Rosemary Run Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  What a hoot, Penelope thought as she smiled sweetly and put a casual hand over her mouth to disguise the sips of air. She had hoped Bernice could see her smiling by looking at her cheeks and eyes. It had been hard to smile with pursed lips. But Penelope had held steady. She had felt like an actress giving the performance of her life.

  To find the fortitude to continue her act as the minutes ticked by, Penelope had shifted her thoughts to the reason she was at the bank in the first place.

  It was about a tent, of all things.

  There had been a green camping tent that had caught Penelope’s eye when she’d seen it pictured in a glossy Sears Wishbook. She had envisioned herself reading and playing in the tent in her family’s fenced backyard. She had thought, if she was lucky, it could provide a place of peace and refuge. She needed such a place. Desperately.

  Most kids would have simply asked their parents to order a tent for them. But not Penelope. She knew her mom would say no.

  Money had been tight for the family ever since her dad had been laid off from his job the year prior. They’d exhausted their savings, and Jean Cline, Penelope’s stay-at-home mom, wasn’t handling the stress well. Jean had even seemed jealous of the five dollar allowance that Felix Cline, Penelope’s dad, left on the top of the girl’s dresser each week.

  To get the tent, Penelope had been forced to hatch an elaborate plan. She didn’t have a debit or credit card, or know how mail or phone orders worked. So, she had done the only thing she could.

  Enter the Sunnyday Sales Club, a fundraising partner for Penelope’s elementary school. Kids who sold enough of the club’s stationary and gifts could choose from prizes, one of which was a spacious green tent, just like the one in the Sears catalog. When Penelope saw it, she immediately knew what she had to do.

  She’d sell enough to get the tent. Easy peasy.

  The plan had seemed foolproof until Penelope’s door-to-door efforts failed to produce the required sales volume. It was at that point the savings account and the bank withdrawal had come into play as the girl had needed the eighty-seven dollars to buy enough stationary and gifts to qualify for the tent as a prize. Penelope told herself she’d worry about how to hide the surplus products when they arrived.

  One step at a time. One lie at a time.

  Sip... Sip... And hold.

  It had been a roundabout way of getting what she wanted. But one had to admire Penelope’s tenacity and resourcefulness.

  At the bank, against all odds, Bernice had cooperated. The old lady had chuckled as she dispensed the cash into Penelope’s hand and counted out loud, right up to eighty-seven. Penelope had thanked Bernice, then did her best calm-walk out of the building, completing the first act of the performance of her life. Or so she thought.

  Penelope had stuffed the cash deep into her pants pockets so Jean wouldn’t see, then climbed into the backseat of the family’s big black car as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  Jean had noticed that her daughter seemed to be holding her breath, but decided to watch quietly, perhaps planning to discuss it another time. Jean couldn’t imagine what Penelope would have lied about while inside the bank. She had been just nine-years-old.

  Little did Jean know what the girl was up to.

  And little did young Penelope know how much the Sunnyday Sales Club experience from her childhood would mirror the most dramatic turn of events in her adult life, each complete with numerous occasions to awkwardly hold her breath.

  Thirty-something Penelope and her three closest girlfriends shared a secret.

  A woman was dead. She had disappeared under mysterious circumstances at a party the friends had attended together, and they knew much more than was reported to the authorities.

  1

  “I’m a good person, you know,” Penelope proclaimed.

  She was seated cross-legged on the wide dock behind Marshall Erving’s house, her halter-top party dress billowed out around her. The vintage boho vibe of the floral-print dress paired well with Penelope’s long, side-swept braid. She was the picture of sweet innocence as she fiddled nervously with her silver bracelet. The silky waters of Sweet Balm Bay lapped rhythmically against the steel support beams below. She was less than half an hour from home in Rosemary Run, but it felt like a world away.

  Spring was in the air. Birds chirped eagerly as newly bloomed seaside daisies clung to bluffs along the banks of the bay. The smell of freshly cut grass hung in the air, still potent from mowers who had tended to Marshall’s property the prior afternoon. It was a perfect morning. Mother Nature was, apparently, unaware of the distress Penelope was experiencing.

  Marshall and his husband, Reginald Johns, had thrown the big, booming party the night before. It had been a grand affair with decadent food and luxurious trimmings, but neither homeowner was anywhere to be found as the sun came up and shone on a new day. Penelope figured the police probably had them at the station, asking questions and taking official statements.

  That’s where she thought Marshall and Reggie should be, anyway. Wasn’t that the way it usually worked on television?

  Seated next to Penelope in a red Adirondack chair was her oldest friend, Cheryl Edwards. Cheryl kicked one leg nervously, her body draped sideways across the wooden planks as her curve-hugging pink dress and coordinating pale pink nail polish played against her bleach-blonde hair. The asymmetrical ruffles along the hemline of Cheryl’s dress danced in the gentle breeze as she kicked. Penelope had always thought Cheryl looked like a pin-up model. She certainly had the hourglass figure for it.

  “We know you are,” Cheryl said. Her voice was shaky, but not shaky enough, as far as Penelope was concerned.

  “Of course, you’re a good person,” Hana Kim added from the other side of Cheryl. “We shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

  She, too, was on a red Adirondack chair, only she sat up straight and tall. Hana hugged her knees tight against her chest, her off-the-shoulder black dress pulled taut. She seemed quieter than usual, and not just because it was early in the morning. Penelope thought Hana’s jet-black hair and olive skin made her look exotic. She was the most glamorous of the bunch. And that was saying something. Even under the stress of their situation, Hana had the air of a glitzy runway model.

  Meg Harris rounded out the foursome. She was splayed out face down on the deck just beyond Hana’s chair, her thick, blonde, curly hair disheveled. Black mascara was smeared under her eyes. Meg had imbibed far too many glasses of wine the night before, and she wasn’t holding her alcohol well. She was out of it, groggy and disconnected, yet she still looked beautiful. She wore a rose-colored, backless dress made of lace and featuring a thick ribbon that tied artfully around her waist. Only the ribbon was out of place now, a visual reminder of what had happened.

  Penelope knew she was pretty in a down-to-earth, natural sort of way. She could put on a party dress and clean up nicely. Yet her friends were on another level. She often felt like the ugly duckling among world-class beauties.

  It was no wonder, really. Jean had always been ashamed of her own physical appearance for reasons Penelope never quite understood, and she had passed her insecurities down to her unwitting daughter. Though the effects had been tempered by Felix’s kind encouragement and good parenting, Penelope had taken on too much of Jean’s low self esteem as her own. She had carried it, even when it wasn’t hers.

  As Penelope sat fretting about what they had seen the night before, she was, perhaps, more aware of what she lacked than ever. If things went like usual, she knew her attractive friends would steer clear of trouble more easily than she would. It was a sad, but true fact of life: Extraordinarily beautiful women had it made. Life was easier for them. People bent over backwards to forgive their transgressions and to do them favors. The same wasn’t necessarily true for average-looking women like Penelope.

  “Just stop,” Meg said as she rubbed her temples, curls bobbing. “Nobody is questioning your character, Pen.”

  “It feels
like they’re going to,” Penelope replied. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  This was the way it always was with Cheryl, Hana, and Meg. Penelope worried while they skated through life effortlessly. At least, that’s how it had seemed.

  “Not true, Pen,” Hana said, shifting her weight in the chair as she hugged her knees tighter. “I’m with Meg on this one. No one is questioning your character. You’re getting worked up when, most likely, that’s an overreaction.”

  Of course, Hana was with Meg. She was always with Meg.

  “What?” Penelope asked. “Are you seriously suggesting that I’m overreacting right now? Because I don’t think I am. This is serious.”

  Hana shot Cheryl a knowing glance, which was then shared with Meg. They were deciding how to handle Penelope. They didn’t believe there was anything to be too concerned about.

  “We know,” Cheryl said.

  Cheryl was the one most likely to try to appease Penelope, when and if it had to be done.

  But this was different. Penelope thought so, anyway.

  “Maybe we should talk about what we saw last night,” Penelope suggested.

  “What good will that do?” Hana asked.

  Hana preferred to sweep things under the rug whenever possible, and she was a master at doing so. Her parents had been the same way. Hana had claimed it was typical of her Asian upbringing and that she came by it honestly, but Penelope wasn’t so sure that was all there was to it. Penelope often thought it was just an excuse to get out of the hard stuff in life. She had discussed Hana’s avoidance behaviors with Cheryl, who had agreed. Sometimes, facing up to life’s difficulties was necessary. No one said it had to be pleasant.

  “Really?” Penelope asked, incredulous. “This again, Hana?”

  “Shh,” Cheryl purred, leaning sideways and placing a hand over Penelope’s mouth.

  It was a silly gesture, as if the two of them were back in grade school with little more to worry about than where they’d end up in that day’s lunch line.

  Penelope’s blood boiled as she flung her friend away. “Did you just shush me?” she asked.

  Cheryl rolled her eyes and turned back to face Hana and Meg.

  “Please, keep your voices down,” Meg pleaded. “Can’t a girl have a hangover in peace?”

  Penelope exhaled loudly, buzzing her lips. “Incredible,” she muttered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hana asked, her lip twitching like it did when she was irritated.

  “What do you think it means?” Penelope replied. “I think the response here is incredible. You’re incredible… only NOT.”

  Cheryl straightened herself in the chair and raised a hand in the air between Penelope and Hana as if she were a referee ready to break up a fight. “Ladies, please...”

  Penelope knew it wasn’t a time for foolishness or bickering. She was experienced in such matters. Although, her friends had no idea of the things her history held. Not even Cheryl knew what Penelope had been through.

  “Look,” Penelope began again, raising her voice. “I can’t stress enough how serious this situation is. I don’t know what you three witnessed last night, but I know what I saw. It wasn’t pretty.”

  Penelope was wise enough to know that what they had seen made them liabilities. In fact, the guilty parties might soon be looking to cover their tracks. It was time to compare notes and get on the same page.

  There might not be another opportunity.

  “What, Pen?” Meg asked, exasperated. “Should we call in a priest and sit for confession?”

  Hana chuckled. “Ooh, I know! We could put him on one side of the wooden fence at the edge of the property. Then we could glance at him ashamedly through the cracks.”

  Cheryl chimed in. “And we could have him position himself strategically so that everything from the nose down would be hidden. Like Wilson on that old TV show. Home Improvement, right?”

  Everyone except Penelope laughed heartily at the thought. She, on the other hand, stood up and let her hands rest on her hips.

  “It’s time we get it all out in the open between us,” she urged.

  Hana smirked. “Come on, Pen. Whatever is meant to be will work out. You know my prerogative.”

  Penelope’s brows furrowed, and she lowered her voice as she spoke sternly to her friends. Someone had to be the heavy. The responsible adult. The voice of reason.

  “Out with it,” Penelope demanded. “Right now. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  2

  “Fine,” Cheryl reluctantly agreed, gesturing towards Hana and Meg. “Let’s humor her. Pen wants us to talk about what we saw here last night, so let’s do that. She won’t get off of our backs until we do.”

  “Finally!” Penelope exclaimed. “Thank you, Cheryl.”

  “You really should have been a school teacher,” Cheryl said. “Kindergarten. Maybe first grade.”

  Penelope winked in her friend’s direction. She knew she could be bossy. Sometimes, bossy was good.

  “Okay, okay,” Hana said. “But make it quick. I have places to be.”

  “Where do you have to be this morning?” Penelope asked. “You told me last night that you were planning a lazy morning at home.”

  “Plans change,” Hana quipped. “And I’m not at home, if you haven’t noticed, Ms. Bossypants. Just get on with it.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder as she scowled.

  “Meg?” Cheryl prompted. “Are you in?”

  Meg was dozing off, in and out of consciousness. She needed sleep. But now wasn’t the time to get it. “What?” she asked, raising her head a few inches off the decking. “Are you talking to me?”

  Hana leaned over and whispered into Meg’s ear, apparently filling her in. A few digs at Penelope were, no doubt, included.

  “Whatever,” Meg mumbled, then began the slow process of getting herself into a sitting position. Her limbs were heavy, her mind still dulled by the effects of alcohol. Oddly enough, not a single blonde ringlet looked out of place. Her perfect hair was a stark contrast to her smeared and swollen face.

  “Good,” Penelope said, clasping her hands together as if she actually was in front of a classroom of young children. Cheryl had been right about that.

  Penelope often wished she didn’t have to be the steady voice of reason. It reminded her too much of her childhood. But someone had to do it. And sadly, no one else volunteered.

  “I’ll go first,” Cheryl offered.

  “Yes, great!” Penelope replied, excited. “It’s just the four of us out here. Speak freely. Tell us everything. It’s the best chance we have of making it through this.”

  “Okay,” Cheryl continued. “I’ll just say her name so it isn’t the elephant: Audrey Ward. She’s missing.”

  “And presumed dead,” Hana added.

  Penelope’s eyes opened wide. She hadn’t expected her friends to be so blunt, even though she had requested their honesty. “Wow,” she breathed.

  “Yeah, presumed dead,” Meg confirmed. “How could she not be?”

  “I don’t know,” Penelope replied. “She might have been alive when she was pulled out of the water. I couldn’t tell.”

  “Now that’s wishful thinking,” Hana said, fiddling with a fingernail. “I saw her at the bottom of the pool. She looked lifeless.”

  “Cheryl,” Penelope redirected, not wanting to talk about the most gruesome part just yet. “Let’s get back to you. What did you see?”

  Cheryl shrugged a shoulder, her pink dress shimmering in the sunlight as it moved. “I mean, I was with her earlier in the evening.”

  “Audrey?”

  “Yeah, you know. I was showing her around. Showing her the ropes.”

  “Was it her first party?” Meg asked, squinting against the morning sun.

  “First party with the group,” Cheryl confirmed. “So, I tried to make her feel comfortable. Marshall and Reggie were busy entertaining more than just Audrey. I wanted to help out.”

  Penelope nodded.
“Go on.”

  “I got her a drink to help her loosen up,” Cheryl explained. “She asked the bartender for a strawberry daiquiri, which was cute. You could tell she was young. Inexperienced. She might as well have asked for a wine spritzer.”

  Meg found this especially funny and laughed out loud. Maybe she was still buzzed. It wasn’t that funny. Penelope knew how it felt to be young and inexperienced. She wouldn’t laugh at Audrey’s expense.

  “The bartender ended up making her something with pineapple and vodka,” Cheryl continued. “He told her it would taste like pineapple upside down cake. It worked. She liked it. I pray she was at least twenty-one.”

  “Oh,” Penelope mused. “I didn’t even think about that. Let’s hope we weren’t serving alcohol to someone underage. That’s the last thing we need right now.”

  “We?” Meg asked. “How did this become we?”

  “Agreed,” Hana added. “Marshall and Reggie own this house. Audrey’s death should be on them. Not on us.”

  Penelope was growing frustrated with her friends. Especially Hana. She could be so callous and insensitive at the worst possible times.

  “I’m just saying,” Penelope continued. “We, in the collective sense, have plenty to worry about. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. We can’t leave all of this on Marshall and Reggie. We each have our own roles to play.”

  “Oh, we can and we will leave this on Marshall and Reggie,” Hana reiterated. “I’m not getting mixed up in a murder investigation.”

  “We don’t know that it’s a murder investigation, do we?” Meg asked.

  “Yeah, I heard the term disappearance,” Cheryl confirmed. “Missing person. Nothing about murder yet.”

  “I don’t even understand what happened, or how it happened,” Penelope pondered. “But I want to.” She stared out at the bay as she thought, a light wind dancing around her braid.