“Elspeth was from the west coast,” Penelope said. “Have you received any tips from the Seattle area?”
“A couple,” Doyle said. “We’re still sorting through everything. Nothing solid yet.”
Penelope bit her bottom lip and pulled on the lapels of her pea coat. “My team will be cooking here starting today. Feel free to stop by whenever you’re here…working.”
“Thanks,” Doyle said, with a surprised glance. “Hey, did I hear you correctly the other day on the phone. You know someone named Sotheby?”
Penelope smiled. “I do, a good friend. Older lady.”
“Not the auction place, right?” he asked with a chuckle.
“No, a retired school teacher,” Penelope said.
“It’s just that,” Doyle began, then paused. “That name rings a bell. If she’s a teacher we might know the same family.”
“Oh yeah?” Penelope asked. “How do you know her?”
“Well, I didn’t know them,” Doyle said. “But my first partner when I made detective, that was his bottom drawer case. Talked about it a few times with me.”
“Bottom drawer?” Penelope asked.
“Yeah, every detective has a case they keep in their bottom desk drawer. I got a couple of my own, trails gone cold, the ones you can’t solve no matter how much you try.”
“Don’t they have cold case departments now, that look into cases like that?” Penelope asked.
Doyle chuckled. “Are you a big fan of cop shows or something?”
“My boyfriend is a detective in New Jersey,” Penelope said. “I hear about things from him sometimes.”
“That makes sense,” Doyle said.
“This case of your partner’s,” Penelope said. “Was it a shooting? A man buying flowers, and the clerk gunned down on a Thursday afternoon in the city?”
“That’s the one,” Doyle said. “No witnesses, the customer and the owner the only two people in the store. And the mutt who shot them both. From what they could tell he got twenty-three dollars from the till. I think that’s what sent my partner over the edge, how little the perp thought the lives were worth of those two men.”
“That’s my friend’s husband,” Penelope said. “The customer. Did your partner have any suspicions about who did it?”
“He had a couple of suspects,” Doyle said with a nod. “But no proof to tie any of them to the crime. He’d be sure it was one of them, then be just as sure about another one. That’s how it went with him.”
“What’s your partner doing now?” Penelope asked. She glanced at Doyle’s graying hair and mustache and tried to work out how many years he’d been a detective. She thought Doyle might be close to retirement himself, but she didn’t want to ask and possibly offend him.
“He passed away fifteen years ago now,” Doyle said with a shake of his head. “He was my age when we partnered up. Back then they put the new guys with someone who knew the ropes, although that theory is out of practice now. Sometimes the old dogs show you the wrong ways, you know? Not always, but sometimes.”
“So no one has looked into Mr. Sotheby’s murder since?” Penelope asked.
“I doubt it,” he said. “Look, I should be going, but call me if anything comes up, okay? I caught a double homicide yesterday, a couple of guys decided to shoot at each other over drugs in some abandoned building a few blocks toward the river.”
“I didn’t see anything about it in the paper,” Penelope said, thinking back.
Doyle shrugged. “It’s not a high profile case. Gang stuff, your everyday run of the mill transaction gone bad. When a white woman is murdered or goes missing, it’s on the front page. These guys probably don’t get a mention.”
Penelope watched him go, thinking about all the things he’d seen during his career, all the bloodshed and heartache. Then she thought about Joey, growing old with him, and whether he’d be able to keep his playfulness after years of investigating what sometimes came from people acting at their worst.
Doyle knocked on the side of her food truck on his way out of the alley. “Got your permits in order?” he called jokingly over his shoulder.
“Oh, yes,” Penelope said with a smile. “Always.”
Chapter 32
Penelope worked side by side with Francis in the truck for a few hours, prepping for lunch, which they planned to serve during rehearsal. She had decided the kitchen space in the theater was too small to be functional, so they’d just use it as their staging area. It was near the dressing rooms where the performers would be taking breaks anyway. She’d also decided to set up a couple of tables backstage for the other techs and the musicians, so the women wouldn’t have to worry about the male crew members walking through when they might be changing.
When they had everything well underway and her other two chefs had arrived to help set up inside, she turned to Francis and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got an errand to run, but I’ll be back in about an hour. I’m on my cell if anything comes up.” Francis nodded and she turned on the radio for him. When she stepped down from the truck she looked in through the window and saw his head bobbing to the music.
Penelope skipped down the subway steps on the next corner, swiping her fare card and hurrying through the turnstile and onto a waiting uptown train. A few stops later she jogged up the concrete steps and took a left, heading for the restaurant that sat on the edge of Central Park.
The Village Tavern was decorated for the holidays with silver and gold ornaments hanging from the high ceilings, and gold chargers and flatware on the white tablecloths. The dining room to the left of the entrance was full, the familiar sound of forks tapping against china plates ringing in the air.
“Do you have a reservation?” the woman in the tight black dress behind the podium asked, eyeing Penelope’s jeans and boots beneath her peacoat. She was a pro, Penelope thought, because her expression remained neutral.
“Sorry, no,” Penelope said. “I was just stopping in for a drink on the way home from work.
The hostess smiled and flicked her eyes toward the next room. “The bar’s just through there. Can I take your coat?”
“No thanks,” Penelope said, “I’ll hang onto it.”
The hostess set her mouth in a line and nodded.
“Welcome to the Tavern,” she said, suddenly distracted by an elderly couple stepping up behind her.
Penelope slipped away as she greeted the more appropriately dressed guests.
The bar was horseshoe shaped, protruding out into the rear dining area. The walls were all glass looking out onto the park, providing a lovely view during any season of the year. Penelope chose a stool and slipped off her coat, hanging it on the back of it. Cocktail menus had been placed in between every third seat or so, and she picked one up, marveling at the prices listed next to the drinks. She tapped her finger on the mahogany, smiling when a good-looking bartender emerged from a swinging door behind the bar.
“Welcome to the Tavern,” he said in the exact same manner as the hostess, “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have a glass of the Pinot,” she said, pointing to an entry on the wine list in her hand. She thought about getting a glass of water or tea, but thought getting a drink that had a nicer tip attached to it would work better at getting his attention.
“Anything for lunch?” he asked, as he poured the ruby liquid into an elegant stemmed glass.
“Not quite yet,” Penelope said, taking a sip of wine.
“Okay, well, let me know when you’re ready. Name’s Derek.” He turned and tapped on the register a few times.
“I did want to ask you something, though,” Penelope said, setting down her glass.
“They’re not hiring right now, as far as I know.”
“Oh, right,” Penelope said. “Actually I was curious to see if you remembered someone I heard was in here recently.
”
“Oh,” Derek said. The ticket machine next to the register spit out a piece of paper. “One second.”
Penelope watched him mix a Manhattan straight up and a dirty martini, then place them on a round serving tray for one of the waitress.
“So,” he said, heading back to her. “Who are you curious about? The Clooneys? The Seinfelds? Kelly Ripa lives down the street, I’ve heard. Who are you interested in stalking?”
“It’s nothing like that,” Penelope said with a laugh. “I heard that there was a young woman in here who skipped out on her tab, maybe some time last week?”
“Oh, yeah,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. “The artist.”
“Artist?” Penelope asked.
“That’s what she said she was,” he said with a grimace. “She came on to me. Hard. And then skipped out on the tab.”
Penelope took another sip of wine and the ticket machine whirred again. He grabbed two rocks glasses from a shelf above the register and filled them with ice, pouring sour mix and whiskey inside a shaker. He placed the drinks on another small tray, garnishing both with lemon twists.
When he turned back to Penelope she said, “Did the woman have red hair and green eyes?” Penelope asked, pulling out her phone. She pulled up the computer sketch from the newspaper she had saved to her images.
“That’s her,” Derek said. “That’s not a good photo of her though. She’s a knockout. What’s with all the questions? I didn’t press charges or anything.”
“I’m just curious about who she was,” Penelope said.
“What do you mean was?” he asked.
Penelope turned the picture toward him again. “She was found murdered in the Theater District.”
“Oh,” he said, his face going pale. “I heard something about that...that was her?”
“Afraid so,” Penelope said.
“Man, I had no idea,” he said. “Are you a journalist?”
“No,” Penelope said. “No, but I’m…connected to her. Can you think of anything else that stuck out about her?”
“Well, when she was pouring it on with the flirting, I did catch her in a lie.”
“Really?” Penelope asked, sitting up straighter. “What was it?”
“The usual way you trap someone when you think they’re giving you a snow job,” he said.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I asked her where she lived. She said in Midtown. I told her I used to work at Murphy’s Pub on Seventh. She said she knew the place.”
“And…”
“I made it all up,” he said in a whisper. “I’m a good actor.”
“Right,” Penelope said. “Did she introduce herself by name?”
The bartender put his hands on his hips and looked at the ceiling, thinking. “I don’t remember. She got the better of me. I should’ve known better than to…I shouldn’t have trusted her.”
“You can’t always tell when someone is going to skip,” Penelope said. “She was just a stranger like everyone else at your bar.”
“I’m smarter than that, shouldn’t have fallen for her scam,” Derek said. “I had to pay her tab myself so I wouldn’t get written up.”
“Did she say anything else that was, I don’t know, weird or might give a clue as to who she is?” Penelope asked.
“Not that I can remember,” Derek said. “She said she was wealthy, which is hilarious because, why skip if you have money? She was gorgeous too. Great body.” He shook his head.
“Did she tell you she was a dancer, appearing in the Christmas Extravaganza?” Penelope asked.
“No, but that makes sense,” he said. “She was in the kind of shape those girls have to be in, you know?”
“I’ve been around them recently, so I do know what you mean,” Penelope said.
“This girl, though,” Derek said, an odd look coming into his eyes. “She wasn’t as hard. There was a softness to her.”
Penelope stared at him.
“You know what, I’m sorry that someone…I’m sorry this happened. She seemed nice, even though she ripped me off.”
“And you never saw her before that day at the bar?”
Derek shook his head. “Last thing I saw, she was chatting up one of our regulars. Hitting on him pretty hard, too.”
Penelope took another sip of wine. “Did he seem interested in her?”
“Nah,” he said. “She was barking up the wrong tree with that guy. He’s got a husband and a couple of kids at home.”
He wiped a spot of water from the bar. “You have to be careful who you talk to in this town. She seemed to not understand that. It’s not like home, where everyone knows your business.”
“Home?”
“You know, everyone comes here from all these small towns. They get to the city and think they’re going to be treated a certain kind of way because they have a talent, or they’re beautiful. It’s much more competitive here. They can’t always handle it.”
“Are you from the city?”
“Upstate. You?”
“Jersey.”
The ticket machine went again and Derek tossed a towel onto the bar, a bit of frustration showing through his friendly demeanor. “She didn’t deserve to get killed. Even if she was a liar and a cheat.”
Penelope finished her wine and paid her tab, slipping a twenty into the little leather folder before heading back out into the cold.
Chapter 33
“Abigail,” Penelope said when she got back to the theater. Abigail was sitting in one of the chairs outside the dressing rooms, staring at her phone. “You back to work today?”
“Just sitting in on rehearsal to watch,” she said. “I’m not cleared to dance yet.”
“I just came from the Tavern,” Penelope said. “Met the bartender your roommate skipped out on.”
“Really?” Abigail said, perking up.
“Yeah,” Penelope said. “She seemed to make an impression on him.”
“I can see that,” Abigail said. “She had one of those magnetic personalities.”
“This guy made her out to be quite a flirt.”
Abigail shot her a glance. “Sometimes guys think you’re coming on to them when all you’re doing is being nice. Lots of creeps out there,” she muttered.
“Do you think she came from money?”
Abigail chewed her lip. “Not really. She told me she went to public school in Seattle, and went to school on a dance scholarship.”
“Was she a good dancer?”
“She was okay,” she said, lowering her voice. “She seemed to be getting the hang of it.”
“But she made the audition, so she must be good,” Penelope said.
“It’s funny,” Abigail said. “She came out to audition and got the spot, but then it was like...I don’t know. She was always really nervous during rehearsal. Like she’d miss steps and stuff. She was always practicing up in the apartment.”
“Maybe because it was her first big show,” Penelope asked. “I still get nervous sometimes when I first get on a new movie set.”
“Maybe it was something like that,” Abigail said. “It’s hard to explain, but she went from totally confident the first day to almost having stage fright a week later, major anxiety before each rehearsal.”
Penelope sighed and sat down in the chair next to Abigail. “I’m so confused,” she said. “You guys work so hard to get to this stage. If Elspeth wasn’t Elspeth, how did she get to be good enough to get a spot here?”
Abigail shrugged. “She was just as good as me. Not the best but better than most. Dancing isn’t brain surgery, you can do anything if you practice hard enough.”
“I’m just wondering,” Penelope said, “if she was pulling some kind of scam or using someone else’s identity. But you can’t fake talent, right?”
/> “Right,” Abigail said. “Not at this level. Whoever she was, she had some dance training somewhere. And she probably worked her ass off after that.”
Penelope’s phone buzzed in her back pocket, an unknown number with a New York area code flashed on the screen.
“Oh hi, Detective,” Penelope said. “How did you get my number?”
“That’s the thing. I found your business card.”
“Okay…” Penelope said, confused. She couldn’t remember giving him one, or her number either.
“Your card was in a woman’s pocket,” Doyle said.
Penelope pressed the phone closer to her ear.
“Someone killed her,” Doyle said quietly.
Penelope put her palm to her forehead and stared at Abigail.
“Who is she? Please, who did you find?” Penelope asked, her voice getting louder. She thought about all the people she’d handed a business card to, unable to guess who he might be talking about.
“She’s a homeless woman, who stays at the shelter down the street from the theater most of the time,” Doyle said.
“Oh no,” Penelope said. It felt like her heart was beating out of her chest. “What happened?”
“She was stabbed and strangled,” Doyle said. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I wanted you to know, and I’d like to come by and ask you a few more questions.”
“Of course,” Penelope said. “Wait, strangled and stabbed. Just like Elspeth.”
“True,” Doyle said. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to be careful.”
“I hear it every day from my boyfriend,” Penelope said.
Doyle sighed. “We’re working with the shelter to identify our victim. Do you remember giving your card to anyone recently?”
Penelope shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her, the shock of hearing the news ebbing away. “I’ve given out hundreds of cards, Detective. My crew too.”
“But no homeless people that you can remember?”
Penelope thought again. “There was a woman and her daughter a few days ago, but that was near my home in New Jersey.”
MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS Page 13