“I suppose. So what do you have planned for today, Pen?”
“Not sure yet. I never know what to do with myself when I have a big stretch of free time.”
“You’re always working. It’s time to relax,” Max said. He grabbed her hand and twirled her around in a circle then pulled her close and they swayed for a second in front of the sink.
Penelope pushed him away gently. “Oh yeah, and before…with the butt slap thing?” Penelope perched a hand on her hip and looked sternly at him as he continued to sway to the music in his head. “Unless you’re invited, this is a hands-off zone,” she said motioning at her behind.
Max stopped swaying and his face became serious. “You’re right, Pen. Absolutely right. I will wait until I’m invited, and until then I will dream about your hands-off zone.” He grabbed her hands and began to sway with her again.
Penelope pushed him away playfully. “Max, you’re impossible.”
“No, I can be difficult at times but I’m totally possible.” He spun her around in a twirl. Penelope let herself sway with him for a moment longer.
Finally she said, “You’re right about one thing. I am going to relax today. Starting with a long bath upstairs.” She broke away from him and headed towards the hall and the staircase beyond.
“Sounds good. You enjoy yourself. If you want some company yell and I’ll be right up…” Max called after her.
Penelope started the bath water and pulled off her pajamas. She poured two drops of lavender scented oil into the steamy water and lowered herself down, closing her eyes and slouching so the water came up over her shoulders. Penelope attempted to clear her mind, trying her best to think of nothing, focusing only on the hot water loosening her muscles. But eventually her thoughts turned to Holly Anderson. She grimaced as she pushed the image of Holly’s pretty frozen face out of her mind and focused instead on the other pictures she’d seen of her, when she was an alive and vibrant young girl. Now that she’d met Randall Madison in person, she tried to compare his face with Holly’s.
Then she thought about Joey and a smile spread across her lips. She kept her eyes closed and pictured him from the night before in his tight t-shirt, whispering in her ear. Then she frowned, remembering the lipstick on the wine glass and her stiff goodbye to him. Rolling her eyes internally, Penelope shifted in the tub and tried to bring her thoughts back to a neutral place. She wasn’t doing a good job of relaxing. Her mind at least. Her body felt like it had turned to lead in the water.
Just then her phone buzzed in the bedroom. The door to the bathroom was slightly open and her phone was on her vanity table.
The sun streamed through the windows and Penelope guessed it was probably around eleven. The bath water had turned tepid and she decided to get out and see who was calling, hoping it wasn’t anything work related.
She wrapped herself in a large white towel and padded into the bedroom onto the soft carpet, grabbing her phone off of the vanity as she went. She sat on the bed and opened the screen. “Joey: missed call & voicemail” blinked back at her.
She lightly tossed the phone onto the bed, standing up and letting the towel drop to the floor. She pulled on a pair of comfortable jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt before listening to the voicemail. She pulled the soft rubber band slowly from her ponytail as she listened.
“Penny, hi, it’s Joey. I’d like to come by later today and speak with you and Arlena if that’s possible. Give me a call back and let me know. Thanks and have a good day.”
Penelope pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen. Suddenly Joey, the one with the wine and cheese from last night, was all business. She listened to the message again and then slipped her phone into her back pocket and headed downstairs.
Everyone was gathered in the library, lounging in front of the lit fireplace. Sam and Arlena sat almost on top of each other on one end of the sofa and Max and Randall sat in the matching club chairs that flanked it. Zazoo happily chewed on a thin rawhide stick under the coffee table. The TV was covered up by the sliding bookcase and they were all looking at a scrapbook that was open on the square slate coffee table. Randall was flipping the pages and pointing out different pictures and articles to them. Penelope stopped in the doorway, debating whether or not to interrupt them. She rapped lightly on the door frame to get their attention.
“There you are. We’re looking at some old stuff from when I worked with Sal. Some of them go way back…before these two were even a glimmer.” Randall winked at Max.
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude on you guys,” Penelope said.
“Pen, please, don’t be silly. Sit down,” Arlena said, patting the couch cushion next to her.
“Thanks,” Penelope said, taking a seat.
“This was one of the first movies I made with Sal,” Randall said, pointing to a black and white photograph. In it Randall was shirtless, his hair cut in a military style buzz cut, his eyes wild and glassy with tears.
“The Private Army, right Dad?” Max said.
“Yep. Filmed that one out in Brooklyn. Low budget, which is Sal’s middle name. This was his first three-week shoot. Back then it was because he had no money and he was trying to film as many projects as possible. Now he’s become known for those…and for his big blockbusters, of course.”
Arlena nodded. “It means so much that he called me for this, Daddy. I was afraid I would never get off the B-movie path.”
Randall gazed lovingly at his daughter. “You’re starting out, proving yourself. I know you’ve got what it takes. Now you’ll have a chance to show everyone. Sal’s good at finding diamonds in the rough like you and me.”
Arlena sighed. “I appreciate that. It’s hard because you take jobs when you’re starting out because you need the work and the credits, but then you get pigeonholed as only being that one thing. I was terrified I’d never break out and no one would take me seriously until Sal called.”
“You’re doing fine. Peter’s a solid agent and he’s going to get you on the right path,” Randall said.
“I hope so. I’ve got this movie right now but nothing after it lined up. This is my big break. If it doesn’t do well, I’m not sure what will happen. I can’t go back to working for Brett either. That bridge is burned.”
“Who’s Brett?” Randall asked sharply.
“The Slash ’Em director, Brett Ralston. He said I’d never work again after I walked off that movie. I don’t feel comfortable with on screen nudity. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.” She glanced at Sam, who nodded.
“Screw him,” Randall said, an edge coming into his voice. “He makes threats against my little girl, he’ll be sorry. I promise you that.”
“Daddy, I don’t want to work with him anyway.”
“That’s not the point. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. Anyone tries to hurt either of you,” he pointed at Max and Arlena, “you let me know. Some of these snot-nosed young directors working today don’t know their asses from Fellini. They’re living in the house that I helped build.”
An uneasy silence fell across the group.
“Working for scale barely covered the bills when I was starting out. But we all did it to be part of something with Sal,” Randall’s tone became lighter, his anger momentarily forgotten as he glanced back down at the image of his younger self.
Randall flipped a page in the book and unfolded a yellowing article that had been taped next to a couple of movie stubs. “This is the New York Times review of the movie,” Randall said. “A rave. Called Sal a genius which he is. But he was new on the scene then. We all were.”
“You could find that review online in the archives of the Times, Dad,” Max said. “Probably a bunch of pictures of the shoot too.”
“Let me ask you something, kiddo. You have a scrapbook? Anything where you keep a history of your achievements? P
hotos? Articles about yourself?”
“No, Dad. I can find all of that stuff online,” Max said with playful impatience.
“That’s true, son. I’m sure you can. But what happens when the electricity goes out? Then you have nothing,” Randall said, closing the scrapbook.
“Daddy, leave that here for a bit. I want to see more of it,” Arlena said.
“I’ll be back in a while,” Randall said, standing up and stretching. “But I’m taking you all out to dinner tonight.”
Penelope turned to Arlena. “Joey…Detective Baglioni…left me a message saying he wanted to ask us some more questions.”
“Oh,” Arlena said, deflating a bit. “Today?”
“Yeah,” Penelope said. “I met with him last night and he has a few new leads he’s working on. Both with Holly and with, well…” She sighed, glancing away from Arlena. Gathering herself, she began again. “Something made me think what happened to you on set yesterday wasn’t an accident. Kelley and I think someone might have messed with your makeup, so I took it to Joey. I planned to tell you this morning, but with everyone here it didn’t seem the right time.”
Arlena’s eyes took on a hard edge. “What do you mean ‘messed with’, Pen?”
“Someone might have tampered with your makeup, used it to trigger an allergic reaction.”
“Are you saying that someone is intentionally trying to hurt me?”
Penelope placed her hand on Arlena’s upper arm. “I don’t know, Arlena. But I’m worried about you. A girl gets murdered outside our house, and then there are two separate incidents with you on set this week? I mean, it’s hard to think that’s all a coincidence. What if someone really is trying to hurt you?”
Chapter 17
The front doorbell rang just before seven. Penelope’s heart skipped as she put aside her iPad, hopped off the kitchen island stool and headed to the front door. She’d been surfing recipe sites and making notes for menu ideas while she waited for everyone else to get ready for dinner, and for Joey to stop by.
Joey was on the front porch in a blue suit and a long wool coat. “Detective, nice to see you again,” Penelope said, showing him inside.
“Likewise, Penny.”
She led him through the foyer and down the hallway to the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you. You look nice.”
Penelope flushed and glanced away, still trying to balance Joey’s formality mixed with familiarity routine. She was dressed for dinner in tight black slacks, black mid-calf leather riding boots and a shimmery beige silk top. She knew she looked good, better than he’d seen her lately.
Sam wandered into the kitchen from the opposite hallway, dressed for dinner in a black suit with a crisp white shirt opened at the collar. He took a beer from the fridge and sat on a stool at the island.
“Detective. Working on Saturday?” Sam said, taking a swig of beer.
“That happens a lot. I’ve got some information and a couple of questions for Arlena.”
“She’ll be out in a minute.”
The back door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and a whiff of cigar smoke. Randall and Max came inside, Randall’s arm draped heavily over his son’s shoulders. They were laughing, but when they saw Joey they paused. “Who do we have here?” Randall asked as he eyed Joey up and down, giving Max’s shoulders one more squeeze before releasing him.
“Mr. Madison, I’m Detective Joseph Baglioni. Penelope mentioned on the phone you were in town. I’m investigating the homicide of a young girl in the neighborhood.” He extended his hand for Randall to shake.
“So you’re the detective I’ve been hearing about,” Randall said, shaking Joey’s hand. “This is my son, Max.” He released Joey’s hand and nodded towards Max. “I gather you know Penelope already.”
“Yes, sir. Penelope and I go back a ways. We were friends in grade school.”
“Is that right?” Randall asked. He walked to the refrigerator and grabbed two beers, holding one out for Joey. “Small world.”
“No thank you,” Joey said, waving away the bottle.
Randall handed it to Max, who twisted off the cap. He stood behind Penelope’s, resting his hand on the back of her stool.
Arlena entered the kitchen and, as usual, all attention turned to her. She was dressed in skin tight cream leather pants and a transparent black silk shirt with a sleek black camisole underneath. She had on short cuffed leather boots with toe cut outs, a red toenail showing through on each foot. Her long black hair hung in a shiny wave down her back. Her lips were a deep red, but otherwise she wore minimal makeup and no jewelry.
“Miss Madison, thank you for taking the time to talk with me,” Joey said.
“Oh…hello, Detective,” Arlena said, momentarily startled when she saw Joey standing in the kitchen. Since their big revelation at breakfast, Arlena and Sam had been pretty focused on each other, everything else taking a backseat.
“Is there somewhere we can speak privately?” Joey asked, glancing at the others in the room.
Arlena sighed. “That’s not necessary, Detective. This is my family. Go ahead.”
Joey paused for a moment before continuing. “The reason I wanted to talk to you was to let you know that Penelope was right. Someone tampered with your makeup.”
Penelope’s heart sank even though she had suspected as much. “The lip gloss was tainted with something?”
“It appears the tubes were laced with seafood residue. For someone with a severe allergy like yourself, it was enough to make you very ill.”
Sam stepped behind Arlena and placed a protective hand on her shoulder. Arlena remained still and stared at Joey.
“Can you think of any reason someone would do that?” Joey asked.
“Of course not…” she trailed off, her gaze wandering. “I honestly can’t think of anyone who would go out of their way to hurt me.”
“It doesn’t necessarily have to be someone she knows,” Randall said. “There are lots of crazy people out there. Maybe some nut has become fixated on Arlena.”
“That’s a possibility, Mr. Madison. But we also have to consider that it’s someone close to your daughter, someone holding a grudge against her, for something real or imagined.”
“How am I supposed to know if someone has an imagined grudge against me?” Arlena asked, a touch of impatience in her voice.
“That’s what I’m asking you to think about. An incident that may seem like nothing to you could have upset an unstable acquaintance or fan. If you’ve had any run-ins lately that didn’t feel right or a minor altercation…anything like that would be helpful to remember.”
Penelope glanced at Arlena as she tried to think. Arlena was always professional on the set, and she didn’t remember anything like what Joey was describing. Arlena could be a bit of a diva at times, but nothing over the top. Certainly nothing anyone would want to killer her over.
“What about that Brett asshole?” Randall asked Arlena.
“Brett? Daddy, we had a disagreement about work. I’ve known him for years, filmed three movies with him. He would never try to physically hurt me.”
“His movie tanked without you,” Sam said, rubbing her shoulder. “Maybe he is holding a grudge against you for walking off.”
“It’s true,” she said to Sam, “that things didn’t end well between us. But poisoning me over it? I don’t think he’d do that.”
“Who are you talking about?” Joey asked, flipping his pad open to take notes.
“Brett Ralston. R-A-L-S-T-O-N,” Randall said, punctuating the letters with his pointed finger. “He’s a no-talent director who tried to take advantage of Arlena, and then threatened her when she wouldn’t take her clothes off for his piece of crap movie.”
Joey jotted the name down. W
hen he finished he looked up and said, “Mr. Madison, have you ever heard the name Holly Anderson?”
Randall shook his head and took a swig of beer. “Doesn’t ring a bell, Detective.”
“How about Cheryl or Bradley Anderson?”
“I’ve met a few Cheryls and a lot of Brads in my day. Anything about them that stands out?”
“Their daughter might have been trying to prove she was your daughter. Their names mean anything to you now?” Joey asked.
Max shifted uncomfortably on his feet behind Penelope. Joey looked at Max and Penelope saw the familiar muscle twitch in his jaw.
“Detective, I love my kids.” He spread his arms wide, motioning around the room at the others. “I take care of every single one of them. If she was my daughter, I didn’t know about it.”
Joey pulled some pictures from his inside coat pocket. He sorted through them quickly then held up one of Holly’s headshots for Randall to see. “Recognize her?”
Randall took the picture from Joey and held it at an angle to shine more light on it. “No. Pretty girl, though.” He handed the picture back to Joey.
Joey handed him another photo, this time the family portrait. “How about her?” Joey asked, indicating Cheryl Anderson.
Randall smiled knowingly. “Now her I remember. What did you say her name was?”
“Cheryl,” Joey said.
“I don’t remember her name being Cheryl, but I remember her face,” Randall said. “I worked on a movie, a sci-fi flick called Outward Invasion, and I met her,” he tapped the photo, “on the last day. She was working the after party, serving drinks.”
“Daddy,” Arlena said with a heavy sigh.
Randall handed the picture back to Joey. “Look, we hooked up. We were together one time and I never heard from her again. I certainly never heard of Holly or any other child until right this minute. You know if I had I would have told you guys, and I would have taken care of them.”
Murder on a Silver Platter (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 1) Page 12
