Murder on the Half Shell (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 2)

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  Penelope never would’ve been allowed to drink in high school, or even stay out late at a party. She felt uneasy, the beach suddenly feeling dangerous, the crashing waves reminding her that the ocean swallowed people whole, sweeping them away to where they were never found again. And the thorny brush of the mangrove fields that lined the sand could hide anyone who wanted to stalk a young vulnerable girl at a party.

  Penelope willed the paranoid thoughts from her mind and turned away from her team. “Be safe,” she said to Francis over her shoulder as she walked away.

  Chapter 3

  Penelope resisted opening her eyelids against the sunlight coming through the little round window of her cabin. She usually had to get up before five in the morning for work, so on her days off she tried to stay in bed as long as possible. When it became clear that she probably wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times at the digital clock on the nightstand and saw it was just after seven.

  Her phone was charging next to the clock and she unplugged it, glancing at the screen. A sleepy smile came to her lips when she saw a text message from Joey that said, “Good morning, Penny. Miss you. Call you later.” Her heart did a little skip as she reread the message.

  She typed, “Good morning. Off for the next three days. Staying on Sam’s boat. Miss you too.”

  Penelope had been dating Detective Joseph Baglioni since the previous winter, reconnecting with him during the murder investigation of a young girl who had been found dead outside Penelope’s house in New Jersey. Penelope and Joey had gone to school together as kids and had since found they had more in common than just middle school. Things were going well, if a little slowly, but Penelope felt like that might be for the best.

  Penelope borrowed one of the brightly painted bikes the Andrea Island Visitor’s Dock made available to guests with a roomy basket in front of the handlebars, which she would need for the groceries she intended to get for the weekend. She and Arlena had left the beach party soon after she had talked to Regan, and spent the night on Sam’s yacht, which rocked gently in the last slip of the weathered dock.

  Penelope pedaled up the sand-covered asphalt path that led to Ocean Avenue, Andrea Island’s main street. When she came to the end of the path, Penelope paused and considered her options. Turning left would take her to Sackler’s Market, the only grocery store on the island. She opted to go right, toward Rose’s Beach Shop, which sold souvenirs, suntan lotion, sodas and coffee.

  The sun wasn’t out in full force yet, but the air was already thick with humidity. Sweat pricked Penelope’s temples, her pink slip-on Chuck Taylors occasionally sliding off the worn pedals. Ocean Avenue was quiet, the island just beginning to wake up.

  Someone had scrawled “Back in Ten” and taped it to the glass on the front door of Rose’s. Penelope sighed and stood over her bike, rolling it back and forth between her legs. “Ten what? Minutes? Hours? And when does the ten start?” she muttered. Leaning her bike against a palm tree next to a faded wooden bench on the sidewalk, she peered through the plate-glass window. She could see that the lights were on, but no one was inside. Penelope looked up and down the avenue and then decided to walk around the side of the store to see if Rose’s old yellow Volvo was in its usual spot in the gravel parking lot. If it was, she was probably close by, since she lived in the apartment above her shop. Maybe Rose was out back on a smoke break.

  As Penelope turned the corner, she tripped over a pair of outstretched legs. Someone was sitting on the ground, leaning up against the wall, a weathered baseball hat with a blue and white panther on it pulled low on his face to shade the sun.

  “Oh geez, I’m sorry,” Penelope said, taking a step back and regaining her balance.

  The man bent his legs and pulled his knees up to his chest, then peeked out from under the bill of his cap.

  “Regan? What are you doing out here?” Penelope asked.

  “Nothing.”

  His head nodded slowly downward, his chin coming to a rest on his chest.

  “Regan, are you okay?” Penelope crouched down beside him and shook his shoulder gently. The sour smell of alcohol mixed with the sweat rolled off his skin. “Regan, wake up,” Penelope urged.

  His eyes fluttered open and he grinned. “Hey, Boss. It’s our day off.”

  “Come on, get up,” Penelope said, hooking an arm under his elbow and urging him to stand. Even though he was a lanky kid and Penelope was strong, Regan felt like he was made of cement. After a few attempts, he got his dusty combat boots under his behind in a squatting position, and then pushed himself up to standing, the stucco wall grabbing his t-shirt.

  “Come sit over here,” Penelope said, pulling him over to the wooden bench on the sidewalk.

  “Good morning, Penelope,” a raspy voice called from behind her. Rose stood in the doorway of her store, the little note from the window stuck to her finger. Rose pushed the door open and nudged a piece of coral against the base to keep it in place.

  “Rose,” Penelope said. She glanced back down at Regan, who had nodded off again on the bench.

  At least he was up off the ground.

  “What’s going on over there? You guys okay?” Rose asked, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun.

  “I don’t know. I think he might be drunk, but I can’t imagine how he could be this early in the morning,” Penelope said, fists on her hips. Regan slid farther down onto the bench but his eyes stayed closed.

  “You never pulled an all-nighter, huh?” Rose chuckled. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her Capri pants and stepped out onto the sidewalk, shaking one out and clamping it between her frosted lips.

  “An all-nighter?” Penelope asked. “I’ve worked all night many times, but I definitely have never stayed up all night drinking until morning. He’s going to feel terrible for days.”

  “Maybe,” Rose said, expelling little streams of smoke out of her nostrils. “But he’s a Daniels, so he’ll probably be okay.”

  Penelope shrugged, not exactly sure what she meant. Was Regan Daniels from a family of professional drinkers? Somehow it felt strange to ask Rose to explain, as if she’d be invading Regan’s privacy. Penelope glanced up and down the street again. As far as she could tell, they were the only three people awake on the island. Well, two of them were at least.

  Rose propped an ankle across the opposite bony knee and rubbed her cigarette in a circular motion on the bottom of her flip flop. The pink rubber sported several burnt spots and Penelope guessed she often used her shoes as makeshift ashtrays. Rose brought her foot down and smeared the smoldering rubbed-off embers into the sandy sidewalk, then returned the half-smoked cigarette to the pack and popped it back into her pocket.

  “You want some coffee?” she asked Penelope, brushing some ash off of her pants leg.

  “Yes. I’m dying for some,” Penelope said. She had started to sweat in earnest from her struggles to get Regan onto the bench. But she still needed a cup of hot coffee before she could think about doing anything else.

  “He’ll be fine there. Come on in,” Rose said, walking back into her store.

  Rose’s offered an eclectic mix of items ranging from beachwear and souvenirs to quick snacks, cold drinks and cigarettes. Two mismatched metal aisles sat in the middle of the store’s wooden floor displaying packs of gum, chips and packaged cupcakes. The aisles were flanked by four spin-racks stuffed with typical beach sundries like sunglasses, plastic keychains, bottle openers and multicolored shot glasses with Andrea Island embossed on them. Penelope spun the one closest to the door. It made such a loud screeching sound that she stopped it and quickly stepped away. She made her way to the beverage cooler that sweated in the back corner, its refrigeration unit protesting loudly against the humid air, and grabbed two large bottles of water. Walking along the back wall she looked up
at the dusty mural of Andrea Island t-shirts stretched over torso-shaped cardboard cutouts. A woman entered the store and walked quickly to the coolers in the back.

  “Here you go,” Rose said from behind the wooden counter, placing a large paper cup of coffee next to a plate of homemade brownies wrapped tightly in cellophane. “Anything else for you, Penelope?” Rose’s eyes were bright blue beneath her wrinkled eyelids.

  “These,” Penelope said, grabbing two large oranges out of a weathered crate propped on the floor in front of the counter.

  Rose’s other customer stood behind her, a large water bottle crooked in her arm. “Excuse me,” she said, tapping Penelope’s shoulder from behind.

  Penelope turned, a bit startled.

  “I’m sorry, but are you Penelope from the movie?”

  “Yes, Penelope Sutherland.”

  Penelope searched the woman’s face, but wasn’t able to place it among the ones she’d met on the island.

  “I’m Roni Lambert. Sabena’s mom.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Penelope said. “Sabena’s been a big help on the set. Both of the girls have.”

  Penelope turned back and paid for her items, glancing up at the wooden cabinet nailed to the wall behind the counter. The door had swung open and she could see a few sets of keys dangling from little hooks inside.

  “You still have some cabins available?” she asked Rose.

  Rose reached up and swung the cabinet door closed, straightening a plastic binder that had Andrea Island Cabin Rentals written down the spine. “Just a few, it’s been a good summer.”

  Penelope gathered up her things and stepped away from the counter. “What time did the girls call you to pick them up last night?”

  Roni stepped up to the counter, looking a bit confused.

  “I didn’t pick them up. They were walking home to Rebekkah’s after.” She dug in her purse for loose change as she spoke.

  Penelope’s stomach dropped a notch. “Oh, I thought they said they were getting a ride from you.”

  Roni shrugged and continued to dig in her purse, finally locating a few coins on the bottom. She put them on the counter and pulled out her phone. “No, not last night at least. I do spend a lot of time ferrying them both around. No calls or texts from Bean yet this morning.” She studied the phone another few seconds and said, “Which is weird.” She flipped open the phone and punched a number. “And right to her voicemail.” A look of concern darkened her features as she closed the phone.

  “It’s early, Roni,” Rose said from behind the counter. “What teenager is up at this hour on the weekend?”

  “Bean usually is,” Roni said, trying the call again. “Call me when you get this,” she said sternly to the voicemail. She hung up and punched another number, then hung up without success. “Rebekkah’s not answering either.”

  Penelope took a step away from her and looked at Rose, wishing she hadn’t brought anything about the girls up in the first place. “They’re probably still asleep, like Rose said. I must have heard them wrong. There was a lot going on.”

  “Sabena was excited to be invited to the party,” Roni said, slipping her phone into her purse and relaxing slightly. “They had our permission to go.”

  “I’m sure I just got it confused,” Penelope said, not sure of that at all, but not wanting to alarm Sabena’s mother more than she already had or get the girls into trouble. “Nice meeting you. See you, Rose.”

  When Penelope walked back outside she saw her bike leaning against the tree next to the park bench, but Regan was gone.

  Chapter 4

  As Penelope pedaled back to the docks she saw a small influx of people emerging from the ferry landing area, a group of older couples in pastel-patterned shorts wearing sun visors, colorful beach totes slung over their shoulders. Penelope eased carefully around the tourists, then returned the loaner bike to the rack at the top of the dock.

  The heat of the day was getting into full swing, and Penelope wanted to get the groceries she had picked up at Sackler’s in the refrigerator as soon as possible. Her shoulders protested, but she was determined to make it in one trip to the end of the dock where Sam’s yacht, the Isn’t She Lovely, was docked with all of the bags.

  She shuffled quickly across the boards, pausing halfway to shift the plastic bags to redistribute the weight. The arm of one of the plastic bags snapped just as she reached the slip and her load was suddenly much lighter on the left side.

  “Crap,” Penelope said. She looked down and saw a few oranges and grapefruits rolling to the edge of the dock towards the water.

  She quickly set the bags down and lunged to the left to grab the renegade citrus, catching one of them quickly. An orange continued to roll and Penelope stumbled towards it, losing her footing and tripping on a raised board on the dock. She skinned her knee and landed in the water into an empty slip across from Sam’s boat.

  Disoriented and eyes stinging from the salty water, Penelope swam toward the dock, flailing and gasping for air as her head broke the surface.

  Suddenly she felt a strong arm reach around her waist and hoist her up. She swiped the saltwater from her eyes and choked on some water when she realized it was Max Madison, Arlena’s half-brother.

  “Max. What are you doing here?” Penelope sputtered.

  “Saving your life, obviously,” Max said, managing to look cool and collected as Penelope floundered next to him. He pulled her towards the dock ladder, pushing her gently up and out of the water.

  Penelope felt self-conscious as she climbed up the ladder with Max right behind her, realizing he’d have a full view of her wet behind. She hurried up onto the dock, her bare feet slipping on the boards as she looked around for her groceries.

  One and then the other of her pink tennis shoes was tossed onto the dock by Max, who held the escaped orange in his hand as he came up out of the water. He was tall and lean with just the right amount of muscle, his wet t-shirt and cargo shorts clinging to his tanned skin.

  “I believe you were looking for this.” Max smiled, holding out the orange.

  “Thanks,” Penelope said, mortified that he must have seen her drop everything and then trip and fall into the water.

  “Let me get these for you,” Max said, moving towards the dropped grocery bags.

  Penelope ducked her head to hide her bright red cheeks. “Thanks. I should have made two trips,” she said lamely.

  “That’s Pen for you,” Max said as he gathered up the groceries. “Why make two trips when you can take one giant trip?”

  “Good one,” Penelope said. Two weathered-looking men sat on the back of a boat a few slips down, chuckling as they watched them gather up the bags. Penelope wondered if they would have just watched her drown. “Wait,” Penelope said, freezing in place after gathering up the last bag. “What are you really doing here, Max?”

  “Arlena got me a part. I’m the newest cast member of The Yellow Wallpaper,” Max said, heading to the yacht.

  “Max, are you bothering Penelope again?” Arlena demanded as the two of them made their way into the main salon of the boat from the front deck.

  “What do you mean?” Max said, dimples appearing next to his grin.

  “You know what I mean. Leave. Her. Alone.” Arlena sat with her long legs folded under her on one of the leather couches that lined the room. Zazoo, her tiny white Bich-Poo, perched on his little red dog bed adjacent to the couch. He lifted his head quickly when they entered, a growl at the back of his throat. The mid-ship level had an open floor plan anchored by the galley on one end and opening into a large living space with club chairs and tea tables throughout, all trimmed in rich leather and oak. “Why are you guys all wet?” Arlena asked, finally noticing something was off about the pair as they made their way through to the galley.

  “I saved Penel
ope’s life,” Max tossed over his shoulder as they passed.

  “Oh good, I can’t wait to hear all about it.” She rolled her eyes at Max and then said to Penelope, “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I fell in,” Penelope said, busying herself with emptying the plastic bags onto the island counter, her cheeks still burning from embarrassment. She pulled open the refrigerator door and slipped all of the packages of meat inside, then started sorting through the vegetables and pantry items.

  Arlena walked to the kitchen and put her hand on Penelope’s shoulder, turning her gently so they were face to face. She looked into Penelope’s eyes then pulled her into a tight hug.

  “I’m fine, really,” Penelope said. She could feel little drips of water falling from her shorts onto the floor by her feet.

  Arlena pulled out of the hug and held Penelope at arm’s length, her thin hands placed gently on Penelope’s shoulders. “Please be careful, Pen. If anything happened to you, I don’t know how I could go on. I need you by my side.”

  Penelope looked at Arlena, trying to decide how to react. Finally she settled on levity.

  “Arlena, nothing is going to happen to me. I promise.” She felt like adding “stop being so dramatic” but decided that might be the wrong thing to say. Could you tell a dramatic actress to stop being dramatic? Did it mean the same thing as it did with civilians?

  “Sweet, only two of the eggs are cracked. I’ll scramble these up now,” Max said over his shoulder from the opposite counter. “Anybody else want eggs?”

  Arlena held her gaze on Penelope for a second more and then said to Max’s back, “Sounds good.”

  Max scooped some scrambled eggs onto his fork with a piece of bacon.