Marla raised her hand in a placating gesture. “Thanks, but there’s lots to do,” she repeated. “Everything okay with your room?”
“Yes, thanks,” Penelope responded.
Marla turned to go, her rubber-soled boots squeaking down the wooden stairs.
Chapter 4
Ava Barnes, general manager of Festa and the Forrestville Inn, entered the rear door of the restaurant’s kitchen just as Penelope finished filling the two large coffee urns to bring back over to the inn for the cast meeting.
“Penelope,” she said just above a whisper. Her face was still, but her eyes were still puffy from a recent cry. “Thanks for calling.”
“I’m so sorry about Jordan,” Penelope said, setting the coffeepot on the counter.
Ava pulled Penelope into a hug and sighed wetly into her long blonde ponytail. “Oh, Penelope, what are we going to do now?” She trembled and Penelope gave her a hard squeeze in return. After a moment, Ava pulled away. “I’m sorry you found him...that way.”
Penelope gave a halfhearted shrug. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.” Penelope slid a stool from beneath the counter and edged it toward Ava, grabbing a coffee mug from the overhead shelf and holding it up, eyebrows raised. Ava perched on the edge of the stool and crossed her long denim-clad legs, nodding silently.
Penelope poured the coffee and handed it to her, then leaned against the stainless countertop across from her, arms crossed at her chest. “Was Jordan depressed?” she asked cautiously. She’d made a decision when she called Ava and told her about Jordan not to mention Edie’s insistence that Jordan’s death might not be a suicide. “You know him better than most people, being his business partner, managing all of this...why do you think he’d do this?”
Ava swept her gaze across the rubber mat on the floor, back and forth slowly. “I don’t know. He never shared with me that he was depressed.”
“Was he in any kind of trouble? Financially, with the business?”
“No, everything is going really well. Ever since Jordan was named this year’s Best Hoosier Chef, reservations are up and bookings at the inn are solid. People are coming from all over...Indianapolis, Chicago. Lots of guests planning to eat here and stay over. We’ve never been this busy.” Ava’s eyes flicked to the golden statue on the shelf next to the office door, Jordan’s award, his name etched gold under a sculpture in the shape of Indiana.
“I hope our crew being here isn’t causing you any issues,” Penelope said. “Like not having rooms for people who want to come and stay.” Penelope remembered what Edie had mentioned about her wedding earlier. “I know you’ve had to turn away some events.”
“You’re here in the slower winter season. It’s what everyone decided.” Ava waved her off and took a sip of coffee, then rubbed a smear of pale pink lipstick from the rim with her thumb. “Jordan had been asking Jennifer to come and make a movie here for years. They’re dear friends, have been since they went to grade school together right up the road.”
Penelope glanced at the kitchen service window and the photos of Chef Jordan thumb-tacked around it. In every one he was smiling, with different kitchen workers, servers, or patrons, his strawberry-blonde hair and boyish good looks radiating from the photos.
“Did Jordan have any other kinds of problems? Any enemies?” Penelope asked.
“No,” Ava said. “Why do you ask?”
“I didn’t say anything to you on the phone, but the police aren’t entirely sure Jordan killed himself,” Penelope said cautiously.
Ava placed her hand over her chest and leaned forward. “What are they saying happened?”
Penelope, alarmed she might have overstepped, backpedaled. “Well, they don’t really know. They said they have to investigate any unaccompanied death.”
“Unaccompanied?” Ava asked.
“No, that wasn’t it. Unattended.”
“Oh,” Ava said. “I don’t understand.”
“You know,” Penelope said, “there wasn’t anyone with him when he died, so they have to be sure of the cause of death before they can rule it a suicide.”
“Could things get any worse? I suppose they always can,” Ava considered.
“Suicide rates are higher in the culinary profession than many others. Being a chef brings a lot of pressure, long hours, time away from family. Especially when you get higher up on the ladder. Some cooks turn to alcohol or drugs to cope—”
“Jordan didn’t do drugs,” Ava interrupted, holding up a slender hand.
“Sorry,” Penelope said. “I didn’t mean to imply that.”
Ava sighed and cradled her mug on her palm. “I know, I’m sorry. I just mean Jordan wasn’t like that. He was focused on his, and our, success, and maintaining balance with his home life. I was around him all the time. I think I’d know if he was struggling with an addiction.”
Penelope nodded. “Some people are good at hiding things like that.”
“I guess. I suppose no one truly knows what’s going on with another person completely,” Ava said, more to herself than to Penelope. “It’s possible he was under some kind of pressure he didn’t share with me.” She tucked a piece of her long black hair back into the messy bun on top of her head. “But enemies...I don’t think so.”
Penelope went to the service window to get a better look at the photos of Chef Jordan. “He always seemed happy when he was cooking, at least when I was in the kitchen with him.” In several of the pictures he wore a chef coat, which he was in the habit of wearing without an undershirt. Penelope always wore at least a tank top under hers. The coarse fabric chafed her skin if she didn’t, particularly on warmer days. His trademark silver chain hung around his neck, a knife and fork crossed in an X. Jordan had an athletic build and kept himself in shape by jogging most mornings, either through his neighborhood or along the forest trails in the woods behind Festa. He’d invited Penelope along a few mornings after she told him she liked to run also. Penelope quickly discovered that winter in Indiana was a different kind of cold than what she was used to back home in New Jersey. The icy air took her breath away. Her lungs felt like they were freezing a couple of times.
Penelope sensed Ava over her shoulder, looking at the photos from behind her. Without warning, the image of Jordan hanging from the rope sprang into Penelope’s mind. She wasn’t completely sure, but she couldn’t remember if Jordan was wearing his necklace that morning. She supposed it could have broken from the weight of the rope around his neck. She made a mental note to mention it to Edie.
“Ava, if I can help with anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Penelope said, still facing the pictures.
“Thanks, Penelope,” Ava almost whispered from behind her shoulder. “Jordan admired you, your energy, the way you ran your team. He was excited about the movie, all of it.”
Penelope remained silent and stared at a recent photo of Jordan and Jennifer.
“I’ll be in the office for a while, figuring out what needs to happen next,” Ava said.
“Wait,” Penelope said, turning around. “Jordan mentioned an important table coming in last night, someone he was getting ready for. Do you know who he was talking about?”
Ava put her hands on her hips and thought. “Oh, that. Yeah. I told him he was making a big deal out of nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Festa got trashed by the local paper in a restaurant review when we first opened. Jordan’s been trying to get them to come back in ever since, give us another chance. I told him nobody cares about some two-bit local newspaper in this little town, but for some reason it was important to him.”
“Did the critic come in?” Penelope asked.
“As far as I know. I hope he enjoyed his dinner, not that it matters. The paper has a circulation of less than five thousand. Jordan’s top chef in the state, and he’s up-and-coming in the Midwest as
an auteur.”
“I know how it feels…you can get fifty positive reviews, but those one or two people you can’t please can outweigh all the positive in your mind. If you let it. Jordan was a perfectionist. It must have been hard.”
Ava shrugged, waving it off. “I told him to stop obsessing over it.”
Penelope eyed her doubtfully but let it go. “I’ve got to get this coffee across the way for a cast meeting.”
“Right,” Ava said. “And I need to inform the restaurant staff. We’re booked solid this weekend.”
“I’m sure your guests will understand that you’ll be closed for a while,” Penelope said.
Ava rested her empty coffee cup on the stainless kitchen table and tapped her fingernails against the side while she thought. “We’ll open back up on Saturday. We’ll go dark tonight.”
“You’re only going to close for one night?” Penelope asked. “You don’t think that’s a bit soon?”
“We have to press on. Jordan would’ve wanted us to. We cut a lot of paychecks here, and the last thing he’d want is for the staff to suffer. I’ll make the calls with our regrets and re-seat tonight’s guests, but we’ll be open for business tomorrow. Jordan would want that,” Ava repeated.
Ava went inside the kitchen’s office and closed the door.
Penelope shuffled out the front doors of Festa and into the courtyard, the handles of two stainless steel coffee urns in each gloved hand. The weight of them was almost too much and she breathed heavily with the effort. Halfway across, she set one down on the cobblestone street and took a break, shaking out her arms. She could easily carry one of them, but wanted to save time by bringing them both at once, a decision she began regretting almost immediately. She thought about leaving one and coming back for it, but the bitter air convinced her to press on. Although she knew the urns were thermal and the coffee wouldn’t go cold, she didn’t want to take a chance that it might.
She made it across the courtyard with effort to the inn’s front doors and set them down again. A distant laugh caught her attention and she looked toward the forest that lined the edges of the restaurant and inn. The sun was just beginning to rise, and she could just make out three or four people approaching the inn, hikers coming out of the woods for breakfast, most likely.
Heaving open one of the heavy doors, she propped her hip against it and picked up the urns again.
“A little help?” a man’s voice asked.
Penelope struggled to get her elbow inside the door without sloshing the coffee too much.
“Please,” Penelope said. “I should have made two trips.”
The hiker held the door for her and she eased inside, throwing a glance behind her as she entered. “Thanks, really appreciate it,” she huffed.
The young man grinned at her, then gave a sly wink. “Always happy to help a beautiful lady.”
Penelope laughed, caught off guard. “Um, thanks.”
He was darkly handsome, and clearly much younger than Penelope. His two friends giggled into their gloves behind him as the door swung closed. Penelope continued inside, hefting the urns onto the bar in the inn’s great room just inside. The fireplace was lit, Marla’s first job of the morning, and she welcomed the warmth.
Penelope went back to the door to thank the hikers again for their help and offer them some coffee, but when she stepped outside, they were gone, headed down the hill toward the diner on Main Street, she assumed.
Chapter 5
Jennifer stood in uncomfortable silence in front of the stone fireplace in the inn’s great room, her face pale and her expression flat after relaying the news of Jordan’s death to the film crew. The only sounds were the metallic clicks from the antique cuckoo clock over the bar, a muffled cough, and the pop of a burning log. Penelope watched the different reactions from her place in front of the bar, her eyes skipping from face to face in the crowded space.
Edie stood in the doorway to the hall, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, her gaze roving among the faces in the room, lighting on one or two longer than others.
The film’s young costume designer, Skylar, hugged herself and shivered despite the warmth from the fire. “What does this mean for us?” she asked nervously, her hands tucked tightly under her armpits.
Penelope caught Arlena’s eye and watched her shake her head sadly.
Jennifer sighed. “We’re taking today off and picking back up tomorrow, same schedule. Call time is nine in the morning. In the meantime, the police are requesting everyone stay on the grounds. Try and enjoy your unexpected day off.” She glanced at Penelope.
“We’ve got coffee and some fruit here,” Penelope announced. Francis, her sous chef, and the rest of her team had set out a few things for breakfast, mostly leftovers from the kitchen truck since the inn was off-limits.
“No hot breakfast today, huh?” Skylar mumbled sulkily.
“Sorry. Everything’s in the kitchen and we were asked on short notice—” Penelope began.
“Listen,” Jennifer interrupted, raising her voice for the room to hear as Skylar’s cheeks reddened. “Jordan’s my dear friend, and he was good to us. We will be respectful for his sake and for his family’s sake.”
Jennifer turned to go, brushing past Edie in the doorway and stomping up front staircase.
“Keep an eye on everything—we’ll run out quick,” Penelope murmured to Francis. His shoulders were stiff under his jacket and he appeared dazed. “Hey, you okay?” Francis looked away and she put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry, Boss,” Francis said. “I’m having a hard time with it.”
“You need a break?” Penelope said, stepping in front of him. His eyes were a darker green than usual and glassy like he was on the verge of tears.
“I’m all right,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s just a shock, you know. Jordan was a good guy.”
Penelope squeezed his shoulder. “Francis, how long have we worked together now? We’re a team, through good and bad times. Anything you want to tell me, it’s okay.”
“I’m not over losing my dad, you know? I know it’s been six months, and I shouldn’t still be so...I’m not sure why, but the news about Jordan, it hit me harder than I expected,” Francis said. He rubbed his short-cropped black hair with one hand, shiny healed scars from kitchen burns reflecting in the light.
“Listen, go out to the trucks and do a complete check of everything. We’re going to need them up and running and a complete inventory done. We have to replace the items that we can’t use from this kitchen too. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah, sure,” Francis said gratefully.
“Go on, get some air,” Penelope said, giving him a smile.
Francis nodded and hurried away, grabbing his coat from a hook near the doorway before rattling through the front door.
Several of the crew stepped up to the bar, talking amongst themselves as they filled their coffee mugs. Penelope hovered nearby, picking up a few snippets of conversation as they passed by.
“This movie is a mess. I told you it would be. I was trying to get to the hardware store today too,” one of the set carpenters mumbled to his coworker, throwing a glance toward Edie.
“You guys were planning on heading into town today?” Penelope asked.
“Town?” the taller one scoffed. “I wouldn’t call a couple of old shops and a rundown diner a town. More like a wide spot in the road, am I right?” He thumped his buddy on the arm, causing a small wave of coffee to slosh onto his hand. “Sorry, man.”
“Yeah,” his companion said, annoyed. “They got one stoplight on Main Street, and half the time it’s blinking.”
“Have you been to Indianapolis yet?” Penelope asked, handing him a small pile of napkins.
“Yeah, but that’s a three-hour drive.” He dabbed at his sleeve. “It’s not al
ways worth the trip, especially if it starts snowing and you get stuck out on the highway coming back. It feels like it’s always snowing here.”
“There’re the forest trails, if you want to get out for some air,” Penelope said. “It’s beautiful out there.”
“That’s an idea, even though I’m not very outdoorsy.” He flicked his eyes at the frosted-over windows behind the bar. “It’s tempting though, what with this cabin fever.” He wadded up the damp napkins and handed them back to Penelope. “Maybe we’ll luck out and it will get above freezing today.”
Penelope watched him walk away and join his clumsy partner at a table. The coffee rush was over, so she took a seat at a nearby table and pulled out her phone, searching for the negative restaurant review Ava had mentioned earlier. Finding an article that looked promising, she clicked on the headline: Festa Fails to Impress Despite the Hype. Penelope’s eyes skimmed down the piece, frowning as she read the review, apparently written by a secret diner on assignment from the local newspaper.
Forrestville’s newest restaurant, Festa, is richly decorated but falls flat when it comes to flavor. Chef Jordan Foster, who attended culinary school in San Francisco and subsequently worked in high-end restaurants in Napa Valley, eventually returned to his hometown with a design on “elevating” simple dishes from the mundane dining experience we’re all used to in Forrestville. Chef Jordan’s food is fussy, overwrought, and unappealing. If I wanted to eat a piece of artwork, I’d head to the local museum and chow down on a painting. I’m sure that experience would be exactly the same, if not better. Festa? More like Fester. Make sure you stop for a burger on the way, as the portions are so small (and so expensive) you’ll have to load up on several to feel full. I left feeling empty, both in my stomach and in my wallet.
“Ouch,” Penelope said under her breath.
She scrolled back up to read the byline. Jacob Pears, senior editor. She tried to do the math in her head and figure out when Jordan would have been in California. They’d never talked about their culinary-school experiences, but she guessed he must have been there in his twenties, since his oldest twin children, Karen and Kyle, were now in their early twenties themselves. She wondered what he had done before opening Festa. She squinted at the date on the review piece and saw it was posted five years earlier. It was one of the first articles to appear in the search, so it probably still impacted the business, or Jordan’s feelings at the very least. A bad review online trailed you around for eternity these days instead of being recycled with the next day’s trash like in the pre-internet days.
Murder Is the Main Course Page 3