MURDER ON A DESIGNER DIET

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  Penelope was exaggerating a bit, but she wanted to see how Sienna would respond.

  Sienna’s face reddened and she took a deep breath. Jesse hurried over and put an arm around her shoulders, perching on the arm of her chair. “Look what you’ve done,” he said to Penelope. “You should go.”

  “Jesse, stop being rude,” Sienna said, collecting herself. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. We should try and help.”

  “Sienna, I’m not sure how Max is involved, but we really need to find him,” Penelope urged. “I know he was there when it happened. I heard everything over the phone.”

  Sienna looked at her, a glimmer of hope behind her eyes. “So Max might be okay, just hiding out.” Jesse continued to rub her shoulder, staring out of the room’s large windows.

  “How well did you know Christian?” Penelope asked, searching Sienna’s face.

  Sienna got up quickly without answering and hurried into the adjoining bedroom, murmuring, “Excuse me,” in a hoarse whisper. When she opened the door, Penelope could see a woman’s bare legs in the bed, her dark skin a sharp contrast to the white sheets draped over them. She leaned over to get a better look, but Jesse stood up and pulled the door closed before she could.

  “Who is that?” Penelope asked.

  “My girlfriend. I don’t want to wake her up, so keep your voice down,” Jesse said, walking back towards the windows.

  After a few minutes, Sienna emerged from the bedroom. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Jesse gave her a quick hug around the shoulders and went back into the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Sienna twisted a tissue in her fingers and stared at Penelope with red-rimmed eyes. She blew her nose and glanced at the kitchenette, spotting a mug with a tea bag label dangling against its side, and went to retrieve it. Penelope smelled ginger when she brought it closer.

  “Sienna,” Penelope asked again. “How well did you know Christian?”

  Sienna sighed and took a sip of her tea, which seemed to soothe her. “I hired him for my show through his agency. I’ve known him for a few months…he and all of the models met with me during that time for fittings. I’ve been working on this collection for months and had to make lots of alterations.”

  “Was he the only model you hired through that agency?” Penelope asked.

  Sienna nodded distractedly, staring at something in the corner of the room. “Yes, they came from all over through recommendations. Someone showed me his portfolio online and I booked him based on that. He had the right look, exactly the kind of man I pictured when I designed the collection.”

  Penelope leveled her gaze at Sienna. “You only knew him through work though? You seem pretty upset about the death of someone you weren’t involved with personally.”

  Sienna placed her mug down on the table. “My work is very personal. It’s an extension of me. And it’s tragic when anyone we’ve known is killed. It’s a shock.”

  Penelope paused a moment to think. “Did you ever hear that Christian was involved with drugs?”

  Sienna sniffed. “It’s fashion. Everyone is involved with drugs. He worked as a club promoter, too. It was part of his payment sometimes.”

  “How do you know that? Did he tell you something specific?” Penelope urged, excited about a potential new piece of the puzzle.

  Sienna nodded. “He more alluded to it, but yeah, he said that’s how it works sometimes.”

  “Did he ever share any with you?” Penelope asked tentatively, unsure how far to step.

  Sienna smiled tightly. “Of course not. I never saw anything, and for all I know he was just mouthing off, trying to impress the younger guys.”

  Penelope sat back and thought about what she’d said. “I can’t imagine everyone in the fashion industry is on drugs, Sienna.”

  Sienna scoffed. “Well, of course not. But it’s not like they’re hard to find if you’ve a mind to. I don’t allow it when they’re working. I don’t know why they do it at all, to be honest.”

  Penelope rubbed her temples. “If you had to guess, where do you think Max and Hannah are?” Her eyes flicked to the bedroom door.

  Sienna picked up her mug and avoided Penelope’s stare. “I honestly have no idea.”

  Penelope sat back for a moment and crossed her arms over her chest. “I saw Christian and Hannah together before your show. They were sharing a very intimate moment in the bathroom. Had you ever seen them together before?”

  Sienna snapped to attention, her cheeks flushing. She looked slightly ill and held a wad of tissues up against her mouth. “No. She’s only got eyes for Max, as far as I’ve seen. You must be mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so,” Penelope said. “I’m pretty sure it was her. It was definitely him. And it didn’t seem like it was the first time they’d hooked up.”

  Sienna took a deep breath and waved her off.

  “So, maybe they see other people. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You have to admit it’s a concern when one third of a love triangle ends up dead,” Penelope said.

  “But that would mean Max is the guilty party. What’s your theory…he went wild in a jealous rage and killed Christian?” She shook her head. “I have to lie down. I’m sorry I can’t be more help right now, but I’m not feeling well.”

  Penelope started asking another question but Sienna held up her hand, fending her off. “Please go. If I hear from Max, I’ll get in touch with Arlena.”

  Chapter 17

  Penelope walked slowly back toward Max’s neighborhood, oblivious to the people around her, going back over everything that had happened and wondering what to do next. She felt like Sienna wasn’t saying everything she knew about Max, Christian and Hannah, but she had no idea what she might be holding back.

  She pulled her phone from her back pocket and dialed Joey’s number, listening to it ring until it went to his voicemail. “Hey, Joey, it’s me. Give me a call, okay?”

  Penelope walked a few more blocks to Westside Market, an organic farm-to-table bistro, and decided to get some lunch before walking the roughly ten blocks south to Christian’s brownstone. Penelope was curious to see where they’d been the night before in the light of day. She also wanted to see if any of Christian’s neighbors might have seen Max there at some point the night before, or if she might be able to learn anything else about Christian. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she had a vague idea that if she found out more about Christian, the information might lead her to Max.

  Penelope opted for a seat on the patio under the restaurant’s awning, pointing to a table far away from the other diners as the hostess led her outside. She took a quick look at the brunch menu and tucked it under her plate, then dug through her purse for Officer Gomez’s business card. She dialed the cell number and smiled as the waiter placed a glass of water down on the table in front of her.

  “Gomez,” Officer Gomez answered crisply.

  “Officer Gomez, it’s Penelope Sutherland.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  Penelope took a sip of her water, sloshing a little onto her lap. “I was just wondering if there was any news about Max or Christian,” she said, pressing a cloth napkin onto the wet spot on her jeans.

  “News? No, there’s no news,” Officer Gomez said.

  Penelope blew out a sigh. “Nothing at all?”

  Penelope heard Officer Gomez pull the phone from her ear and swear under her breath in Spanish. When she came back on the line she said, “Penelope, I’m not the NYPD media department. I told you I’d help you if I could.”

  “That’s why I’m calling,” Penelope said, exhaustion slipping into her voice. She stared at a couple passing by on the sidewalk, holding hands and talking happily with each other, and attempted to keep from becoming emotional.

  “Okay, let’s do it this way,
” Officer Gomez said a little more kindly. It sounded like she was outside. Penelope could hear children playing in the background. “Do you have a specific question? If I can answer it for you, I will.”

  “Okay,” Penelope said, pausing for a second to think. “Was Christian into drugs?”

  “Yes. As far as we know, he was. I can tell you that because he has an arrest record, which your boyfriend could look up for you,” Officer Gomez said. She added quietly, “Nothing recent.”

  “And he was a club promoter? And a fashion model?” Penelope asked, encouraged.

  “Yes, all of those things. Also public knowledge,” Officer Gomez said. She pulled the phone away from her ear again to yell something in Spanish, Penelope picking up the word cuidadoso.

  “And he was definitely shot, and that was the cause of death?” Penelope said when she returned to the phone.

  “Ah, good question. Yes, he was shot twice, but the coroner still has to make a ruling on the cause of death for it to be official. Toxicology won’t be back for at least two weeks, maybe longer than that.”

  Penelope remembered the model on the phone from the club who mentioned Christian offered his guests party favors at his get-togethers. “I guess he could have died of something drug related,” Penelope said. “But there’s no getting around the fact that someone shot him. Twice. Did they find the gun in the apartment?”

  “No weapons were found, although there was a gun registered in Christian’s name, same caliber as the bullets that killed him. It’s possible the shooter used Christian’s gun and took it with him when he fled the scene. Of course we have to confirm he was shot with his own weapon, but it looks likely.”

  Penelope rested her forehead heavily in her palm, trying to think. “I’m sorry to bother you on your day off,” she said finally. “I’m just frustrated and I don’t know what else to do.”

  Officer Gomez said something in Spanish again, Penelope recognizing the word almuerzo, which she remembered meant “lunch.” She heard cheers from several small voices on the other end of the line.

  “Are you with your kids?” Penelope asked.

  “What makes you think that?”

  Penelope shook her head. “I’ll let you go. Thanks again for taking my call.”

  “Listen,” Officer Gomez said, “I know you’re trying to help your friend and I’d want to do the same thing if I were you.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve been looking at this modeling agency for a while now, and every time I go there I get a bad feeling. I haven’t been able to get them on anything, but something about it is off. No one believes me, though.”

  “I know how that feels. Have you ever been inside or talked to anyone there?” Penelope asked.

  “I’ve been there a couple of times, responding to complaints from neighbors. Some uptight older lady runs the place. Joyce Alves. It’s supposed to be a modeling agency, but I don’t get high fashion from her. I never caught her or Christian doing anything illegal, just had to break up some loud parties. I have to keep my distance. The last time we responded to a complaint, Miss Alves called and threatened to bring a harassment suit against the department and our boss got a visit from his boss, telling us to stay away.”

  “Who is calling in the complaints about the parties?” Penelope asked.

  “Neighbors from the block mostly. A lot of the time it’s the lady next door. I gave her my card once, and now she leaves me messages about people not picking up dog poop from the sidewalk or parking in front of the fire hydrant. Her noise complaints from next door are real. She might be exaggerating about some of the other stuff.”

  “What does she think is going on there? And what does it have to do with Max?” Penelope said.

  “I don’t know. She just says there are always people coming and going at all hours of the night. It’s a quiet block except for that one building. Maybe Christian was slinging drugs out of there, but we’ve never found any. He’s either good at getting rid of them quick when we show up or he has a hiding place we haven’t uncovered.”

  Penelope was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of getting involved with what could be a very dangerous group of people. “That doesn’t make sense. I can’t believe Max would be friends with someone like that.”

  “Who knows what people do? Go ahead and help your friend. Just stay out of trouble.”

  Chapter 18

  Penelope took a bite of bagel topped with cream cheese and smoked salmon and stared out at the small park across the street. A few people were lounging on benches or lying on blankets on the grass reading books and newspapers, while others strolled along the asphalt paths, tugging dog leashes or pushing baby strollers. It was unseasonably warm for late fall, and the city dwellers were taking advantage of the weather before being closed up inside during the coldest months. Penelope wished she was with Joey, strolling through Central Park or taking in a museum on this beautiful day.

  She ate a chunk of cantaloupe, its deep sweetness reminding her of warm summer nights. She thought about the bitterly cold mornings of winter, and hoped she’d get to spend the holidays with Joey, their first Christmas as a couple. She usually tried to work as much as possible during the season to make it go by faster, but held out hope this would be a memorable one.

  Her phone was lying on the table next to her plate and she swiped it to life, gazing down at the picture of the two of them.

  Suddenly a text popped onto the screen. It was from her sous chef, Francis. “We have a call time for tomorrow yet?”

  Penelope swiped her cheek before typing her response. “Yes, crew arriving at 5 p.m. All-nighter until 5 a.m.”

  The little bubble appeared on the text screen, letting her know he was typing a response. It came across: “????”

  She smiled and typed, “I know. Crazy job. Can you let the others know?”

  His reply: “Sure, Boss. See you then.”

  She typed “THX” and put her phone back on the table. She waved at the waiter as he passed by. “I’ll take that mimosa after all.”

  He nodded and hurried back inside. Penelope replayed the phone call from Max the night before in her mind and wondered again if she’d misread the situation. She had been woken from a deep sleep, and her mind wasn’t sharp when she spoke with him. Maybe she’d blown the whole thing out of proportion, and in the process had put her own needs and happiness in jeopardy. She might be able to convince herself of that, except for the persistent image in her mind of Christian’s blood-soaked legs. The waiter placed the mimosa on the table in front of her.

  Penelope took a sip of her drink and pulled a pen from her purse. If she thought about something else besides Max’s wellbeing for a few minutes, maybe a good idea of how to proceed would come to her. She jotted down some menu ideas on a cocktail napkin, sketching out her plans for the coming week. She nodded at the waiter when he asked if she’d like another drink, eyeing her empty champagne flute. Penelope compiled her produce and pantry ordering lists and Googled a few dessert recipes she thought might pair well with the menus.

  Twenty minutes later, Penelope paid her tab, leaving a healthy tip for the attentive young waiter, and made her way down the sidewalk to the corner, glancing up and down the crowded avenue. Standing at the crosswalk on the corner waiting for the light to change, she gave a quick glance at the young girl with the bright pink earbuds who had sidled up next to her. The traffic light turned yellow and Penelope went to take a step off of the curb, pausing when she noticed a cab speeding towards the intersection trying to make the light. She glanced at the young girl again, who was studying something on her phone. Penelope could hear the music coming from her earbuds and she tried to place the song, the familiar notes jarring something in her memory.

  A pair of hands pushed Penelope roughly from behind, shoving her into the path of the speeding cab. Penelope heard the girl next to her scream just before everything went dark.

&n
bsp; Chapter 19

  Penelope opened her eyes slowly, and blinked at the white ceiling tiles a few times, but a sharp pain across her forehead convinced her to close them again. Her mouth was dry and her tongue was covered in a tangy metallic sludge. She tried opening her eyes again, squinting this time, trying to keep the throbbing in her head to a minimum. She glanced down and saw she was wearing a blue hospital gown, three drops of dried blood dotting the neckline.

  She reached up to touch the spots and felt a twinge on the top of her hand. An IV had been inserted there, the connecting tube taped tightly to her skin. Clear liquid flowed through the tube from a bag hanging on a stand behind the bed. A television was suspended from the ceiling in the corner next to the window, its screen dark and reflecting the trees outside. Her head felt like it had been filled with sand. She looked down at her hand again and noticed a long remote next to it with several call buttons. She pressed the one next to a drawing of a stick figure nurse.

  A few minutes later, a short woman with a kind face came through the door, pink scrubs wrapped around her body. The plastic badge clipped to her breast pocket said her name was Jan Kurtz, RN.

  “You’re awake,” she said. “How are you feeling?” She reminded Penelope of her mom, and she guessed they were probably close in age. Nurse Kurtz placed two cool fingers on Penelope’s wrist to check her pulse.

  “My head hurts. Where am I?” Penelope said thickly, her tongue moving much slower than usual.

  “Chelsea Medical,” Jan said, flicking her eyes to the monitor above the bed. “Ambulance brought you in a few hours ago.”

  Penelope tried to sit up, but Nurse Kurtz placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Stay still. The doctor will be in to talk with you shortly.”

  Penelope looked down at her left wrist. It had a splint and was swollen to the point that she didn’t recognize it. Suddenly afraid, she tried to sit up again, her heart thudding loudly in her chest. “Someone pushed me.”