So far their arrangement had worked. Arlena’s impulsiveness and Penelope’s more reserved nature meshed well together, and Penelope liked having someone to cook for. There was more than enough room at the house for Arlena and Penelope to live without crowding each other. Sometimes Penelope ended up doing more than just cook for Arlena, but Red Carpet Catering was thriving, so she didn’t have any complaints.
Penelope’s eyelids were heavy as she pulled her black Range Rover up the driveway and around the side of the house. A bright yellow Hummer, which Penelope assumed was Sam’s, was parked in the front. She pulled her truck slowly into the far bay of the three car garage next to Arlena’s BMW. Production provided a car service for her to and from the set, and she hardly ever drove.
Pressing the button on her visor to lower the garage door behind her, she sighed and decided she would slip quietly in through the kitchen door at the back of the house so as not to disturb Arlena and Sam. She looped her black leather messenger bag over her shoulder and followed the stone path that led from the garage through the back garden. Penelope was thankful that when the landscapers came to plow the driveway they’d remembered to clear the paths to the house.
Penelope peeked through the glass window panes of the kitchen door and didn’t see anyone inside except Zazoo, dozing on his bed in the corner. She opened the door and slipped inside, thinking she would grab a wine glass and a nice bottle of red and head to the library, hopefully unnoticed, where she could unwind with her book before bed. Zazoo’s head shot up and a small yip stuck in his throat when he heard the door open. Penelope made eye contact with him and put her finger to her lips, silently requesting that he stay put and be quiet. He reluctantly laid his head back down on his paws, keeping his eyes trained on her as she came inside and closed the door.
Arlena and Sam had a seven a.m. call time in the morning and it was after nine already. She figured whatever party was happening here would be ending soon. Neither of them would want to look puffy-eyed on camera.
She grabbed a bottle of Pinot out of the wine rack in the pantry and headed over to the hanging wine glasses next to the refrigerator. As she reached for a glass, she heard the low murmur of voices and muffled male grunts coming from the hallway leading to Arlena’s side of the house.
“Great,” Penelope whispered to herself, rolling her eyes. She grabbed the glass, tucked the wine bottle under her arm and tiptoed towards the opposite hallway and the library.
Sam’s grunting stopped and then Penelope heard Arlena start up with her own grunts.
Penelope didn’t want to eavesdrop on Arlena in the throes of passion with Sam Cavanaugh, even accidentally. She’d watched Sam make love many times, with lots of ladies, up on the big screen, she and millions of movie lovers everywhere. But it was creepy in real life.
She had almost made it to the doorway when she heard Sam call out, “That’s it! Just like that. Now eight more.”
“Eight more? Eight more what?” Penelope whispered to herself. Realizing that she needed a wine key to open her bottle, she debated heading back into the kitchen to get one. She also considered dropping her plans entirely and heading back out the door, getting into her car and driving to the nearest hotel. But then she remembered they lived in a huge house with lots of rooms and this was her home too. She resolved to grab the wine key as quickly as possible and make a break for the library.
She crept back into the kitchen, wobbling on her tiptoes. She eased open a drawer on the center kitchen island and grabbed a wine key, easing the drawer closed. Arlena shouted “Yes!” Penelope jumped and lost her grip on the opener. It fell, clattering to the wooden floor and skittering over to Zazoo’s bed. He eyed Penelope suspiciously, a gravely growl in his throat, threatening a torrent of barking. She froze in place, not sure which way to go or what to do. She hoped the amorous couple hadn’t heard her.
“Penelope? Is that you?” Arlena called from down the hall.
“Sorry! I dropped the wine key. It’s me, no big deal. Don’t get up.” She rolled her eyes at herself. She stood frozen in place, wine bottle tucked under her arm, glass in hand and Zazoo at red alert.
Arlena and Sam came into the kitchen, both of them dressed in workout clothes.
“You’re home,” Arlena said, hugging Penelope. She was sweaty, but it was Arlena’s version of sweaty: beautiful and dewy accompanied by a sweet, clean soap smell. She would never allow herself to smell like a gym locker.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” Penelope said, relaxing a bit.
Sam opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. He handed one to Arlena and twisted the cap off of the other one for himself. There was a sweat ring around the neck of his shirt and his biceps were shiny. Penelope admired all of the different muscles standing out so clearly on his arms and the way his shirt stretched across his chest.
“Of course not. Sam was showing me the latest moves he learned on location in Taiwan. Super killer workout, Pilates and Martial Arts mixed together.” Arlena’s feet were bare and perfectly shaped, her toe polish a deep rose color. She leaned into Sam and they both drank from their water bottles, arms entwined.
“It’s good stuff,” Sam said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “I should go.”
“It’s late. You can stay, or at least take a shower. We have lots of spare bedrooms,” she said, taking another sip of water.
“I’m going to head out. But I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. He scooped Arlena up inside one of his large biceps and kissed her passionately on the mouth. Penelope looked away, but she didn’t think either of them cared she was standing there. Penelope retrieved the wine key from the floor and opened the bottle on the island.
Finally coming up for air, Sam said, “Penelope…Wife of Odysseus.” He set Arlena gently back on the ground and turned to Penelope. “I’m reading a script about them. It’s pretty intense, maybe too intense even for me. By the way, you make amazing crab dip.” With that he grabbed his heavy leather jacket from the row of hooks by the door and draped it over his shoulders. He kissed Arlena again, this time tenderly on the top of her head, and then headed out the door backwards, bowing deeply to the two of them as he left.
Arlena closed the door behind him and turned to face Penelope, leaning on the door. The two friends looked at each other, listening to Sam’s Hummer roar down the driveway. When the engine had faded away, Arlena grabbed a wine glass for herself, motioning for Penelope to fill it.
Penelope poured. “So, what happened?”
“He’s very interesting.” Arlena took a big sip of wine. She was jumpy and preoccupied, mentally cataloging the highlights of her evening with Sam Cavanaugh.
“Did you guys…?” Penelope said, taking her own sip of wine, eyeing Arlena mischievously.
“No. You know I don’t play things that way.” Arlena drummed her polished nails lightly on her glass.
“I’m glad you had fun,” Penelope said. She paused a beat before continuing. “I talked to Detective Baglioni at the hospital after you guys left. It doesn’t sound like they’ve gotten much farther on the case.”
Arlena’s blissful mood dipped. “You think he would’ve figured out what happened to Holly by now.”
Penelope thought for a minute then went to her messenger bag and pulled out her iPad. “Maybe they have and they can’t say.” She sat down on a stool and swiped the tablet to life. She opened her search engine and typed “Holly Anderson, New Jersey.” Within seconds the screen was filled with links to websites and a row of images of different girls, all presumably named Holly Anderson.
Arlena looked over her shoulder at the screen. “There are lots of Holly Andersons, looks like. Click on the Ledger article again, see if it’s been updated.”
Penelope opened up the website and scrolled through the piece. “Look, breaking news at the top. It says she was a h
igh school student from New York, and that her death has been ruled a homicide by investigators.”
Arlena put her glass down on the island and looked closer at the screen.
Penelope brushed the screen with her finger. “That’s her,” she said, pointing to a picture halfway down the article. It was a school picture of Holly, smiling thinly in front of a mottled blue backdrop.
“Pretty girl, so young,” Arlena said.
Penelope looked at the girl’s deep brown eyes and a wave of sadness washed over her. She placed the iPad down on the counter and took a breath, fighting a rush of unexpected tears.
Arlena rubbed her shoulders. “Hey, it’s going to be all right,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry. But how could someone murder a girl who isn’t even out of high school? What could she have possibly done to deserve that?”
Arlena shook her head and rubbed harder. “It’s been a long day and it’s late. Let’s get some rest.”
Penelope nodded and tapped the power button on her tablet, darkening the screen.
Penelope was in the middle of a dream. For some reason Sam Cavanaugh was questioning her about her crab dip, dressed as a policeman. A loud crash jerked her awake and she sat straight up in bed. She held her breath, listening intently for more noises. She heard rustling and footsteps downstairs and decided it was coming from the kitchen.
“What the hell?” she whispered, slipping quietly out of bed. She was wearing pink and green plaid pajama bottoms and a tight pink t-shirt with green stars on it. Her stomach did a flip when she remembered she hadn’t set the security alarm before heading up to bed. She pictured the scene from earlier, Arlena waving goodbye to Sam at the kitchen door with the disabled alarm pad next to it, the word DISENGAGED on the touch screen. She wondered if Arlena had remembered to arm the system before she’d gone to bed.
Maybe Arlena was sleepwalking. Or maybe Sam was back to do some more workouts with Arlena. A crash from a pan landing on the kitchen floor sent goose bumps down her arms. She knew Arlena wouldn’t be cooking anything at one in the morning. She had a rule about not eating anything after eight o’clock. What was Zazoo doing? Normally he’d be barking his head off. Arlena must have him locked up in her room on the other side of the house.
Penelope went out into the hallway and crept down the staircase.
She peered around the corner into the hallway and saw a shadow move across the kitchen floor. There was definitely a man moving around in there. Maybe Sam had decided to come back and spend the night after all.
She heard the flick of a lighter and then smelled cigarette smoke. Nope, it definitely was not Sam, Mr. My-Body-is-a-Temple. No way would he be smoking, especially not in front of Arlena, who hated cigarettes more than she hated cellulite.
Penelope tiptoed on her bare feet to the hall closet and opened it, looking for something to protect herself with. The closet was full of designer coats. Not much protection there. She looked up at the shelf over the coasts and saw the rim of a tennis racket sticking out.
“Better than nothing,” she murmured. She grasped the racket in both hands and headed back towards the kitchen, wrinkling her nose at the cigarette smoke. She felt for her cell phone in her back pocket, then remembered she was wearing pajamas and her phone was charging up next to Arlena’s phone and iPad on the kitchen counter.
Wonderful place for it to be right now. There was no landline in the house. Neither she nor Arlena were home often enough to justify having a house phone. Arlena could be gone for weeks at a time depending on her filming schedule.
She came to the left-hand doorway of the kitchen and peeked inside. A taller than average man was standing in front of the open refrigerator, eyeing the contents, as if contemplating making a sandwich. He wore a knit hat and a bulky plaid coat with a turned-up collar that hid his face from her view, faded skinny jeans and big black work boots. A path of melted snow trailed behind him from the kitchen door. A cigarette dangled between two of the fingers that were propped on top of the refrigerator door.
Zazoo sat on his bed, eyeing the man at the refrigerator and chewing greedily on a turkey hot dog that clearly had been used to buy his silence.
Traitor. Penelope rolled her eyes at their faithful watchdog.
Just then Penelope saw Arlena from the opposite doorway to the kitchen. She was looking at the man from behind also, sleepy fury etched on her face. She held a large red rubber band in her hands, one of the resistance bands from the workout room. Arlena used the bands to tone and tighten but right now she was wielding it like a garrote. Penelope wasn’t sure if it was the intruder or the fact that he was smoking in her house, but she had never seen Arlena so angry.
The man, making his snack choice, grabbed a container of leftover turkey chili and a beer from the refrigerator. Still out of sight, Penelope motioned to Arlena, who finally realized she had been lurking in the opposite doorway.
Arlena nodded at Penelope and started doing those hand and finger motions that Penelope saw actors do on cop shows, the ones that she could never figure out the meaning of. Arlena pointed two fingers at her own eyes and then pointed them at Penelope then made a circle with her index finger pointing towards the floor. Penelope nodded. She assumed she was supposed to join Arlena in an ambush. Or maybe Arlena was telling her she had mascara smeared under her eyes. Either way, Arlena began counting silently with her fingers, one, two…
On three they rushed into the kitchen. Penelope smashed the tennis racket down on top of the man’s head and Arlena jumped up, attempting to lasso him with her exercise band. It must have been her first time trying this particular move, because she only managed to snag the hat off of his head and pull his hair.
“Ouch! What the hell?” he said, spinning around, his hat falling to the floor.
“Max,” Arlena yelled. “You little shit! You scared the hell out of us. And why are you smoking in here?”
“I thought you were out of town. What are you doing here?”
“I live here. Unlike you.” She pointed to the sink and Max Madison, Arlena’s half-brother, went over and ran his cigarette under a stream of water. He threw it into the trash can under the sink.
“I know you live here. Aren’t you filming?”
Penelope dropped the tennis racket to the floor. “I’m going back to bed.”
“Max, apologize to Penelope,” Arlena shouted.
“Sorry, Pen.” Max flashed his perfectly shaped dimples. He was tall and dark like Arlena, but had sharp blue eyes with long black lashes. He was outrageously handsome and he knew it. The Madisons had clearly won the genetic lottery.
Penelope sighed and headed back upstairs. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Chapter 7
Penelope was so exhausted when the alarm went off a few hours later that she didn’t believe it could possibly be the next morning. She stumbled into the bathroom and turned her shower on, nudging the knob to make the water as hot as she could stand. She stood under the stream for an extra five minutes, laying out the upcoming day in her mind, making mental notes and lists of things to do when she got to work. By the time she dried off, swiped some mascara onto her lashes and glossed her lips, she began to feel human again. She pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a camel-colored knit sweater and headed downstairs, not quite bouncing down the steps but not dragging either.
She slipped out of the kitchen door, remembering to arm the security system before she left. Zazoo must have gone into Arlena’s room to sleep. His bed was empty except for a stuffed hot dog chew toy.
She had no idea where Max ended up. He usually crashed in one of the spare rooms upstairs when he was in town. He was one of those people who always left everything a shade out of order behind him, but he was a nice guy and a good brother to Arlena.
Arlena and Max hadn’t grown up together and had only become close
as adults. Their father was screen legend Randall Madison who had been acting in movies since before they were born. Randall had been married and divorced numerous times, and Max and Arlena were just two of his many children. Arlena still hadn’t met several of her half-siblings. She told Penelope that whenever her dad began filming a new movie, he’d find a new love of his life. Randall Madison had been married to Arlena’s mother for a brief time, but not long enough for Arlena to remember living with him. Max was the result of a fling Randall had a several years later with a set designer in Tucson.
Penelope’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it up to her ear as she looked over the produce invoices lying in front of her on the steel countertop in the kitchen truck.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Penelope, it’s Detective Baglioni.” His voice was warm and smooth. A tingly finger drew a line down Penelope’s spine and she stood up straight.
“Joey…hi,” Penelope said. She turned to lean against the counter and ran a hand through her long blond hair.
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. I’d like to meet with you sometime today. With Miss Madison also. I’d like to ask you both a few more questions concerning the case.”
“Um, sure. We’re on set in downtown South Point. Lunch break is at one, so we could talk after I get everything set up. Arlena should have a minute then too. I’m in the big white tent. You can have lunch with us if you’d like.” Penelope figured she was the only person in the world who was looking forward to a police officer coming to question her.
“That’s nice of you. I’ll see you around one.”
Penelope ended the call and then looked down at her clothes. Luckily her black kitchen apron wasn’t totally smeared with food and her clothes were pretty clean. She decided to head over to the makeup trailer before lunch to see if Kelley could touch her up before Joey arrived. Couldn’t hurt.
Murder on a Silver Platter (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 1) Page 5
