“I’ve hired an assistant,” Arlena said. “Penelope’s got so much to deal with like you said, Daddy. Like this current situation. I can’t rely on her for everything.”
“Great news,” Randall said.
“You hired Chamay?” Penelope asked.
“Yes!” Arlena said. “She’s enthusiastic and knows a lot about me and my work already.”
“Okay,” Penelope said. “You don’t want to consider any other candidates first?”
“I want to move on it,” Arlena said. “I’m too busy right now anyway. That reminds me, can you get her situated with the accountant for payroll? You know what forms to fill out, since you do it for your chefs all the time.”
“Sure,” Penelope said with uncertainty. “Have her swing by the truck whenever. I keep that kind of stuff up front in my mobile office.”
Max took a seat at the table and began leafing through a stack of papers, the day’s call sheet and rough out of the scenes Arlena was hoping to get during the day.
“What should I do today? I don’t see my name on the call sheet,” Max said.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Arlena said. “You know what would be great? We have to get started on the background research, pulling together an interesting narrative from the archives. The theater sent over the boxes yesterday. They’re in the bedroom.”
“Research?” Max asked. “I thought I’d be assistant director today.”
“I could really use the help here,” Arlena said. “It would be excellent to combine the historic photos, show the similarities between the performers of today with the ones from the past.”
“Max, you should help Arlena how she wants you to help,” Randall said. “She’s in charge for a reason.”
“Okay,” Max said with a smile. “I can do anything. You know that.”
“Perfect,” Arlena said.
“I’m heading down, if anyone wants to join me,” Penelope said. “We’re doing an early supper later for anyone who is sticking around before the nighttime shows.” Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out, seeing a response from Doyle, and another text from an unknown number that read: This is Brandi. I have something for you.
Chapter 51
The matinee theater patrons had already begun to line up outside the Vitrine, eager looking tourists and families gazing up at the old building in anticipation of the spectacle they’d soon be seeing. Penelope led Randall and Sybil and the kids around to the back door and used her key to show them inside.
“I can’t believe my mother used to work here,” Randall said. “It’s like I’m stepping back in time.”
When they came out from backstage, Armand rushed over and grasped Randall’s hands in his. “Mr. Madison, it’s an honor to have you today.”
A few of the dancers hurried past them, heading over to Martha, who stood at the front of the stage, talking to the orchestra conductor. She turned and gave them stern looks when they both started speaking at once with questions about the choreography.
“You should know this by now,” Martha said in a low voice. “Just do it as we rehearsed.”
“You’ll be sitting in the front row, of course,” Armand said. He bent at the waist and eyed Jackson and Dakota. “You’re not going to believe your eyes, little ones.”
Jackson looked slightly bored, but Dakota was bursting with excitement.
“I’ll be outside with my team,” Penelope said, leaving the group on the stage.
Detective Doyle was standing outside her kitchen truck when she emerged from the theater.
“Detective,” Penelope said, “have you found Abigail?”
He shook his head. “No, but there’s something about that last photo. I wanted to show you, see if you recognize anything strange.”
Penelope pulled out her phone and opened the screenshot photo, enlarging the picture with her fingers. “What are you asking about?”
“You see that behind her?” Doyle asked.
Penelope squinted and tried to see what he meant. “It’s the corner of a window, I think. But it’s just a hazy sky.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Doyle said. “But look again.”
“Oh,” Penelope said. “It’s not a window. It’s a mirror. And there’s something…”
“Something in the corner, like an elbow maybe,” Doyle said, “right there, hardly visible, but I can make it out.”
Penelope enlarged the photo as much as she could, to the point where the picture didn’t look like anything to her anymore. She shrunk it down some and eyed the person’s arm. Slender and white, almost emaciated. She noticed something else resting on the counter that looked familiar but couldn’t place it. “Who are you thinking this is?” Penelope asked.
“Hard to say,” Doyle said. “Looks like a woman’s elbow, right?”
Penelope looked again and shrugged. “It could be a thin man. Someone who doesn’t eat regularly.” Her head tilted slightly toward the direction of the homeless shelter.
“So what now?” she asked.
“We find her somehow, before it’s too late.”
Chapter 52
Penelope watched Detective Doyle cross the street and meet two pairs of uniformed officers in front of the apartment building. They intended to conduct a search of the entire building for any sign of Abigail.
“I don’t expect her to be inside,” Doyle said. “But we have to rule it out.”
“Why not?” Penelope asked.
“Because in my experience, kidnappers usually move to a location that isn’t connected to the victim. Makes them harder to track down.”
Penelope nodded. “I guess that makes sense. What do they want? The kidnappers?”
“Apart from the money? That’s anyone’s guess.”
After they went upstairs, Penelope checked on her crew and went over the supper menu with them.
“Let’s keep it lighter, eliminate the red meat, since it doesn’t seem too popular with this crowd,” Penelope said.
“What do you want to do with the leftovers from yesterday?” Francis said, pulling out a half-full hotel pan of beautifully cooked top rounds.
“Wrap that up for me, will you?” Penelope asked. “I’m going to take it down to the shelter.”
“You got it, Boss.”
Chapter 53
While Penelope waited for Francis to package up some leftovers, she looked up at the building across the street, watching shadows flit across the glass, but unable to see anyone inside the open windows. Looking back at the sidewalk, she was surprised to see Mrs. Connor standing at the door, ringing the buzzer to be let inside.
“I’ll be right back,” Penelope said, dodging in between a couple of cars to cross the street. “Mrs. Connor?”
The woman looked around with a startled expression and gripped her handbag closer to her waist.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Penelope said.
Mrs. Connor let out the breath she was holding. “I’m sorry, I’m just on edge lately.”
“That’s understandable,” Penelope said. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m…I don’t know. I just want to visit the room one more time,” Mrs. Connor said meekly. “It’s silly but I thought if I could see some of the girl’s things, I could figure out who she might have been, what her connection to Elspeth is.”
“They took most of her things away,” Penelope said. “I did find some coasters she’d collected from bars and restaurants.”
Mrs. Connor deflated a bit and sagged against the building wall. “Those wouldn’t have been our Elspeth’s. She didn’t go to bars. Why is this happening to us?”
“I’m not sure. Hey, do you want to get a cup of coffee?” Penelope asked, reaching out to touch the woman’s arm.
Mrs. Connor flinched at her touch, then gave
her an embarrassed glance. “Sorry. Coffee would be nice. If it’s not too much of a bother.”
“Let’s go down to the place on the corner, sit down for a minute,” Penelope said.
Mrs. Connor gave her a cautious once over then nodded. They turned and headed to Common Grounds on the corner. Once inside Penelope pointed to a table near the window and went to the counter, ordering two black coffees.
Mrs. Connor smiled gratefully when Penelope set the cup down in front of her.
“You’re very kind,” Mrs. Connor said.
“It’s the least I can do,” Penelope said. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”
“It’s a nightmare,” she whispered before taking a sip from her cup. She winced at the heat then took another sip. “My husband is beside himself. Where could Elspeth be?”
“I wish they could tell you more,” Penelope said sympathetically. “What was she like, you know, as a young girl?”
Mrs. Connor smiled and cupped her hands around the cup. Soft jazz music flowed around them in the room, and every few minutes a cold burst of air would circle their legs.
“She was a ball of energy growing up,” Mrs. Connor said. “Always getting into things, very determined. Ever since my husband brought her home.”
“Brought her home?” Penelope asked. “What do you mean?”
“She came to us in answer to our prayers,” Mrs. Connor said sharply. “She was just tiny little thing. We raised her from an infant. He came through the door one night with that little bundle of joy in his arms. I fell in love with her immediately.”
Penelope paused for a moment, then took a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry, if you don’t mind my asking, who is Elspeth’s birth mother?”
Mrs. Connor’s cheeks reddened, then mellowed back to their pale hue. “My husband’s first wife. She died in childbirth.”
“I see,” Penelope said.
Mrs. Connor spoke quickly. “My husband and I were not involved romantically until his wife passed away. We were good neighbors, that’s all.”
“Were you married too?” Penelope said.
“No.”
“And you and Mr. Connor…”
“Were married soon after Elspeth came,” Mrs. Connor said with a small smile.
“Did you ever meet Elspeth’s mother before she died?”
“Yes, as I said, we were neighbors,” Mrs. Connor said. “I knew her, and her family, Elspeth’s aunt lives near us, her mother’s sister. She’s worried sick, too. Swears she had no idea of anything odd happening with our girl.”
“Did Elspeth always want to dance?” Penelope asked.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Connor said. “Even though her father discouraged it, didn’t want any of this for her.” She looked around at the coffee shop as if she was in a foreign country.
“Really?” Penelope asked. “What did he want her to be?”
“A wife,” Mrs. Connor said with a smile. “I didn’t see the harm in it, her twirling classes, then the ballet, and tap. I’m the one who took her to all of the lessons.”
“Why didn’t Mr. Connor want Elspeth to dance?” Penelope asked gently. “She’s clearly really good at it.”
“Elspeth’s mother was a singer, her grandmother a dancer, for this show, as a matter of fact. They both always wanted to be famous,” Mrs. Connor said. “It ended badly for both of them. My husband’s first wife was always out at shows, singing. Not in church the way he wanted her to. His grandmother died alone in this god-awful city. He didn’t want the same life for his daughter.”
Penelope sat back in her chair and thought about what Mrs. Connor was saying. “That must have caused tension at home, if he was discouraging her from her dreams.”
“Yes, and he has been angry with me ever since she got accepted to dance school,” Mrs. Connor said.
“How does your husband get angry? Has he ever hit you or Elspeth?”
Mrs. Connor’s face hardened and she blushed. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Sorry,” Penelope said, averting her eyes.
“I saw her in those sweet little tutus, all done up in pink, hair in pigtails. She’d laugh and twirl just like a little doll. She was such a happy child, I convinced him to let her do it. Now he’ll never ever forgive me.” She pulled her damp handkerchief from her pocket and swiped at her nose.
“I’m so sorry,” Penelope said.
“To me she’s still just a girl,” Mrs. Connor said. “But I realize she’s grown now and can make her own choices. And now she’s gone. My husband didn’t even want her to get that part time job after school. Said he wouldn’t help her move here, either. But she’d saved enough on her own. And I slipped her some, that I’d hidden away.”
“The police are working hard to find out what’s happened to her.” Penelope reached across the table.
Mrs. Connor reluctantly met her halfway, and grasped her fingers loosely with her own. “Either way, our lives will never be the same. My girl is gone.”
Chapter 54
Penelope parted ways with Mrs. Connor and headed back toward the kitchen truck. She could hear faint music coming from inside the theater and recognized the number from being toward the middle of the show. She knew the performers would be taking a break after the matinee and would be ready to eat and rest before their second show later that night.
“Got that stuff wrapped up for you,” Francis said when she stepped up inside. “And some young lady stopped by to see about some paperwork. Said she’d be back in twenty minutes.”
Penelope rolled her eyes slightly. “Right. Chamay, the assistant.”
“The who?” Francis asked with a smile.
“Never mind,” Penelope said. She went back outside and pulled open the trucks’ cab door, then rifled through a cardboard file keeper she stored behind the driver seat. She kept her blank forms in there, from permits to health inspection files and employment applications.
“When Chamay comes back, have her fill this out, please,” Penelope said.
“We getting a new chef?” Francis asked.
“No,” Penelope said. “It’s for something else. I’m just helping Arlena out, getting Chamay’s paperwork ready so she can get paid.”
Penelope exchanged the paperwork for the package of leftover steak and headed toward the homeless shelter.
Chapter 55
Brandi greeted Penelope with a smile of recognition when she stepped into the lobby of the shelter.
“Got something for you, if you can use it,” Penelope said. “Some nice quality steak we ordered too much of.”
“Oh wow,” Brandi said slowly as she stood up. “That’s so nice of you.”
A few of the men sitting in the common area craned their heads toward the front desk.
“Good,” Penelope said. “I’m glad it won’t go to waste. Hey, I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you know a woman named Helen Chadwick? She was the lady with Mother when I saw them out in New Jersey.”
Brandi shrugged. “I know her to say hello. I haven’t seen her around in a while, though.”
Penelope deflated a bit at that.
“You know, I was thinking about you yesterday.”
“Oh really?” Penelope asked.
“Something someone said,” Brandi said. “I wrote it down.” She rifled through a few things on her desk, and Penelope noticed her bookmark was already a quarter of the way through her new library book. “Folks was in here talking about all that’s going on, with the theater and everything.”
“Really?” Penelope asked.
“Yeah, you know, gossip and whatnot,” Brandi said with a wave of her hand. “But then one of the overnighters said that the theater was no place for a woman to find a living, and that those girls got what was coming to them.”
�
��What?” Penelope asked. “Who said that?”
Brandi narrowed her eyes and leaned in. “I don’t know who said it, because I was into my book here and they were doing their chit chat over there with the TV turned up. I asked them who said that and didn’t they have any sense, but no one owned up to it.”
“Are you sure that’s what you heard?” Penelope said.
“I’m pretty sure,” Brandi said. “I was going to drop you a message, but then I thought, someone having an opinion isn’t against the law, right?”
Penelope blew out a sigh and nodded. “Right.”
The door opened and three homeless men, two wearing parkas and one wrapped in a dingy blanket stepped into the lobby.
“You all need to check in,” Brandi said. “You know the drill.”
“I’ll let you go,” Penelope said. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
“Sure will,” Brandi said. “And thanks for the steak. It will be much appreciated by everyone, I’m sure.”
Penelope stepped around the men, who lumbered up to the desk to sign into the shelter. As she pushed her way out of the door, she smelled something odd, mixed in with the smell of unwashed bodies she’d passed in the foyer. The faint scent of roses drifted toward her and she turned on her heel to face the group of men.
“I forgot to ask you something,” Penelope said, watching them. She approached the desk again as Brandi looked at her questioningly. “How do you like those books? I’ve been meaning to read them.”
Brandi looked at her questioningly, then her expression relaxed with understanding. “They’re good, you know. Nothing like a good PI story to keep the action moving.”
“But do you have to begin at the first book?” Penelope asked, stepping closer to the group of men, who were mumbling to each other as they filled their names into the ledger. “Or can you start reading from anywhere?” She let her eyes drift to the men.
The last one stepped up to sign the book, and Penelope noticed the one closest to her was frozen still, his dark hoodie pulled around his small torso and obscuring his face. A long wiry beard poured out onto his chest, and his elbows were rigid under his sweatshirt.
MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS Page 18