“Friends, we are gathered here today to say farewell to one of our own, Jordan Foster, as he passes from this place on to the next.”
Penelope watched Megan bow her head, and her shoulders began to shake. Karen circled her arm around her mother’s shoulders. Penelope closed her eyes and bowed her head, bringing to mind an image of Jordan, one that was happy and full of life. Thinking of him brought an unexpected wave of emotion over her, and she lightly chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She couldn’t understand how someone could kill him and cause so much sadness for his family. Penelope opened her eyes and looked at Karen, deciding then she would try to help them in whatever way she could to find out who had done this to them.
The hair on Penelope’s arms raised when she heard someone behind them trying to suppress a laugh. She and a few other people turned to see Bailey, his face bright red, clearly muffling giggles behind his hand.
Bailey caught Penelope’s gaze and he lowered his hand, then grinned at her. Penelope’s eyes swept to the sheriff, who she saw had also turned to see what the commotion was.
“We want Megan and the whole Foster family to know our community holds you in our hearts during this time of tremendous sadness,” the pastor continued, squinting at the pews through his black-framed glasses. His silver hair was parted on the side and slicked down, his forehead shiny from the billowing heat from the furnace.
Another round of choked laughter caused a few people behind Penelope to shush Bailey, which only caused him to go into further hysterics.
Penelope felt a building anger warming her chest. She glared at Bailey, then caught sight of his father tucked behind one of the doors in the entryway. His face was inscrutable as he stared stonily at the back of his son’s head.
“Excuse me, Mr. Fenton, but you might be more comfortable outside,” the pastor said, breaking from his prepared remarks.
More people turned to look as Bailey wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. Bailey’s father stepped out from behind the doorway and walked to the pew, hitching Bailey up to his feet by his elbow. The old man’s expression was one of alarm, but Penelope thought she also saw fear or maybe embarrassment there.
“Let’s go, son,” he said firmly as he led Bailey out of the church.
Penelope’s heart pounded and she turned to Joey, who raised his eyebrows, silently questioning if she was okay. She nodded and inched closer to him, pressing her side into his. A weight lifted from her shoulders when the church doors rattled closed again. Megan hadn’t moved from her seat or turned around during the episode with Bailey, although all of her children had, their reactions ranging from irritation to sadness.
“I’m very sorry for that terrible interruption,” the pastor said, shaken. He looked down at the podium and cleared his throat, steadying himself before continuing.
He waved to the organist, who looked back at him in alarm, not sure what he was asking her to do. After another rigid wave from the pastor, her fingers flew to the keyboard. A soft hymn rose from the pipes while the pastor shuffled his papers and took quick apologetic glances at the Fosters.
“Fenton,” Penelope said in a whisper.
“Hmm?” Joey asked, straightening his tie.
“I just remembered I know someone else with that last name.” Penelope craned her neck around and looked for Marla, the innkeeper, not seeing her anywhere in the pews.
Chapter 25
Penelope caught up with Sheriff Bryson outside the church as the mourners filed from the doors to the line of cars waiting to follow the late-model hearse out front to the nearby cemetery. The sheriff peered down at Penelope from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.
“Have you thought about questioning Bailey about the break-in at the restaurant?” Penelope asked. Joey stood off to the left, listening to their conversation.
Sheriff Bryson glanced at Joey, waiting for an older couple to pass by before responding.
“Look,” Sheriff Bryson began after a beat, “I know what happened in there was inappropriate. He’s a troubled kid. His dad does the best he can with him, keeps a close eye.” He threw a glance in the general direction of the hardware store.
“You have his prints on file, right? Can you check and see if they match up with any you took from the restaurant?” Penelope asked.
Sheriff Bryson sighed. “We didn’t get any usable prints out of Festa’s kitchen that night. Whoever it was must have worn gloves.”
“Well, there’s the connection of the pentagram, like in his previous case, and he could’ve gotten the paint from the hardware store. Can’t you at least talk to him? Maybe ask his dad where he was both nights?”
“Excuse me,” Sheriff Bryson said, beginning to walk away. He turned back and said, “I’ve known the Fentons all my life. Bailey’s a little…he’s no criminal, not the way you’re saying.”
“If it’s not him, then who did it?” Penelope asked, taken aback.
The sheriff shook his head. “I know you’re trying to help, and I’m sure you think you’re doing just that. But you need to stay out of our investigation.” He threw Joey a glance then stalked away, heading in the opposite direction of the police station.
Penelope hoped some of what she said had gotten through and that he was going to the hardware store after all.
Megan Foster emerged from the church surrounded by her four children, linking arms with the two younger kids. Penelope caught her eye and Megan excused herself, walking stiffly over to her and Joey.
“Thank you for coming,” Megan said in a calm voice. She’d folded her veil down to shade her red-rimmed eyes.
“Megan, we’re very sorry for what you’ve been through,” Penelope said.
“Jordan is gone now. Hopefully he can be at peace. But his legacy will live on.” She glanced at her children. “You’re helping with that.”
Penelope looked at Joey, unsure how to respond.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Megan said. She put her hands on Penelope’s forearms and pulled her closer into a not-quite-touching air hug.
Megan’s oldest son, Kyle, who looked like a younger, thinner version of Jordan, appeared at his mother’s side and placed a hand on her elbow. “It’s time to go, Mom,” he said gently, steering her toward the waiting limo.
“Thank you, Kyle. Penelope knows how important your dad was,” Megan said, motioning at Penelope. “She knows.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Kyle said. His twin sister, Karen, joined them, taking her mom’s other arm. Once they got Megan inside the limo, Karen closed the door and walked back over to Penelope.
“Can I come by the restaurant?” Karen asked.
“Sure,” Penelope said, confused. “It’s your family’s place, you’re welcome anytime.”
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” Karen said, before sliding into the limo next to her mother.
Penelope and Joey walked back toward Penelope’s truck. She’d parked on the opposite side of the street, as far from the hardware store as possible.
“Let’s stop in here for a coffee,” Joey said, peering in the diner’s front window.
“Okay,” Penelope agreed a bit reluctantly.
The restaurant had a retro feel, but Penelope thought that was how it always was, not remodeled to look that way. She darted glances at the stools and under the counter, noticing that although the space must have been over sixty years old, it was clean and looked to be lovingly cared for. Penelope caught their reflection in the chrome linings of the stools as they passed, which had all been polished to a sparkle.
As a gray-haired woman in jeans, a sweatshirt with the diner’s logo faded on the front, and a loosely tied apron led them to a booth along the wall, Penelope noticed Festa’s wait staff in the rear booth next to the kitchen doors.
“I’m going to say hi,” Penelope said as Joey settled onto the cushioned bench and p
icked up the plastic menu.
“Sure,” he said, flipping through the pages.
“Hi, guys,” Penelope said as she approached the table. “Everyone doing all right?”
Dressed all in black, the four of them looked up at her with wide eyes and blank expressions, except for Regina, who stared at the table. Her dark red hair was parted severely on the side, her pale bluish scalp showing through.
“Rough day, huh?” Penelope said when they didn’t answer.
“Yeah, you could say that,” one of them said.
Penelope glanced back toward her table, seeing Joey was still reading the menu. “I’m going to be working at the restaurant for a little bit. If any of you need anything, please ask. I know no one can take Jordan’s place, but if I can help…” She felt awkward, as if she was speaking a different language based on their reactions.
Regina put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her palm, looking up at Penelope with a doleful expression. Christine, who was sitting across from her, kicked her under the table, causing her to sit up straight and throw the girl a dirty look. Regina immediately went back to resting her head lazily on her hand.
“Okay, got it,” the youngest waiter said with a smile. He picked up his coffee mug and took a sip, flashing his bright blue eyes at Penelope. The waitress emerged from the kitchen door balancing several plates on her arms. Penelope stepped aside as she set the food down, cheeseburger platters with fries for the boys, a tuna melt for Christine, and a spinach salad for Regina, who reluctantly sat upright and gazed at the bowl of greens in front of her.
“Okay, I’ll see you guys,” Penelope said, turning to go.
“See you,” Christine said, sticking a French fry in her mouth and chewing hungrily.
As Penelope walked away, she heard hushed laughter from the group but didn’t react, choosing instead to make them think she hadn’t. She slid into the booth across from Joey.
“This is such a strange place,” Penelope said.
Joey looked around at the walls of the diner.
“I don’t know, looks pretty standard to me. A little old, maybe.”
“Not this place. This place,” Penelope said, motioning with her arms in a wide circle. “This whole town.”
Joey smiled and set his menu down. “Penny Blue is homesick.”
Penelope sighed and picked up the menu, trying to put aside all of the awkward encounters she’d experienced lately. “You still want coffee?” She looked at the pictures of French toast and burgers beneath the plastic cover.
“Yeah, and a BLT,” he said.
“What can I get you?” the waitress said, tapping a pen on her light green pad. They made their orders, Penelope sticking with coffee, her appetite gone. “Be right out,” the woman said and turned to go.
“Wait,” Penelope said. “You look familiar.”
“Been working here all my life, feels like anyway,” the woman chuckled. Her teeth were a lighter shade of gray than her hair.
“No, I saw you the other day, on my way to the Foster house,” Penelope said. “You’re their neighbor?”
The woman hitched her apron up and nodded.
“Yep. Well, up the road a piece. That’s the mail drop there at the end of the lane. That also feels like forever, us living on that icy road.”
“How long?”
The woman blew out a sigh. “Thirty years, next June.”
“That is a long time,” Penelope said.
“You know, it’s a terrible thing that’s happened to that family,” the waitress clucked, glancing in the direction of the church. “Just terrible.”
Penelope remembered the woman’s slow wave by the mailboxes, her eyes sweeping over the car, studying them as they drove past.
“Your sandwich will be right up,” she said before walking away to greet a newly arrived customer.
When Penelope and Joey walked past the newspaper office, the lights were on.
“Hang on a second, I want to stop in here,” Penelope said.
“I’ll wait for you at the truck. I’m going to call in to work,” Joey said.
“Hello?” Penelope asked from the empty reception area.
“Back here,” a man’s voice called from the rear.
Penelope walked past a gathering of empty desks into an office at the rear of the building.
“How can I help you? Want to take out an ad?”
“No,” Penelope said. “I’m the chef on the movie set over at the inn. Are you Jacob Pears?”
His expectant expression stayed in place as he acknowledged her question with a nod.
“I was wondering…I saw a restaurant review you wrote about Festa several years ago.”
He didn’t speak and continued to stare.
“Did you happen to come in the other night to update your review?” Penelope asked. “I’m curious because I’ll be helping out there for a while. If we can put together a special dinner for you…”
Mr. Pears shook his head and waved his hand. “No, that won’t be necessary. I don’t backtrack on my reviews.” His head was completely round, his silver hair combed over to complete the circle effect. Even his glasses were round.
“I see. Isn’t that a little—”
“Mrs.…”
“Sutherland. And it’s not Mrs.”
“Ms. Sutherland. This is my newspaper. I run it as I see fit. The review stands. If I decide to review again, I will not let you know. It will be a surprise, as all impartial restaurant reviews should be. I hardly think my opinion of a restaurant is what you should be focusing on, especially on a day of mourning such as this.”
Penelope shook her head. “You were seen arguing with Jordan that night.”
“And?” Mr. Pears said. He remained defiant, but Penelope could see doubt behind his eyes.
“What were you arguing about?” Penelope asked.
“None of your concern,” he said. He rose from his chair and motioned her toward the front door. “And it wasn’t an argument. It was a discussion.”
“A discussion about what?” Penelope persisted, standing her ground.
He sighed when she didn’t make a move to leave. “If you must know, he asked me to retract my earlier review, replace it with a positive one. I told him no. He didn’t like that.”
“And then?” Penelope asked.
“Nothing. I left. And he went back inside and continued to push overpriced food on unsuspecting diners, take advantage of his community, and live up to his self-proclaimed hype.”
“Mr. Pears, it sounds like you have a personal problem with Jordan, beyond what you think about his restaurant,” Penelope said. The bell on the front door jangled and he looked expectantly toward the sound.
“Thank you for stopping by, Ms. Sutherland,” he said, more forcefully ushering her out this time. Penelope reluctantly turned to go, nodding to a woman waiting in the foyer before going back outside.
Chapter 26
When they arrived back at the inn, Joey headed upstairs to change out of his shirt and tie and Penelope went to look for Marla. Not finding her in the office, she checked the kitchen, which remained empty and unused. Penelope opened the door to the basement in the hall opposite the kitchen door, an earthy wet smell greeting her as she descended the stairs. Marla was tucked in a corner of the large room doing laundry, wringing out a set of sheets and hanging them from a line suspended in the air.
“Marla,” Penelope said, causing the shadow behind the sheet to jump. The industrial washer hummed in the corner, drowning out other noises.
“Penelope, you gave me a start,” Marla said. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve, sweat glistening her short hair. “We’ve got twice the laundry to do today, what with all the sick people upstairs.”
“Who else is sick?” Penelope asked.
“Let’s see
, there’s at least ten of your folks up there now with different degrees of the flu. Some just feeling lousy, some who can’t get out of bed.” She shrugged. “It’s that time of year, I suppose.”
Penelope put her hand to her throat and swallowed again, grateful for not feeling any soreness. “We just got back from Jordan’s funeral.” She looked down at her black dress, as if it would explain perfectly where she’d been.
Marla picked up a wet sheet and shook it out, jerking it to and fro in her thick hands. “I’m not much for funerals, myself,” she said as she worked. “Ask me, families should be left alone at a time like that, not have everyone they know come and gawk at them while they try not to cry.” She hung the sheet across the line, inching the first one over to make room.
Penelope glanced at the dryer in the corner. “The young man from the hardware store, Bailey, was there. Made kind of a scene during the service. Do you know him?”
Marla’s face tightened. “Of course I know him. He’s my nephew.”
“So, his father is…”
“My brother,” Marla said. “That’s typically how that works.”
“Right,” Penelope said, taking the woman’s sarcasm in stride. “Have you ever known Bailey to be…violent?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Marla said quickly, snapping another wet sheet in the air. “Why would you ask a thing like that?”
“I read an article about him getting arrested and was wondering if he might have had something to do with the recent break-in at the restaurant,” Penelope said matter-of-factly.
Marla scoffed. “Well, I can see how you might think that, you trying to put two and two together and whatnot.” She shook out another sheet from the basket, a frown on her face. “Bailey just fell in with the wrong crowd. He’s impressionable, got talked into doing something stupid. He’s made up for it.”
“The article I read made it sound like he was the ringleader,” Penelope said.
Marla snorted a laugh. “That’s a lie. You must know you can’t believe everything you read in the paper.” She picked up a wet towel and wrung a few drops of water from it onto the floor. Penelope took a step back.
Murder Is the Main Course Page 14
