Murder on the Half Shell (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 2)

by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  “Which girls are you talking about now, Penelope?” Emilio asked. “From now or from then?”

  “You know what? I have to go. Good luck with everything.”

  Emilio smiled weakly at her, then turned and walked away. Penelope pulled her phone from her backpack and called Joey, leaving him a message. “Hey, it’s me. Can you do me a favor? I need some more information on Emilio Babineau.”

  She clicked off and scrolled to a new screen on her phone, tapping a phone number to call. The phone rang a few times on the other end and then someone answered, “Saciar.”

  “Hello, can I speak with Summer Farrington?” Penelope asked.

  “Chef’s not in the restaurant right now, can I take a message?” the young man asked. Penelope could hear the distinct sounds of an industrial kitchen in the background, pots clanging and several voices shouting over each other.

  “Yes, please tell her Penelope Sutherland called. Let me give you my number.”

  Chapter 15

  Penelope’s staff sat in the stuffed leather chairs of the Inn’s library, a sunny room with built-in bookshelves full of novels, nonfiction books and travel guides. Jeanne let anyone on the island borrow books as long as they didn’t abuse the privilege. There was only one shelf in the very top corner that no one could borrow from that held a few leather-bound books that looked as old as the Inn itself. A large photograph of a much younger Jeanne and her late husband hung on the wall between the windows. They were toasting with wine glasses on the deck of a boat, beaming widely at the camera.

  “I’m glad we’re all back together,” Penelope said, laying her backpack down on the round oak card table and taking a seat at one of the matching chairs.

  Quentin and Francis hid smiles under their hands as they looked at their exhausted coworkers.

  “You guys okay?” Penelope asked.

  One of her assistant chefs leaned forward and took a deep breath. “Yes, ma’am, we’re just a little tired is all.”

  “Looks more like you’re hungover,” Penelope said sternly. “Look, I won’t keep you long. Do whatever you want today, but I need you all coming to work fresh in the morning. I suggest water and Advil. And sleep.”

  “No problem,” Francis said, and the others nodded.

  “I also wanted to fill you in on what happened after the party on Friday, since it involves members of our crew.” Penelope let them know most of what had occurred over the weekend, watching their expressions morph from surprise to concern. After answering a few questions of their questions, she went over proposed menus for the upcoming week and gave them their prep assignments. “We’re expecting a delivery too, so…you,” she said, choosing the chef who looked slightly worse for wear from his weekend, “meet the midday ferry and transport everything back to the tent. Borrow a truck from transportation.”

  “Sure thing, Boss,” he said.

  “Okay, you guys take it easy and I’ll see you all in the morning. Call time is seven so everyone be in the tent by five.”

  Penelope stood up and grabbed her backpack, leaving her team to work out the details of their assignments together. Inside the dining room, Penelope spotted Gavin, Arlena and Max with a woman she didn’t recognize. She walked over to say hello.

  “Pen! That was fun last night, right?” Max asked.

  “Sure,” Penelope said with less enthusiasm.

  Gavin stood up. “Penelope, this is my fiancée, Sienna Wentworth.”

  “Of course, I heard you were coming to visit.”

  “She just got here on the midday,” Arlena said. “We’re going back to the boat to talk concepts and have Sienna take the measurements for my dress.” Sienna was an up-and-coming British designer that Arlena had been looking forward to collaborating with on some new looks.

  Sienna smiled and took a sip of her iced tea. “Lovely to be here. The weather’s gorgeous.” In contrast to Gavin, who came off more like a rugby player, Sienna’s English accent was light and airy, and she had an elegant way about her.

  “I’ll be by the boat later to get my things. Joey just checked into his cabin, so I’ll either stay over with him or be in my room upstairs.”

  “There’s no rush, whenever you want is fine. I asked Sam if he wouldn’t mind keeping the boat docked here for a few weeks. I prefer staying on it.”

  Penelope wished them luck with their fitting and excused herself. She went upstairs, unlocked the door of her room and went inside, closing it softly behind her. Deciding to take a few minutes to savor the relative peace and quiet, she slid onto the bed, the springs squeaking gently beneath her, and laid her head on the pillow. She closed her eyes, turned onto her side away from the window and drifted off to sleep.

  Penelope woke feeling like she’d been asleep for days rather than hours. The sun was much lower in the sky than it was when she’d first curled up. She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand and saw that it was almost three, which meant she had napped for over two hours. Getting up to stretch, she walked towards the window, opened the thin French doors and stepped out onto the small balcony, yawning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The breeze was warm in the lazy afternoon sun. She gazed out at the ocean, noticing a scattering of beach umbrellas and chairs on the sand and a few people out swimming, their heads bobbing up and down in the surf.

  Penelope looked over the railing at the pool below. Two of her chefs were asleep on the shady side of the patio, sprawled across two of the chaise lounges. To the left of the pool area she saw Gavin leaning up against the wooden railing in the patio dining area smoking a cigarette. Penelope pulled in a few deep breaths and looked back at the water, watching a couple floating together on a large raft. A flash of black in the corner of her eye brought her attention back to the deck. Regan had appeared next to Gavin, smoking alongside him. She eyed them curiously, observing their body language. Regan seemed agitated and Gavin sympathetic, soothing Regan but shaking his head no. Then Regan hugged Gavin, knotting his hands loosely around the other man’s shoulders while Gavin patted him firmly on the back, his cigarette tucked tightly between two fingers. After a few moments Regan pulled away, nodded and left. Gavin watched Regan walk away and continued to smoke, finally turning to look out over the ocean, leaning his forearms on the railing.

  Her phone pinged inside her room, and Penelope stepped back inside. She pulled a bottle of water from the mini fridge that hummed in the corner of the room and her phone from her backpack. She went back out onto the balcony and sat down in one of the metal patio chairs, propping her elbow on the matching table. She sipped her water and glanced at the screen, seeing that a few text messages had come in during her nap. There was a group text sent to the movie department heads from the production office confirming their start time in the morning, and another from Francis reminding her of a few items they needed to add to their next food order. Max texted to see if she would like to join him and Arlena at the Happiest Hour up on the roof of the Inn, and the last one from Joey simply read, “How you doing, beautiful?”

  Penelope smiled and swiped her phone open to call him.

  “There you are,” Joey said, sounding relaxed.

  “Hey. I came up to my room after my meeting and fell asleep,” Penelope said. “What have you been up to?”

  “I went swimming in the ocean right outside of my cabin. Then I read for a while out here on my deck. You know, vacation stuff. What’s up this evening?”

  “I was wondering if you’d like to come to the Inn for happy hour. Jeanne puts on a nice little spread and Max and Arlena will be there. Then we can go back and have dinner at your place, unless you’ve changed your mind about cooking,” Penelope said.

  “Perfect,” Joey said. “I’ll get cleaned up and meet you over there.”

  “It’s from four to six, so come whenever you’re ready,” she said.

 
As Penelope stepped out of the shower a few minutes later, she heard her phone ringing in the other room. She pulled a towel around herself and hurried to answer it, grabbing it from the table next to the windows. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

  “Penelope Sutherland?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Yes,” Penelope answered, pulling the corner of the towel up to dab her face.

  “It’s Summer Farrington. I got your message...”

  “Summer, thanks for calling me back,” Penelope said. She glanced behind her at her wet footprints on the carpet leading back to the bathroom.

  “Good to hear from you after all this time. I looked you up on the registry. You’re based in Jersey?” Summer asked. She sounded like she was outside, definitely away from her loud kitchen.

  “Yes, I didn’t get too far away from home. Or school,” Penelope said.

  “Great, well, if you want to send in your resume, I think I can get you a job at the restaurant,” Summer said cheerfully. “I don’t have anything full-time, but if you—”

  “Oh, no, that’s not why I called,” Penelope interrupted.

  “I just assumed that’s why I was hearing from you after all this time,” Summer said, laughing lightly. “I didn’t see your current position listed online.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. Actually, I called because…remember Emilio Babineau?” Penelope ventured, her body tensing beneath her towel.

  “Emilio, how could I forget?” Summer said, her tone losing its cheerful tone. “You’re calling me after all these years about him?”

  “Yes, I just wanted to know…what actually happened between you two, Summer?” Penelope asked.

  Summer blew out a sigh, then laughed quickly. “I can’t say. I signed an agreement with the school. Nobody talks, everything goes away. The precious reputation of the institute is saved.”

  “I’m not the press. I’m not asking you in an official way. I just need to know for myself,” Penelope said, sitting down in one of the chairs and bunching the towel tighter around her chest.

  “Did he try something on you back then too?” Summer asked, her voice hard, determined.

  “I can’t really say, but…” Penelope paused, making up a story in her head. “I ran into him again recently, and I’ve been thinking about everything that happened at school, with you and Christine. You and I were close before, we were all in the same track together, working with him all the time. I’ve never thought to tell anyone before now, but I know you—”

  “Right. Who wines and dines their students? Impressionable young girls away from home? Him with his smooth talk and swagger. Such a pig,” Summer said spitefully.

  “So, what actually happened between you two?” Penelope asked again, prodding her. “It was all after we were living together, and we’ve never talked about it.”

  “I’m sure what happened to me is the same thing that happened to you,” Summer said crisply. “I bet our stories are very similar. We should compare notes, then you can get whatever information you need.”

  “Did you two really sleep together, back in school?” Penelope ventured, tightening her grip on the phone in her hand. Her heart was skipping in her chest and she felt a bit faint. She always had a hard time lying but hoped her voice didn’t betray that right now.

  “Yes,” Summer said without hesitation.

  “Can you prove it?” Penelope said, closing her eyes. “Did you ever tell anyone about it?”

  “No, and I can’t say it anywhere officially either, or I lose my settlement. And any leverage I have left over the jerk,” Summer said. “But I’ll back your story, as long as I don’t violate the terms of my agreement.”

  “What about Christine? Didn’t she know about you and Emilio too?” Penelope asked.

  “I don’t know. She had a different kind of complaint against him,” Summer said quickly. “She wouldn’t back my story up completely when I asked her to, but I know he messed around with her too. She was just too afraid to speak up. I’m the one that made her go to the dean.”

  “What happened to Christine? I didn’t see her in the school directory, and she doesn’t show up as working anywhere that I can find,” Penelope said, her shoulders caving under the weight of the conversation.

  “I don’t know. Last I heard she was moving north, Vermont maybe. Between you and me, she didn’t have the mettle to cut it in this business. She’s sweet, but that doesn’t get you very far, especially if you want to be taken seriously in a male-dominated kitchen.”

  Penelope thought for a beat then said, “Can I call you again, after I get my mind around what happened with all of this?”

  “Sure, this is my cell. Call me direct. And if you ever want that job…”

  “Thanks, Summer,” Penelope said, hanging up.

  Chapter 16

  Penelope slipped into a dark red sundress and twisted her long blonde hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. When she got downstairs she glanced into the library and saw Jeanne slowly gathering up the scattered sections of a newspaper and straightening the club chairs around the game tables. She was turned away from the door and dressed for her cocktail party in a pretty floral tea-length dress, the skirt swaying around her shins as she moved through the room.

  “Hi, Jeanne,” Penelope said.

  “My stars, Penelope, you gave me a fright,” Jeanne said, jumping a little, then quickly wiping a tear from her cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” Penelope said, taking another step into the room. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to thank you for letting me use the library earlier. Are you okay?”

  Jeanne laughed nervously. “I’m just being silly. Sorry, dear.” She swiped more tears from her cheeks. “I’m going to have to touch up my makeup.”

  “Is something wrong?” Penelope asked.

  Jeanne shook her head, her hair waving softly around her pretty face, her glasses swinging by the lanyard around her neck. “I just…I don’t know. I guess I get a little sentimental sometimes.” She motioned towards the picture of herself and her husband on the wall. “Robert’s been gone for years, but I still miss him.”

  “How long were you married?” Penelope asked, walking over to look at the photograph with her.

  “Unfortunately, only two years,” Jeanne said. “He died in a boating accident not long after this picture was taken.”

  “Oh, I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Jeanne,” Penelope said, placing her hand gently on the older woman’s shoulder.

  “Thank you, dear,” Jeanne said, patting the top of Penelope’s hand with her soft palm. She pulled in a sharp breath and blew it out quickly. “People say everything is meant to be, but I’ve never understood that sentiment. How is it meant to be that my husband dies in an accident? Maybe it’s what I deserved, after all that time, loving him all of those years before we were finally able to be together, to be married. And then he was gone, just like that. Maybe God took him from me to teach me a lesson, take me down a peg.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t some kind of punishment, Jeanne. No one can explain why tragedies happen, why some lives are cut short,” Penelope said.

  “You’re very sweet, dear,” Jeanne said.

  “Excuse me, Jeanne?” The young server from the restaurant poked his head in the doorway. He was dressed in his bartending uniform, ready to serve at the Happiest Hour. “Sorry to interrupt, but they have a question for you in the kitchen.”

  “It’s okay,” Jeanne said, turning to Penelope. “Will you be joining us, dear?”

  Penelope nodded and watched her go, then returned her gaze to the photograph of Jeanne and Robert on the boat. It looked like it’d been enhanced. The bright colors reminded Penelope of the Technicolor movies she came across on the classic movie channel. Jeanne wore bright red lipstick, oversized Jackie O sunglasses, a
blue and yellow striped shirt and white pants. Robert sported a sailing cap and a blue ascot around his neck that matched the blue of Jeanne’s shirt. They looked happy. Penelope couldn’t help but wonder about the accident.

  “Hey, Penelope,” a voice called from the doorway.

  Penelope turned and saw Lizzanne, one of Shane’s production assistants. Her skin was crisp with sunburn, heat radiating from her freckled cheeks.

  “Hi,” Penelope said. “You ready to get back to work tomorrow? It looks like you got some sun this weekend.”

  “A little,” Lizzanne said, glancing at her forearms. “Shane asked me to come in here and take pictures of the bookshelves. We’re filming in here this week and he wants to know what books he’ll have to get rid of.”

  Penelope laughed. “He’s going to have to remove all of them or CGI them out. There aren’t any books in here that date back to 1890.”

  “I guess,” Lizzanne said, holding her iPhone sideways and snapping a series of pictures of the shelves. “Who knows, maybe he can just shoot away from them, make it work somehow. If nothing is bright pink or whatever maybe he can just blur them.”

  Penelope thought that might be distracting to the movie viewers but kept quiet. “Jeanne’s okay with us filming in the library?”

  “I think so. It might be a little inconvenient, but production is paying her an additional per diem. We’re all staying here, but she’s also getting a location contract out of the deal since we’re using that suite upstairs for principal filming.” Lizzanne snapped a few more pictures. “He’s definitely going to have to take out that one that clearly says ‘1968.’ That would mess up continuity for sure, out us on one of those movie-fail websites.”

  Penelope glanced up at the top shelf and saw the book she was talking about. “That looks like a high school yearbook.” Pulling it from the shelf she ran her finger down the imprinted blue leather cover, which was embossed with an abstract image of a panther baring its teeth, the year 1968 stamped in an arc above it.