Murder Is the Main Course

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  “I’m up that way a lot. I’ll look for you next time,” Bailey said, chewing his gum and smiling widely at her.

  “That’s, um…I have a boyfriend,” Penelope responded in a clear voice. She wasn’t sure if Bailey was hitting on her, or if this was his idea of a normal conversation.

  “That’s okay, I don’t mind,” Bailey said, smiling even wider. “You’re nice. And pretty.”

  A sharp whistle caught Bailey’s attention and caused him to turn around, much to Penelope’s relief. The old man from the hardware store stood in the doorway, hands crossed over his chest. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled again.

  “My old man says break’s over,” Bailey said. He turned on the heel of his tan work boot and started toward the store, then stopped suddenly and turned back around. “You never told me your name.”

  Penelope just stared, saying nothing.

  “Not going to say, huh?” Bailey said. For the first time his expression darkened, a momentary flash of something else beneath his boyish features. “That’s okay. Like I said, I can find out.”

  Penelope watched until he stepped inside the door, shrugging his shoulders at his father when asked a question Penelope couldn’t hear. The old man adjusted his knit hat and shot a glance at Penelope, openly gaping at her from the doorway. Penelope fought the urge to scramble inside the truck and speed away. She made a U-turn on the deserted main drag and drove slowly back toward the inn. When she glanced in the rearview mirror, she could see the old man was still watching her.

  Chapter 22

  That evening, Penelope’s first dinner service at Festa was underway. Several of the guests had cancelled their reservations, which was unusual. But these weren’t usual times. Ava said some of them gave vague answers when asked why they wouldn’t be coming in, but she figured Penelope had been right about some people being uncomfortable about Jordan’s murder, even though it hadn’t happened in the restaurant.

  Jordan’s crew slowly re-acclimated to the kitchen, working their first shift without their head chef at the helm. Their mood was subdued, but they worked well, with no major issues for Penelope to handle. Two hours in, with things in the back running smoothly, Penelope went around to the service area to observe the wait staff. The whole staff was on the floor, not saying much, at least when they were around Penelope, once in a while throwing her a curious glance.

  Conversation among the guests in the dining was hushed, the diners speaking in reverent tones. Penelope had only dined at Festa on the occasional night off, but she remembered the mood inside the restaurant being more jubilant.

  One of the waitresses bumped into Penelope as she hurried to pick up one of her table’s dishes from the window.

  “Sorry,” Christine mumbled, not looking at Penelope.

  “It’s okay,” Penelope said. “How’s it going out there?”

  The girl’s expression was stony. Her shoulders rose beneath her starched white uniform shirt. “Okay, I guess.”

  “How do you think everyone is holding up?” Penelope asked. “You’re the senior staff member, right?”

  Christine eyed the plates of food in the window. “I don’t know. Good, okay? I have to get this to my table.” She swept around Penelope and loaded up a large oval tray, expertly propping it on her shoulder and hurrying through the swinging doors into the dining room.

  “This place is like a funeral home,” Penelope whispered to herself as she headed back into the kitchen. She unlocked the office door and slipped inside, telling the sous chef to come get her if they got a sudden rush, which she doubted. He agreed, keeping his eyes on the ticket machine in the window just below a picture of himself and Jordan, laughing and holding up glasses of wine.

  Penelope closed the door and called Ava’s cell phone. When she didn’t answer, Penelope left a message. “Ava, hi. Things are going okay at Festa tonight, although the mood is pretty somber. I think the staff is unhappy. It’s not affecting the service, just wanted to let you know. Maybe we’ve asked them back too soon. Things might change after tomorrow, when they can pay their respects and Jordan is laid to rest. That’s it. Call if you need me.”

  Penelope sighed and hung up the phone, then logged onto the computer on the desk. She thought about her afternoon trip to the hardware store and creepy Bailey and his equally creepy father. Something about the young man seemed so familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. His personality was off-putting, but he was handsome in a dark hawkish kind of way. She Googled him, but without his last name she didn’t get a good result. She sat back against the office chair and thought, then leafed through some paperwork on the desk. Suddenly it hit her and she sat up straight.

  Penelope typed “Forrestville Devil Worship” into the search tab and the article she’d already read appeared again. She scrolled to the photos of the three men and looked into Bailey’s eyes, his picture the one on the far left. She read the article more carefully, a feeling of dread building in the pit of her stomach with each word.

  Bailey Fenton was the ringleader, it seemed. He and his friends vandalized several cars in Forrestville and spray-painted pentagrams on dozens of trees in the forest, as well as an abandoned barn. The crimes were misdemeanors, and they were fined and ordered to perform community service as punishment. The one on the left was named Kevin Helmsley, which also rang a bell. Someone had mentioned something about a Helmsley to her recently, and she filed through recent conversations to remember. She then remembered that was the name Megan said caused the most recent scandal in town, the one who died with illegal pictures on his computer. She made a note to look up the Helmsley incident, find out if there was a link.

  Penelope found Sheriff Bryson’s card and stared at his cell number. She had no proof it was Bailey who broke in and vandalized Festa’s kitchen, but she had a strong suspicion it was him. She sat the card on the desk, deciding she’d call him in the morning. It wasn’t an emergency. Plus, she wasn’t sure of what she’d even say. A man had made her feel uncomfortable on a public sidewalk. It wasn’t a crime, however edgy the interaction made her feel.

  She folded her arms on the desk and tapped her fingers against the wood, then typed in one more name: Kellie Foster. Several images popped onto the screen in a row, of very different-looking women. Penelope added “Forrestville Five” to the search box, which narrowed it down, the photo Penelope had seen from the flyer appearing first. She clicked on the first link listed, an article from the Indianapolis paper. She read quickly about the high-school basketball player and her sudden disappearance, and the background about the other missing young people from the area.

  Penelope whistled quietly as she read, clicking on different articles to try and find out more about Kellie. A picture appeared of the high-school basketball team, which Penelope figured had been taken around the time of Kellie’s disappearance, five years earlier. She was standing in the middle row on the end, her long thin arm hooked around a basketball propped on top of her hip.

  “Troubled kids?” Penelope whispered. She sat back in the chair and gazed at the photo, her eyes drifting over the other faces until they stopped on one. Penelope sat forward and squinted to read the caption again, confirming the girl in the back row’s name: E. Collins.

  A sharp knock on the door startled her. “Come in,” Penelope said after clearing her throat.

  “Someone here to see you,” the sous chef mumbled through the crack.

  “Thanks,” Penelope said. “Wait, who is it?”

  He opened the door wider and shrugged, flipping a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “No idea. Christine said someone at the bar is asking for you.”

  The ball of unease in Penelope’s stomach turned into a hard fist. She stood up and squared her shoulders. “It’s a crowded restaurant,” she said to herself as she watched him walk back to the line. She decided she’d peek out through the service doors, and if it was Bailey she’d t
urn around and call Sheriff Bryson after all.

  Penelope pressed the swinging doors open with her fingers and peered through the gap. Her face broke into a smile when she saw the man sitting at the end of the bar.

  “Joey!” Penelope said, rushing to his side.

  Joey stood up from his stool, arms open wide. Penelope crushed herself to his chest, feeling his strong arms wrap around her tightly. She tilted her head up to him and they kissed.

  A smattering of applause made them both laugh and Penelope stepped back from him. Her cheeks burned red and she said, “Thank you,” to the nearby diners, who smiled appreciatively at the couple.

  “What are you doing here?” Penelope asked. “I thought you were getting in tomorrow.”

  “I couldn’t wait,” Joey said. “I switched to an earlier flight.”

  Penelope took his hand. “I’ve never been so happy to see you. Honestly. The last few days have been...”

  “I know. Whatever you need, you know I’ll help.”

  Penelope kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand. “Hungry?”

  “Always,” Joey said.

  “I only have to be here another hour or so,” Penelope said. “This is the last reservation block.”

  “I’ll wait for you, of course,” Joey said.

  Penelope kissed him quickly and nodded at the bartender as he slipped a menu in front of Joey. “He’s a VIP.”

  Chapter 23

  Penelope woke the next morning and gave Joey a sleepy hug before getting out of bed. Her throat was dry from staying up late and talking for hours, so she drank a bottle of water while she looked out the window at Festa. Penelope had filled Joey in on everything that had been going on the past few days, while he updated her on how things were going back home.

  “Where’d you go?” Joey murmured from under the down comforter.

  “I have to get ready for work,” Penelope said, her voice raspy. She got back in bed and slipped under the covers, pressing herself into him. After a few minutes of bonus cuddling, Penelope reluctantly pulled open the drawer on the nightstand and retrieved her phone, sitting up in bed as she read the long list of messages that had come through during the night. The first one at the bottom of the list was from Jennifer. No work today (Monday). Arlena, Jackson, Dakota and I are under the weather. Flu. Please take precautions and stay healthy. Jen.

  Clearing her throat, Penelope swallowed, feeling tenderness in her throat and trying to judge if she was also coming down with a bug.

  “They’re all sick?” Joey asked, pulling the sheets up comically over his mouth and nose and widening his eyes.

  Penelope swatted the sheet away playfully. “Unfortunately, yes. Your stay at the Forrestville Inn must be taken at your own risk.”

  A thought coming to her, Penelope grabbed her iPad and searched for the Forrestville Helmsleys, the ones she had come across the previous evening.

  “Oh man, this is awful,” Penelope said. “The sheriff prior to Bryson had a heart attack at his desk while looking at underage pornography on a state-owned computer.”

  “What a scumbag,” Joey said, playfulness forgotten.

  “Yeah, and his son was one of the ones arrested with that Bailey kid for vandalizing cars and trees.” Penelope continued to read through the article. She’d told Joey the night before about her encounters with Bailey.

  “Good thing that Helmsley guy is dead,” Joey said. “He wouldn’t have had a fun time in prison. Where’s his kid now?”

  Penelope sighed. “Looks like he’s in jail for some other crime in Indianapolis. Attempted robbery and kidnapping. Jeez.” She tilted the screen toward him so he could read along.

  “But Bailey is out walking free,” Joey said. “These articles are all from other cities—this one’s from the Chicago paper.”

  “I know.” Penelope reached back over to the bedside table and pulled out the thin tabloid she’d picked up in town the day before. “This is the local paper. More like a flyer, mostly ads.”

  Joey took it from her and scanned the front page, then leafed through a few pages.

  “Do you think you can do me a favor?” Penelope asked. She pulled up the photos on her phone of the missing persons flyers and showed them to him. He sat up and rested the newspaper in his lap on the comforter. “Can you look into these kids, I don’t know, more officially than I can? Particularly Kellie Foster. I think there’s something happening here.”

  Joey looked at her, his eagerness to please her dampened by doubt.

  “And you think it might tie in with Jordan’s death?”

  “Maybe,” Penelope agreed. “The restaurant, the inn, the forest, they’re all so close together, and Jordan was such a big part of the community.”

  “I can try, but I’m probably not going to find much more than what’s already known. If they’re registered on the national missing persons list…you’re looking at the info there.”

  “No, I don’t mean we should try and find them. Wait, I take that back. I’d actually love to try and find them. I’m really curious about who they are, what they did here in town before they vanished, what they might have had in common. Is there a way we can do that?”

  Joey pulled her close and kissed her. “Yes. We can ask questions. You’re good at that,” he teased.

  “Hey,” Penelope said. “This is really important.” Her eyes fell to the newspaper and she picked it up. “That’s Jacob Pears,” she murmured, looking at the small photograph of the bald man in round wire glasses.

  “Who’s Jacob Pears?” Joey asked, looking at the photo. “Besides editor-in-chief of this...paper?”

  “All I know is he’s not a fan of Festa,” Penelope said, eyeing the picture more closely.

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I want to help.”

  “I know,” Penelope said. “Oh, Jordan’s funeral is later today.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Joey said.

  Penelope thought about the old church across from the police station on Main Street, and then about Bailey at the hardware store. She’d told Joey about her suspicions that Bailey was involved in the restaurant break-in and vandalism, and Joey agreed she didn’t have enough evidence to pursue the issue with the sheriff. He was concerned for Penelope’s safety and suggested she steer clear of Bailey.

  “I’d really like to be there for Jordan and his family,” Penelope said. “And maybe we can find out something about Kellie Foster too.”

  Penelope texted Francis, making sure the crew knew they had another unexpected day off, then popped her phone back in the drawer. “I’ll check on Arlena later, make sure she’s okay. I don’t want to wake her up if she’s resting.”

  “Too bad she’s sick on her birthday,” Joey said.

  “Yeah,” Penelope said. “The birthday celebration will have to wait, I suppose. For a few reasons now.”

  “I can’t believe Randall and Max are camping in this weather,” Joey closed his eyes and a shiver passed over his body.

  Penelope grimaced. “I’m still waiting for them to come in from the cold.”

  “I’d be back inside after an hour,” Joey said. “Your work is done for the moment, right?”

  Penelope put her finger to her chin and thought. “Yep.”

  Joey pulled her back down next to him under the comforter and flipped it over their heads.

  Chapter 24

  Penelope and Joey entered through the paint-chipped double doors of the church and slid into a pew on the left side of the aisle. Mourners settled in their seats around them, whispering hushed greetings to each other as somber chords played from an organ in the corner. The front two pews had black ribbons clasped to the ends, sectioning them off for Jordan’s family and close friends.

  Penelope recognized a few faces, but there were many more she’d never seen. All four members of the wait staff from Festa walked
up the center aisle together, easing into a pew on the right. Once they were settled they sat very still, a contrast from how she’d seen them in the weeks before, happily rushing around the restaurant and laughing easily with each other.

  Joey laced his fingers with Penelope’s and gave her hand a squeeze.

  The music suddenly got louder as the organist launched into a choppy version of “Amazing Grace.” Megan, her four children, and a few other relatives filed into the church from the vestibule behind the altar and silently took their seats. Megan wore a black suit and a small tasteful hat with a thin black veil atop her stiff blonde hair. She appeared calm, her back rigid against the wooden pew, with Karen and Kyle on either side of her, clutching her hands.

  Penelope glanced around, noting most of the pews were nearly full. A few members of the film crew were in the back rows, including the assistant director, who appeared to be staring at something in his lap. Penelope hoped he wasn’t texting, or if he was, that he would stop when the service began. Sheriff Bryson sat across the aisle from them in his uniform, serenely gazing at the podium on the altar.

  The doors of the church opened and Penelope’s eyes widened when she saw Bailey enter and saunter up the aisle. He tucked into the end of a pew a few rows behind Penelope and Joey.

  “That guy is here,” Penelope whispered.

  “Who?” Joey asked.

  Penelope squeezed his fingers. “Bailey, from the hardware store. He’s in the gray flannel shirt, black hair, a few rows back.”

  Joey looked around casually, then pulled a hymn book from in front of him and flipped it open. “He’s staring at you.”

  The back doors clattered shut again and Penelope resisted the urge to turn around. The song ended and an uneasy silence fell across the congregants as the pastor took his place behind the podium.