MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

“Okay, thanks,” Penelope said. She crossed the street and headed to the penthouse.

  “There you are,” Arlena said. “Everyone, this is Penelope, my right hand, and our head chef.”

  The dozen or so people in the room muttered hellos or waved. Penelope looked at each of them, then did a double take. “You hired an all female crew?”

  Arlena smiled. “I sure did.”

  One of the women set down a shoulder cam on the large center meeting table and shook Penelope’s hand.

  “How is this…?” Penelope began, then decided against saying anything further.

  “Possible? I had my choice of crew, as the director and co-producer,” Arlena said. “And my choice was hire women first. Plus, these ladies were the most qualified applicants. It was an easy decision.”

  “I think it’s awesome,” Penelope said.

  “Where were you, anyway?” Arlena asked. The head sound tech came over with a clipboard and waited for their conversation to be over before asking Arlena a question.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Penelope said, with a wave of her hand.

  Arlena gave her a wink and turned her attention to the crew member.

  Penelope stepped to the window and looked down at the theater and her food truck tucked in the alley.

  “Oh, Pen,” Arlena said to her back.

  “Yeah?”

  “I have a girl coming to interview to be my assistant,” Arlena said.

  “Assistant?”

  “Yeah, Daddy suggested it,” Arlena said with a slight roll of her eyes.

  “I think he might be on to something,” Penelope said.

  “Yeah,” Arlena said. “I want you to like her too, so let me know what you think.”

  “Okay,” Penelope said. “Sounds good.” She went back to looking out the window and her bird’s eye view of the truck. Francis was outside, scribbling the dinner menu on the wipe-able white board they stored beneath the truck.

  A man shuffled down the sidewalk dressed in ragged clothes and a dirty coat. His hair and beard were bushy and unwashed. Penelope watched him walk slowly toward the truck, then stop and watch Francis from behind. Penelope didn’t think Francis could sense the man behind him, and she willed her sous chef silently to turn around and notice him.

  The homeless looking man stepped into the alley and approached Francis from behind. Penelope’s heart rate picked up and she put a palm on the thick glass of the window.

  Just as the man was close enough to reach out and touch him, Francis’s head snapped around and he stood up. Penelope watched the two men talk for a minute, and then Francis step onto the truck and returned a few seconds later with a sandwich wrapped in plastic. He handed it to the man, who waved his thanks and trundled away in the direction of the shelter.

  “What’s going on down there?” Arlena asked. She draped an arm around Penelope’s shoulders.

  “I’m a little jumpy,” Penelope said. She told her about her visit to the police station, and about Gabby Bainbridge’s death.

  “Oh Pen, I’m so sorry,” Arlena said. She hugged her tightly.

  “Do you need me right now?” Penelope said, pulling away from her friend. The room behind them was buzzing with activity.

  “No, we’re good,” Arlena said. “You want to go home?”

  “No, I’m going to check on dinner service, keep moving forward, you know?”

  “That’s the Pen I know,” Arlena said. “But if you’re not up to it, please don’t feel like you have to stay for the show.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Penelope said. “I’m going to take a walk, clear my head.”

  “Good idea,” Arlena said.

  Chapter 38

  Penelope stepped quickly down the sidewalk. She’d left her messenger bag up in the film office, only tucking her phone in her coat pocket and her ID and some cash in her jeans. She slowed to a stop when she reached the front door of the homeless shelter on the next block. Faded flyers were taped to the glass door, little tags of paper with phone numbers fluttering in the breeze. One was giving information for an AA meeting nearby, and another was offering guitar lessons for twenty bucks an hour.

  She paused for a second and thought about moving ahead with her walk. But something made her reach out and tug on the door.

  Stepping inside the dim entryway, Penelope saw a woman at a desk to her left, and just beyond in the lobby, several people sat at tables watching a daytime talk show on the television.

  “Help you?” the woman asked. She sat forward in her chair, her ill-fitting uniform shirt tugging at her shoulders.

  “Hi,” Penelope said. “I’m not sure if I’m in the right place, but I was wondering if you could tell me about one of your residents?”

  Penelope watched the woman’s guard go up, her expression hardening. “You police?” she asked.

  “No,” Penelope said quickly. “I’m a chef.”

  The woman let out a small laugh. “A chef, huh? We don’t get too many of those in here. First time for everything, I guess.”

  Penelope leaned an elbow on the tall desk. “I’m Penelope. What’s your name?”

  “Brandi,” the woman said. “With an I.” Penelope wondered how many times Brandi had said that in her lifetime.

  “The thing is, Brandi,” Penelope began, “the day before Thanksgiving I met a couple of women who I think might stay here sometimes, at least one of them does. Did. We exchanged information. I was trying to track her down to follow up.”

  “How much she owe you?” Brandi said with a chuckle. Her hair had been braided close to her scalp in an intricate pattern of rows with strands of magenta and gold threaded through the strands. Her lipstick was a matching magenta shade and perfectly complimented her smooth brown skin.

  “Oh, it’s not a money thing,” Penelope said. “It’s actually…” Penelope stalled, trying to think of how to word her next statement. “I think she got mixed up with the wrong person somehow.”

  “You talking about Mother?” Brandi asked. “Cops already been in here asking about her.”

  “Yes. Gabby Bainbridge,” Penelope said. “She had my card on her when…”

  “When some monster killed her?” Brandi said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes,” Penelope said. They shared a moment of silence. “Why was she known as Mother, anyway?”

  Brandi stood up so she and Penelope were eye to eye, with only the desk separating them. “That’s what everyone called her. Because she was like a mother to the young ones, coming in fresh off the street. She said she was a nurse back in the day, midwife too, the way she told it. They’ve been calling her Mother for as far back as the beginning of time.”

  “Oh,” Penelope said. A new wave of sadness washed over her. She remembered how full of life Gabby had seemed at the market, her mischievous grin and energetic personality. All of those things gone now, taken away by a killer.

  “How long did Mother stay here?” Penelope asked.

  Brandi shrugged again. “Mother has always been here. Way before I have, anyhow.”

  “Did she have a family?” Penelope asked. She looked over her shoulder at the common area and saw no one was paying attention to them, all eyes were focused on the television. A woman on the screen was yelling at a man who stared at the floor. The caption beneath them read Paternity Test Reveals!

  “I think so,” Brandi said. “But I’m not sure. She might have had children at some point, she said something about a man once. But no one came around here to see her, that’s for sure.”

  “She ever say anything about New Jersey?”

  Brandi shrugged and shook her head.

  “If Mother had a family, why would she stay in a shelter?”

  Brandi looked at her sadly. “It’s not that simple. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Sorry, it’s Penelope,”
she mumbled.

  “It’s not that simple, Penelope,” Brandi said. “I bet almost everyone in this place has some kind of kin somewhere. Family is complicated, they don’t always want you around. Especially if you’re struggling with…things.”

  “Was there anyone she hung around with? I saw her one time with a middle-aged lady over in Jersey.”

  “Hm,” Brandi said, thinking. “She kind of hung around with everyone, you know? I don’t remember her mentioning New Jersey. I’m going to tell you, because you seem like a nice person. This isn’t a place people come to talk about things. We offer a clean bed and a hot meal, a place to rest for part of the day. We help folks get back on their feet, but we’re not a hospital staffed with counselors.”

  One of the men in the other room got up from his chair and headed toward the desk. He wore a faded green jacket and black sweatpants and his hair was shot through with silver.

  “Heading to the library,” he said to Brandi. “You want me to bring you back a new book?”

  Brandi picked up a library book from her desk and checked where her bookmark was, tucked near the end of a Sue Grafton novel, the title near the middle of the alphabet.

  “Get me L if it’s not checked out,” Brandi said.

  “You got it,” he said. He bowed slightly at Penelope and her eyes fell to his jacket, where a row of small pins had been stuck through the rough fabric.

  “Wait, sir?” Penelope asked after he turned to go. She dug in her coat pocket and found the little metal disk she’d tucked in there a few days earlier.

  “Yeah, you want a book too? I charge a buck for each trip, bringing them to you or taking them back.”

  “No, I don’t need a library book,” Penelope said. Her fingers found the medal and she held it up to him. “Do you recognize this?”

  The man looked at the medal in her palm and smiled. He plucked it carefully from her, his fingers stained yellow from what had to be years of smoking.

  “That’s a service medal,” he said. He pointed to his own row of medals. “I got one too. Vietnam.” He turned it over and looked at the back to reveal a dragon hidden behind a row of bamboo trees.

  “Who would’ve gotten one like this?” Penelope asked.

  “Anyone who spent more than a day in the jungle,” the man said. “Long time ago now, before you were born. Like to see kids today try and defend this country like we did. Down in the marshes, not playing video games behind a screen.”

  “Okay, Bill,” Brandi said with a smile. “Thanks for getting my book for me.”

  The man waved a hand and a smile came back to his face, the irritation slipping away. “You got it, Brandi. You know I didn’t mean you. You’re a hard worker, not like the rest of them.”

  After Bill left, Penelope said, “Thanks for your help, Brandi.”

  “Why you so interested in Mother, anyway? I didn’t believe that story you told when you first got here, by the way. I’m young but I’ve been around the block a lot of times already.”

  Penelope laughed. “I can see that. Actually, I did meet Mother, and another woman she was with, where I live in New Jersey. We talked, and I liked her. When I heard what happened I just wanted to…”

  “I know,” Brandi said. She placed a cool palm on Penelope’s hand. “It’s a shock sometimes when people pass. It’s good of you to check up on her.” Brandi sat back in her chair, which groaned slightly under her weight. She bumped her mouse on the way down and her screen saver dissolved away, revealing a job search website.

  “How long have you worked here?” Penelope asked.

  Brandi sighed and rubbed her chin. “My uncle got me the job about a year ago, right after I finished up community college. I work for the city for a while, they pay off half my student loans.”

  “What did you go to school for, if you don’t mind my asking?” Penelope asked.

  “Business administration,” Brandi said. “My year in here is almost up,” she said, pointing a close-cropped magenta fingernail at the screen. “I got my eye on a couple of things, planning to make a move. I like helping the people here, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not a salary I can live with long term, know what I mean? Not in this city.”

  “I do,” Penelope said. “Well, thank you for all your help, Brandi.”

  “You’re welcome,” Brandi said.

  “Oh, if you want to stop down for lunch one day, that’s my food truck outside the Vitrine,” Penelope said. “If I’m not there tell the guys I sent you.”

  Brandi smiled. “I bet a lot of people try and say the chef said it was okay to grab a free lunch.” She laughed and rocked back and forth in her chair.

  “Okay, I’ll give you a password you can use, then they’ll know it’s been cleared.”

  “Hmm,” Brandi said. “That might work.”

  “Pickles,” Penelope said. “Say ‘pickles’ and lunch is on me. As a thanks. Also, here’s my card. If you think of anything else about Mother, give me a ring, okay?”

  “Sure,” Brandi said. “And thanks for the lunch offer. You’re all right.”

  Chapter 39

  “Bainbridge?” Arlena asked. “Why is that familiar?”

  The room around them was buzzing with activity. The crew had set up different stations with video monitors and computers. One of the bedrooms was a storage area for cameras, lights and microphones. A large white board had been propped up against the wall on the left next to the fireplace. Arlena had been tacking index cards to it in different colors, creating a storyboard for them all to work from.

  Some of the cards referenced Ruby, some had notes about a few of the current dancers. And one sat off by itself with Elspeth’s name scrawled on it with a question mark below it.

  “Bainbridge is the name of the ghost that haunts the Vitrine,” Penelope said.

  “How poetic,” Arlena said. “She took the name of a ghost.”

  “Or that’s her real name,” Penelope said. “Isn’t that weird?”

  “Well, it’s not that uncommon of a name,” Arlena hedged.

  “I guess,” Penelope said, unconvinced.

  The door to the suite opened and Max sauntered in. He eyed the activity in the room with an approving glance.

  “Well, look who it is,” Arlena said. She set down the note cards and put her hands on her hips.

  “How did you get up here? Daddy said I was giving you a key. Did you get one from him?”

  “No,” Max said. “I buzzed a few apartments until someone let me in.”

  Penelope’s heart sank at his words and she made a note to bring this up to Armand and Martha. It was common for people to accidentally buzz the wrong people into apartment buildings, thinking they are doing their neighbors a favor or allowing in a delivery, but it was definitely not the safest practice.

  “Please thank your friend Ashley for announcing my engagement for me,” Arlena said. “I hope he got a nice payday out of it.”

  Penelope took a step backwards, hoping to stay out of the brother-sister argument.

  “Whoa,” Max said with a laugh. “Ashley wouldn’t do that.”

  “How do you know?” Arlena asked. “How well do you know him anyway?”

  “I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t betray a trust like that,” Max said.

  Arlena looked at him doubtfully. “Max, you gain and shed friends faster than most people do their socks.”

  “You know what? Let’s ask him.”

  Arlena rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “Whatever. Like he’s going to tell you the truth now.”

  Max stared at her as he pulled out his phone. He gazed down and sent a text. “I’ll clear this up. And who cares anyway, aren’t you happy everyone knows?”

  “Yes,” Arlena said. “No. I wanted to have it be special. To come from us.”

  “It’s still special,�
�� Penelope said. “The fact that you’re committing to each other.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Arlena said, relenting. “I for once want things to go as I plan them, that’s all.”

  Max’s phone buzzed in his hand. He read the screen and turned it around to show Arlena the words: NO WAY! WASN’T ME, BRO!

  “See?” Max said. “I told you.”

  “Well, that’s all the evidence I need,” Arlena said flatly. “Bro.”

  Chapter 40

  Penelope stepped onto her kitchen truck after sliding the side door open. She decided to leave the sparring Madison siblings on their own.

  “How’s it going in here?” Penelope asked.

  Francis turned to her from the grill and smiled. “All good in the neighborhood.”

  He flipped over a row of chicken breasts with one smooth motion, then picked up a sauté pan and flicked his wrist, sending a wave of mushrooms into the air.

  “How you doing?” he asked.

  Alex, one of her other chefs stuck his head in the service window. “Hey, Boss. We’re all set up inside.”

  “Okay,” Penelope said. She opened a small closet right behind the front driver section and pulled out a chef coat with Red Carpet Catering stitched across one side and her name right below it.

  She and her two chefs transported hotel pans full of food through the back door of the theater and up a few wooden stairs to the dressing room hallway and through to the break room.

  Alex had already set up the serving tray holders and lit the burners beneath to warm the water the food pans would sit in. Delicious smells of grilled chicken and salmon filled the small space. Penelope eyed the tray of ice on the counter next to the sink where they would have their salad bar with three different kinds of lettuce and a variety of toppings.

  After a few more trips to the truck and the table outside behind it, they’d moved all of the food inside. Penelope reached under the tablecloth and pulled out a bag full of disposable dinner plates and another filled with cutlery. She set them out on the last table closest to the door, so the crew and dancers would be able to grab them first before going through the line they’d created to grab dinner.