“Quentin, you need to move on those salads. We have no time today,” she yelled to everyone in the prep tent.
Sensing her frustration, her crew worked quickly and quietly and mostly avoided her as much as they could. Penelope made a mental note to apologize to them after they got caught up.
The day moved quickly and by the end Penelope felt like she might survive after all. Sal had called an end to the day and they were busy getting everything put away when Penelope’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. She walked towards the cab of her truck and pulled it out, glanced at the screen and saw Joey’s name.
“Hello?” Even though she was stressed and exhausted, seeing his name on her phone lightened her mood. She climbed inside the cab of the truck and closed the door.
“Penelope, hi. It’s Detective Baglioni.”
“Joey,” Penelope said, smiling. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at work. I know you’re busy.”
“It’s fine. We’re wrapping up for the day.”
“I tried calling Arlena, but I kept getting her voicemail. Do you know if she’s available?”
“Um, I haven’t seen her for a while. They’ve been filming all day, so she might be resting or already on her way home. We’re behind schedule because of the incidents on set last week. Sal’s doubling up on some shoots until we catch up.”
“I see…” he hesitated, seeming to weigh something.
“Or you could tell me whatever it is and I’ll relay the message…”
He paused and Penelope wondered for a minute if she’d lost the connection with him.
“What are you doing later?” he finally asked.
“After finishing up here, I’m going home, eating dinner.”
He paused again then said, “I wanted to tell Arlena, and Randall, actually, that I heard back from DIY-DNA. Holly did send them a kit and the results are surprising.”
“Why? What did she find out?”
“It looks like she submitted her own DNA and that of her mother and her father, Cheryl and Bradley Anderson. She filled out the company’s submission questionnaire and listed them as the second and third donors.”
“Wait, she sent in the DNA of both of her parents?”
“That’s weird, right? I assumed she was trying to figure out if Bradley Anderson was her dad. I didn’t think about her mom at all. Anyway, the results came back and Dad’s no match, and mom’s a familial match,” he said, sighing on the other end of the line.
Penelope stood up straighter. “Familial? What’s that?”
“A familial match is a close relative, like a sibling maybe, or a cousin.”
“Or maybe an aunt,” Penelope said. “Remember when Randall said he recognized Cheryl’s face but said her name was Rachel?”
“I do. And I checked. Cheryl has a twin sister named Rachel Harlow.”
“So the Andersons aren’t Holly’s real parents? They’re her aunt and uncle?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Look, the Andersons are coming in within the hour. I’m letting you know because you helped me with this DNA company in the first place, and Arlena’s told me more than once she doesn’t mind me asking questions with you in the room.”
“But wait…don’t twins have the same DNA? How can they tell them apart?”
“They do if they’re identical twins. But if they’re fraternal it’s different. I still have to confirm all of this but it might be why Holly ran off that night, finding out the truth about her parents might have set her off.”
“Wow. I have to admit I wish you had happier news. It’s been a rough day all around,” Penelope sighed, crooking her phone on her shoulder and grabbing a stack of paper on the seat next to her to straighten into a pile.
“What do you mean? Did something else happen with Arlena or—”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Penelope interrupted him, allowing some frustration to enter her voice. “I ran into your girlfriend. More like she ran into me, and gave me a $350 ticket on my way to work this morning.”
“What do you mean girlfriend?” Joey asked in a sharp tone.
“Officer Jenkins? Your partner in…whatever,” Penelope said, already regretting bringing up the topic.
Joey was speechless on the other end of the line and once again Penelope thought they had been cut off.
“Hello?” she said finally.
“Let me…first of all,” he stammered. “Can you come by the station on your way home?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to intrude on you two,” Penelope said.
“Just come here. I need to talk to you,” Joey said firmly.
Chapter 23
The police station sat right off of the parkway in a square brown building halfway between South Point and Glendale. The windows were tinted the same shade of brown, so the whole building looked like a thick block of chocolate.
Penelope pulled her Range Rover into a spot out front and walked through the automatic doors. The desk sergeant sat inside, gazing into a computer monitor and only looking up after Penelope had stood in front of him for a few seconds. He was an older man with a red face and a neck that drooped over his starched white collar.
“Help you?” he asked reluctantly.
“I’m here to see Detective Baglioni,” Penelope responded.
“ID?”
Penelope dug through her messenger bag, eventually producing her wallet and extracting her license from inside.
He glanced at her ID for the briefest second then handed it back to her with a plastic visitor’s pass, slapping a clipboard on the desk in front of her with a sign-in sheet attached to it. As she scratched her signature, he buzzed a door open to the left of the desk, gruffly directing her to follow the dingy green carpet all the way back to the Detective Squad.
She thanked him and proceeded through the doors, passing a row of glass enclosed offices on her left. She saw a few paperwork-strewn desks and one woman in a darkened office typing on a keyboard with her back to the door. Otherwise the station was very quiet, much to Penelope’s surprise. She’d expected more activity, but then realized it was well past dinner time and maybe most of the people who worked there had already gone home.
At the end of the carpet Penelope came to a frosted glass door with “Detective Squad” painted on the glass. She saw Joey immediately after she pushed through the door.
Joey’s face lit up when she entered. He was sitting at a desk, one of four pushed together in the otherwise empty room, his jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs.
“You made it,” Joey said as he stood up and walked over to her. “Come on, let’s go in here.” He motioned to one of three interview rooms along the left wall. They entered and he shut the door behind them. “Thanks for coming down.”
“Sure,” Penelope said. She stood behind a table with four wooden chairs around it in the center of the room. “What did you want to talk about? Something about the case?”
“Look, I have to something to tell you about the case. But also, the thing with Nancy…Officer Jenkins—”
An intercom buzzed from the outer room and cut him off.
“Just a sec,” he said, opening the door and walking back to his desk to pick up his desk phone.
“The Andersons are here,” he said to her when he hung up. “I hate to ask, but can you hang out for a minute? I need to talk to you, but Holly’s parents are here and I don’t want to make them wait.”
“I can for a bit. Wait, do they know about the DNA results?” she whispered, even though they were still alone in the squad room.
“No, not yet. Look, I won’t be long. I want to clear something up with you. And I think I’d like you to hear what the Andersons have to say, if you’re okay with that.”
Penelope nodded tentatively. “Are you sure?”
“You helped the investigation more than once by providing new information, and you found Holly in the first place. It sounds crazy but whenever I talk to you, I feel like I get closer to the truth.”
“What should I say if Holly’s parents ask who I am?”
“Nothing. Stay in here and look busy,” Joey said, grabbing a folder from the hanging file outside the door and handing it to her.
Before Penelope could answer, Joey said, “Take a seat. I’ll be right outside.” He went into the main room, being careful to leave the interview room door ajar. She looked down at the folder in her hand and flipped it open, seeing that it contained a collection of takeout menus.
Holly’s parents came through to the squad room, looking very much like they did in the family photo she’d seen of them except now they appeared exhausted, their shoulders hunching forward as they greeted Joey. Cheryl’s eyes were red and swollen, as if she’d recently been crying.
“Have a seat, please,” Joey said, indicating the two chairs in front of his desk. “Thanks for coming in to speak with me.”
Penelope watched them take their seats, Bradley throwing a quick look at her through the doorway before settling in his. Penelope flipped through her folder, pretending to study the paperwork inside. She felt uneasy about being there, but had to admit she really wanted to help Joey find out what had happened to Holly.
Mr. Anderson spoke first, his voice deep and shaky. “Have you found who killed our daughter?”
Joey cleared his throat. “Not yet, Mr. Anderson. We’ve been tracking Holly’s final days as you know, and we uncovered something that I need to ask you about.”
“What is it?” Cheryl Anderson asked, her voice thick and scratchy.
“In the weeks before she died, was Holly acting differently? Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“Um, no, I don’t…” Cheryl stammered. “Everything was fine. I don’t think so. We’ve already answered this question a hundred times.”
“Holly withdrew $400 from her savings account,” Bradley Anderson said suddenly. “I didn’t tell you about it,” he said, glancing at Cheryl. “When I got the account statement I asked her about it and she said it was for headshots. I told her that her savings account was for school and she needed permission to withdraw any money. We had already told her we’d help her with her auditioning expenses so it didn’t make sense.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cheryl asked.
Bradley looked down at his hands clenched together on the table. “The boys were both sick with the flu and you weren’t feeling well yourself, remember? It wasn’t a big deal, we decided we would put aside money for her for things like that…I handled it. She said she wouldn’t do it again.”
“That must be how she paid for this,” Joey said. Penelope heard a shuffling of papers.
“What’s DIY-DNA?” Cheryl asked.
“It’s a private company that performs DNA tests,” Joey said. “Holly sent samples off to them.”
Cheryl gasped sharply. “What do you mean samples?” she asked, a bit indignantly.
“DNA samples from herself, and from Mr. Anderson,” Joey said. “And from you, Mrs. Anderson.”
“Me? What for?” she asked.
“Why do you think she did?” Joey asked gently.
Penelope heard heavy silence and then the sniffling of tears.
“Because she guessed that we weren’t her parents,” Bradley said in a hoarse whisper.
“What are you saying, Mr. Anderson?” Joey prodded.
“I mean, we’re not her parents.” Bradley’s voice grew louder and firmer. “She was suspicious. She asked me lots of times.”
“No she didn’t,” Cheryl said, a pleading note creeping into her voice.
“Yes, Cheryl, she did. Just because you refused to talk to her about it doesn’t mean she didn’t try to ask you.”
“I loved Holly—” Cheryl began.
“Of course you did. We all loved Holly,” Bradley said firmly. “But she knew there was something wrong.”
Penelope sat back in her chair and listened to Cheryl Anderson cry and to Joey offering her a new tissue.
“But you showed me her birth certificate listing your names,” Joey said, placing the tissue box back on the desk.
“Rachel used my name when she went to the hospital. We used to switch names all of the time in school, swap out of classes to see if the teachers noticed. She didn’t have insurance and I did, so I gave her my ID for doctor visits or whatever. We weren’t identical but we looked so much alike back then. I was engaged to Brad and Rachel thought…well, I don’t know what she thought. I was as surprised as you when I found out she used our names at the hospital.”
“And Holly suspected something like that had happened?” Joey said.
“She was always asking why there weren’t any pictures of Cheryl pregnant with her. One time she found a picture of us right after our college graduation and Cheryl was obviously not pregnant when she would have been about ready to have Holly. I slipped and told her the year, forgetting that she would be old enough to figure it out. When she was younger we could make excuses, but finding that picture…I think it confirmed some of the things she was thinking,” Brad said. “Later she became obsessed with the idea she was adopted or switched at birth. I ran out of things to say to her.”
“Did you ever think to tell her the truth?” Joey asked.
“Detective, how do you turn to your child and tell them that you’ve been lying to them for their whole life? How do you explain that you lied to protect them?” Cheryl asked, anger cutting through her tears.
“I told her,” Bradley said in a hoarse whisper.
“What?” Cheryl said quietly.
“I told her the truth. That’s why she ran out that night.” Bradley’s voice broke and his chair scraped the floor as he pushed back from the table.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Anderson,” Joey said firmly. “This is the first time you’ve mentioned anything about this. Tell me exactly what happened.”
Bradley sighed loudly and Penelope watched him from the corner of her eye stand up and begin pacing.
“I came home from work and she was in her room, working on the computer. You were out somewhere with the boys. Her notebook was lying on the kitchen counter. It was lying there open, and I saw that she’d written a letter to Randall Madison, asking him to meet her.”
Cheryl sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me, Brad?”
“I don’t know, Cheryl,” Bradley said. “But seeing his name there and realizing she found her way to him after all those years, out of millions of people she guessed the truth. I went to her room, asked her about the letter. She panicked, told me it was nothing, tried make it seem like it was a school project. But I knew. I knew she had figured it out. So I told her the truth.”
“What exactly did you tell her, Mr. Anderson?” Joey asked, scribbling down notes as they talked.
“I told her that Randall Madison was her father, at least that’s what her mother had told us. I also told her that her real mother was her Aunt Rachel, who died when Holly was only a baby.”
Cheryl cried in her seat as her husband spoke.
“How did she react?” Joey asked.
“She cried at first. And then she was furious. At all of us. She grabbed her bag and ran out and that was it. Until you called us.” His voice broke at the end.
“I told you it was a mistake for her to know,” Cheryl said.
“Why was it a mistake, Mrs. Anderson?” Joey asked.
“Because she was happy before she knew. She was a happy little kid. My sister was…” Cheryl paused, searching for words, “…she was reckless. She couldn’t take care of Holly and she knew it. We agreed to hel
p her when the baby was born until she could get herself together, get a solid job and a place to live.” Cheryl reached for a fresh tissue and continued, her voice getting stronger while recounting the story. “She would disappear for days at a time, sometimes weeks, leaving the baby with us. And then Rachel died. A year later she was gone.”
“What happened to her?” Joey asked.
“She overdosed on heroin,” Cheryl said quietly. “I didn’t want Holly to know about how her mother was, always in trouble somehow. We told her my twin sister, her Aunt Rachel, had died in an accident. And I prayed every day that Holly would never find out the truth.”
“We lost her, Cheryl, because we didn’t tell her the truth,” Bradley said.
Cheryl shifted in her chair, her voice hardening. “No. We lost her because someone took her from us. And you,” she said to Joey, “have to promise me you’ll find out who killed her.”
After the Andersons left, Joey returned to the interrogation room where Penelope waited.
“Did you hear all of that?” Joey asked quietly, closing the door behind him.
“I feel so bad for them,” Penelope said.
“I feel bad for Holly,” Joey said, sliding the chair out next to Penelope and sitting down.
“She was upset when she heard the truth about her parents not being her real parents, I get that. But what does that have to do with her murder? I don’t get the connection.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t either. I’ve been over the evidence dozens of times and I’m still not seeing it.” Joey sighed and shook his head.
“I guess I should get going,” Penelope said, feeling a bit at a loss to help him.
“Wait, I have to talk to you about Nancy,” he said, putting his hand on her arm.
Penelope felt a tinge of dread tighten her chest.
“I’m going to take care of that ticket she gave you. Do you have it on you?” Joey asked, glancing at Penelope’s bag.
“I have it somewhere. But you don’t have to do that,” Penelope said.
Murder on a Silver Platter (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 1) Page 16
