her to follow him to his office. She took the seat opposite him and placed her bag on the floor as he shuffled through the folders on his desk and pulled out what she assumed was the one about the break-in.
“What was it now? Wine?” He closed his eyes and rubbed the lids roughly.
“Yes, from behind the bar,” Penelope said.
“You sure it wasn’t just misplaced?”
“I don’t think so. I thought you’d want to have the complete report of what was damaged and missing,” Penelope said.
“Yeah, it’s good to have the whole picture,” Sheriff Bryson conceded. “Can you describe the case of wine?”
Penelope bit her bottom lip. “No, I’m not sure what the bottles were specifically.”
Sheriff Bryson dropped his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair, hands tucked behind his head.
“Sorry, I didn’t look at them,” Penelope said. “I can ask Denis, the wine rep, when he gets back to work. Ava told me he’s away the rest of the week.”
“Okay then, that would be helpful.”
“Did you ever ask Denis about the man arguing with Jordan the night he was killed?” Penelope asked.
“We did,” the sheriff said cagily. “He says it wasn’t an argument he saw, just two guys talking about food. Said you must have heard him wrong.”
“What?” Penelope asked. The floor shifted slightly under her feet. “That’s not what he told me.”
“Sometimes people want to have more of connection to a victim, make themselves important, or part of the events. Happens all the time.”
Penelope sat and thought about the conversation with Denis, trying to see where she might have misunderstood him.
“Everything else okay over there? I assume there’ve been no more incidents,” Sheriff Bryson said.
Penelope updated him on the status of the restaurant, Ava’s plans to reopen as soon as she could, and about the kids being sick on the set that morning. “I hope it doesn’t turn into an epidemic, all of us coming down with the flu.”
“Steer clear of them and wash your hands,” he said, glancing at a framed photo of his wife and two young sons on his desk. “And if anything else comes up, just give us a call.” He pulled a card from his desk drawer and handed it to Penelope. “My cell number is on there. We’re a little,” he motioned out the door to the reception area, “understaffed at the moment.”
“Where’s the rest of the team?”
“Edie’s at an appointment with her wedding planner. And the rest of the team isn’t full-time here in Forrestville. They’re a mobile forensic team out of Quincy, a bigger town about forty-five minutes from here. They offer support to the smaller outlying towns.”
Penelope prepared to leave, easing up from her chair until a sudden thought made her sit back down and pull out her phone. “Sheriff, I was just at the post office and saw this.” She showed him the picture of the missing persons flyers. “Look at this one…her name is Kellie Foster.”
The hint of a smile fell from his face. “Terrible thing, all those runaways.”
“Is this girl related to Jordan’s family?”
Sheriff Bryson rubbed his chin and gazed at the phone. “Yes. She’s a cousin, or a niece. Some relation. Not close with the family, from what I remember.”
“Really,” Penelope said, turning the phone to look at the girl’s face. The picture was grainy, and it was hard to make out her features in more than a general way, but she resembled Jordan slightly.
“People run off, troubled young people especially,” Sheriff Bryson said, a touch of sadness in his voice. He glanced again at the photo of his family.
“The lady at the post office made it sound like gangs of homeless people are snatching kids off the forest trails.”
Officer Bryson sniffed a laugh. “Yeah, Patsy. She does like to spin a tale. Likes horror movies too. I would take whatever she says with a generous grain of salt.”
“Have you ever seen anyone suspicious up there? Maybe someone…I don’t know, not mentally stable, fixated on Jordan? You know he ran those trails. Someone like that could have vandalized the restaurant. Maybe even killed him.”
“Sure,” Sheriff Bryson said, nodding. “I guess that’s possible, except I doubt a homeless maniac living in the woods off the grid would be organized enough to kill Jordan, then stage it as a suicide, and leave no clues behind.” He shook his head and leveled his gaze at her. “More likely this was someone with smarts. Organized.”
“If the two crimes are related, the pentagram on the walk-in…doesn’t that seem, I don’t know, like a hate crime, or like someone who might be unstable?”
Sheriff Bryson rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Kids do stupid things, Ms. Sutherland. Let’s not create monsters in our heads when it’s probably a much simpler explanation.”
“I’m not creating anything. I just feel like there is more than one possibility.”
“You know what? I will take what you say under advisement. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.” He flicked his eyes at the door of the office.
Penelope rose from her chair and left, mumbling a goodbye on her way out.
Chapter 21
As Penelope walked back down the sidewalk, she made a mental list of the things she wanted to accomplish the rest of the day. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the man standing next to her truck until she was half a block away. He bent at the waist with his hands in his pockets and peered through the tinted windows.
Penelope stopped at the front bumper and watched him, a finger of unease drawing a line down her spine.
“There you are,” he said when he noticed her standing on the sidewalk. It was the employee from the hardware store who’d been sitting on the floor sorting screws. His fleece-lined denim jacket was buttoned to the top, the cloth apron that read Fenton’s Hardware still tied at his waist. A memory clicked together in Penelope’s head. He was one of the hikers in the courtyard the other morning, the one who held the door for her and told her she was pretty while she struggled with the heavy coffee
urns.
“What are you doing?” Penelope asked, clutching the bag from his store in both hands in front of her. He smiled easily and took a few steps toward her.
“Nothing, just saying hi,” he said. He closed the space between them quickly and Penelope took an awkward step backwards. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Penelope looked around, but there was no one else on the sidewalk. “Nothing,” she said quietly.
“I’m Bailey,” he said. “What’s your name?”
Penelope hesitated. She stepped around him and walked quickly to the back of her truck.
“Oh, you’re shy,” Bailey said. Although he made her uncomfortable, Penelope noticed his tone of voice remained conversational, friendly even. “You don’t have to tell me. I can find out from the credit-card receipts.”
“I’m expected back at work now,” Penelope said, flipping up the hatch to the truck and slipping her bag inside. A toolbox was tucked into the side panel of the storage area. She thought about what she could use from it to defend herself if it came to that.
“You’re one of the out-of-towners staying at the inn,” Bailey said. “From the movie.” He pulled a piece of gum from his pocket and folded it into his mouth, tossing the wrapper on the sidewalk.
Penelope looked at the ball of foil and then met Bailey’s eyes. “Yes. I’m a department head. I manage one of the crews on the set.”
“Nice. You look like someone who takes charge.”
Penelope relaxed, deciding Bailey might just be a little off or socially awkward. She didn’t feel as threatened as she had a few moments before.
Murder Is the Main Course Page 12
