Zazoo jumped straight up in the air in the kitchen between the three of them, yapping happily.
“You were out walking your dog?” Officer Jenkins asked them. Her bottle blond hair was slicked against her skull and wrapped in a tight bun at the base of her muscular neck. She had an orange tan and smelled like cocoa butter and sea salt. Penelope glanced at the opaque white skin on her own hands, the blue veins at her wrists.
“No,” Arlena sighed, her exasperation peeking through her practiced, patient public persona. “He had run off, and we were out looking for him.”
“Uh-huh.” Officer Jenkins made a note in her leather bound flip pad, her French manicured nails clicking against the pen. “And you two are what? Roommates? Girlfriends?” She did not look up from her pad.
Arlena rolled her eyes. “Penelope is my personal chef, and my friend. And we’re currently working together on the same film in South Point.”
“Your dog was here the whole time you guys were out looking for him?” Officer Jenkins said, still scribbling furiously. Her gaze bounced between the two women.
Penelope cut her eyes sideways at Arlena.
“Yes,” Arlena said. “No, I mean, he had run off, but when we came back here to call you he was waiting at the back door.”
“That’s when the lights came back on,” Penelope offered, her voice still raspy from the cold, and from screaming. She stared into her mug, watching the foam cloud on top of her chocolate change shape. She had drunk almost half of the warm liquid but realized she didn’t remember tasting anything. Her mouth was as dry as cardboard.
“And you’ve never seen the young girl outside before?” Officer Jenkins asked. Her eyes never rested in one place for very long, so it was hard for them to figure out who she was talking to.
“I only saw a little of her, part of her face was sticking out of the snow and she was so blue.” A shiver came over Penelope as she pictured the full blue lips on the girl’s frozen face. “But no, I don’t think so. We work on movie sets and we see hundreds of people a day, a lot of them strangers if they’re extras or day players.”
The radio on Officer Jenkins’ shoulder lapel chirped loudly. Arlena and Penelope both jumped as if someone had slammed the door. Zazoo yelped and trotted over to his little red doggie bed in the corner of the kitchen, folding himself down gently onto the cushion. He had finally stopped barking, but he still kept his eyes trained on the action in the room.
“Detective Baglioni is here,” announced a windblown male voice on her shoulder. It was one of the uniformed officers milling around outside.
“Perfect. Detective Baglioni is here,” she muttered. “Roger that,” she said to her shoulder as she pressed the button on the side of the radio. Penelope noticed Officer Jenkins had quite a bicep under her brown uniform shirt. And if she wasn’t mistaken, fake boobs. The woman obviously spent a lot of time at the gym. And the tanning salon, based on the orange glow of her skin.
“Okay, ladies. Thank you for your statements. The detective will have some questions for you, I’m sure,” Officer Jenkins said. Her frosted pink lips settled into a tight line on her tanned face, creating two sets of parentheses beside her mouth. Penelope wondered if the woman ever smiled. She certainly hadn’t in front of them, even during her half-hearted attempts at comforting them.
“More questions? I don’t know if I can. We both have early calls tomorrow and—”
“It won’t take long, Miss Madison. We appreciate your cooperation,” Officer Jenkins said, a tone of finality in her voice.
Arlena sighed and leaned closer to Penelope, shrugging farther under the blanket over her shoulders and crossing her arms tightly across her chest.
Zazoo stood up on his bed and let out a series of excited yaps, the bark he reserved for anyone he didn’t know who came into the house. Detective Baglioni strode into the kitchen, glancing all around the room, looking everywhere but at the two women sitting behind the granite topped kitchen island.
“Hello, Detective,” Officer Jenkins said, looking at the floor. Her hands were clasped tightly behind her back and she rocked gently on her steel-toed boots.
“Jenkins,” the man replied.
Penelope saw his eyes move across her face and noticed the slight upturn of a smile on his lips. She got the sense of familiarity there, beyond them just passing each other in a squad room. Detective Baglioni had deep green eyes with gold flecks in them, set slightly close on his face, a strong jaw bone and a perfect nose, like the ones she’d seen on marble statues at the Met. A hint of stubble brushed his chin and Penelope absently rubbed her cheek as he spoke.
“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, ladies. I’m Detective Joseph Baglioni.” He addressed Arlena first and then he glanced at Penelope, pausing a beat to study her face. Something about the detective rang a distant bell with Penelope, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“Is there anything you can think of beyond what you’ve told Officer Jenkins?”
Penelope glanced sideways at Arlena, who was shaking her head. “I don’t think so.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw and he glanced behind them at the dark wood cabinets.
“What happened to that girl? Did she get hit by a car or run over by a snow plow?” Arlena asked.
Penelope put an arm around Arlena’s shoulders, worried she might get hysterical again like she did when they first found the girl. And then again when they got home and were trying to get themselves together to call the police, fumbling with the alarm and their phones and trying to quiet Zazoo’s torrent of barking.
Tears crowded the corners of Arlena’s eyes.
“Maybe. But there’s no sign of an accident, no fresh tire marks leading to or from the snow bank. Of course a plow might have wiped any evidence of them away. It looks like she may have suffered a blow to the head. Do either of you recognize the girl from the neighborhood?”
Arlena and Penelope shook their heads again. The welling tears flopped out of Arlena’s eyes and down her cheeks in pretty little streams. Penelope always marveled at how Arlena looked beautiful even when she cried. When Penelope cried, it was all red-faced and messy, definitely not film-worthy.
“You’re saying someone might have attacked that girl out on our street and then left her out there to die in the cold? Does that mean it’s dangerous to be in our neighborhood right now?” Arlena’s mood had shifted to indignation laced with a touch of fear. “What are you going to do about it?”
“We’re doing what we can, Miss Madison. Our team is outside, processing the scene and questioning your neighbors.”
“You’ll let us know if for some reason we’re not safe or if there is anything else we should be doing?” Penelope asked.
“Of course,” he said. “You have an alarm system, so I’d advise you to keep it on at all times. If you see anyone suspicious or anything out of the ordinary, call us right away. Here’s my card.” He slipped two white business cards onto the island, one for each of them. “You’ve got a private security company that patrols this neighborhood and we’ll brief them, let them know to be on the lookout and report anything suspicious. And we’ll keep a presence in the neighborhood until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Penelope picked up his business card. “Joey Baglioni. From down the block?”
Joey smiled. “Yep, that’s me, Penny Blue.”
“We grew up together,” Penelope said to Arlena. She couldn’t believe the homicide detective standing in her kitchen was her friend and neighbor from grade school. “Wow, you’re a detective now?”
He nodded. “I thought I recognized you when I first came in. It’s been a while. It’s good to see you, not under these circumstances of course.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Please, let me know immediately if anything comes to mind or if you have any concerns.”
“Thank you, Detective,” Arlena said with a note of impatience. She glanced at the clock on the oven door. “If there’s nothing else, we both have to be on set very early…” She indicated the kitchen door with a flick of her dark brown eyes.
“You can reach me at that number,” he said, nodding at no one in particular and heading towards the door, Officer Jenkins close behind.
Chapter 3
The next morning Penelope paused for a moment to watch the first streaks of sunlight cut through the morning sky before switching on the generator behind the catering tent, which served as the dining hall on the movie set. Inside, the tent was lined from end to end with collapsible eight-foot dining tables and three hundred and fifty folding chairs, empty seats waiting for cold and tired cast and crew to come and enjoy breakfast, lunch and dinner during the day’s shoot. Penelope’s team was responsible for keeping everyone fed and happy on time to ensure filming stayed on schedule.
Stifling a yawn, she headed to the kitchen truck parked near the tent to get the first of what she knew would be several cups of coffee. She climbed inside her custom designed food truck and slid the door closed behind her, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the two large ovens, the grated grill and flat cook-top provided. Penelope had switched everything on and made the first big urn of coffee right after she’d pulled up to the set. She filled a paper cup full of hot coffee and looked up at the menu notes above the still-shuttered service windows.
The door of the truck slid open and Francis appeared, shivering inside his thick puffy jacket. “Morning, Boss. Sorry I’m late.”
Penelope looked at the digital clock next to the daily menus, which read 5:14. She’d asked her chefs to be in by five so they’d have time to get breakfast ready for everyone else who were reporting to set at seven. “What happened? You’re never late.”
“I had my alarm set for four, but it didn’t go off. And my car was buried. Sorry, Boss.”
“Did you guys loose power here in town?”
“Nah, I don’t know what happened. But the clocks were working,” Francis said. He poured himself a cup of coffee. “The other guys are here, I picked them up on the way. They’re already in the prep tent, cutting fruit for breakfast.”
“Do me a favor and get a backup alarm before you go home today, or remember to set your phone to get you up. You’re going to have to hustle to get everything ready by call time.”
“You got it.” Francis took another big sip of coffee, put his cup down and rubbed his hands together to warm them.
“And get one of the guys to set up the craft table with cereal and juice, some granola bars, too.”
“You got it. We’ll be ready.”
Penelope lit the charcoals underneath her omelet grill, a six-foot-long skinny basin that she could fit ten pans on at a time. Next to it was a collapsible table with glass bowls full of chopped vegetables, cheeses and meats. She could make ten omelets to order at a time as the diners filed through the line in front of her. She’d had a friend from culinary school custom-build the grill to her specifications, just the way she wanted it. It was much easier taking orders out in the open behind the grill than leaning through the window of the food truck and using the flat top grill to make omelets one at a time. She worked out in the cold this way, but efficiency had won out over comfort.
Various cast and crew members nodded and offered mumbled greetings as they came through her line, shivering in their jackets and watching the eggs bubble up in the pans in front of them. She greeted them warmly as she prepared their omelets, grateful to be getting their long day ahead started.
When breakfast service was over and the cast and crew went to work on the morning shoot, Penelope and her chefs cleared down and began prepping for lunch. Francis, Penelope’s sous-chef, was in the kitchen truck, searing off chicken breasts and filleting salmon. The rest of her team was in the adjoining tent prepping vegetables for salads and sides. The film’s production company was paying a local restaurant to wash their dishes after each meal, so they only had to deliver the bus trays full of dirty dishes and pick up fresh plates and glasses before lunch, all ready to go in drying racks wrapped in plastic. While expensive, it saved her team so much time and effort. After working on a few movie sets Penelope understood the reason behind the multimillion-dollar price tags that even small movies racked up. A movie set was like a portable city, and each moving part had its own cost.
Her crew well underway with the lunch prep, Penelope decided to take a break and check in on Arlena in makeup. She grabbed an orange out of the fruit bin, lightly patting one of her chefs on his shoulder as she passed. He nodded but kept his focus on the cutting board in front of him, his sharp chef knife slicing quickly through a large red tomato. Penelope pulled off her long black apron, set it down at the edge of his station and zipped up her fleece jacket. She ducked out from under the flap of the tent and headed towards the trailers grouped at the back of South Point’s municipal parking lot. The makeup, talent and wardrobe trailers were grouped together in the center of their temporary trailer park. It was an unwritten rule of every crew Penelope had worked with to set them up that way to limit the access of long range paparazzi camera lenses or every day lookie-loos who hovered near the edges of a set, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous.
When Penelope entered the makeup trailer, she saw Arlena reclining in a chair with cucumber slices over her eyes, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She wore a bathrobe over silky pajamas and big fuzzy slippers, all in matching shades of blue. Kelley, the head makeup artist on the film, was sitting on a short stool at her side, massaging one of her hands. Arlena’s body stiffened when she heard the door open.
“Sorry, it’s me,” Penelope said, closing the door quickly to keep the frosty air outside.
“Oh, hey,” Arlena said, relaxing back into the chair. She pulled the cucumbers off of her eyes with her free hand.
“I brought you an orange,” Penelope said.
“Thanks. Can you dip it in chocolate and deep fry it for me?” Arlena asked, laughing weakly.
“No, but I can peel it for you. You want any, Kelley?”
“Thanks, I’m fine.” Kelley continued to knead Arlena’s hand, gently pressing on pressure points in an attempt to reduce her stress. Kelley’s hair was bright purple today and cut in a cute retro bob, Betty Boop style. She was tall and thin and her long body curved into a C when she sat down. She changed her look and hair color constantly, sometimes platinum blond, sometimes jet black. Penelope always admired people who took those fashion risks. She’d never felt that bold.
There was a knock on the door and someone yelled, “Miss Madison, I have your new pages for today. Sal just called thirty minutes.” It was one of the production assistants, sent around to remind everyone when they were expected on set.
“New pages?” Arlena asked. “Sal never said anything about new pages. Pen, can you grab them for me?”
Penelope nodded and opened the door, leaning out to get the script pages from the PA. “Thanks.” She closed the door quickly against the cold air and handed the pile of typed script pages to Arlena.
Arlena sighed and took an orange segment from Penelope’s hand, glancing down at the sheets. “What I wouldn’t give to be home in bed.”
“Me too,” Penelope said.
“Arlena was telling me about last night. It sounds awful.” Kelley’s eyes were rimmed with black liner and perfectly applied smoky grey eye shadow that created a cat’s eye effect. Penelope remembered to swipe on some mascara after jumping out of the shower, but that was it for today.
“It’s scary to think someone got killed right outside our home.” Arlena bit into the orange segment and continued to read, shaking her head slightly. “I haven’t seen any of this dialogue before…they must have written it all last night. It’s the same setting we rehearsed but the words are all different
.”
“Will they have it on a monitor for you?” Penelope asked.
Arlena scoffed, “No. Sal doesn’t believe in cue cards. He likes things to be more organic. The script supervisor will be there if I need her to call a line for me, but I know that throws everyone off. I’ll have to sit with this for a bit until I get it down.”
“In the next thirty minutes?” Penelope asked, alarmed for her friend. Arlena was holding at least five new pages of dialogue.
“Wish me luck,” Arlena said, scanning through the words.
“I read about the girl who got killed by your house last night in the Ledger,” Kelley said to Penelope, nodding towards the makeup table at her iPad. The Northern New Jersey Ledger website was pulled up on the screen, and “Teen Found Dead” was the lead story on the site.
Penelope skimmed the beginning of the article. “It says her name was Holly Anderson. Are there any Andersons on our street?”
Arlena shrugged. “I don’t think so. Not that I’m aware of.”
“She was only sixteen,” Penelope said quietly.
Arlena shook her head. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? It doesn’t appear they know much more than her name.”
“I suppose they’re still investigating whether or not it was an accident,” Penelope said, scanning the rest of the article and setting the iPad back down on the makeup counter.
“That detective didn’t seem to think it was an accident,” Arlena said. “He didn’t want to scare us by telling us that a maniac is on the loose.”
Kelley got up and gently removed the towel from Arlena’s head and began dragging a comb gently through her long black hair, glancing at the photos she had taped to the top of the makeup mirror. They each had a date marked on them so she would know which hairstyle Arlena required for each day’s shoot. Kelley put the comb down and began blow-drying Arlena’s hair, wrapping it around a round thistle brush.
Murder on a Silver Platter (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 1) Page 2