Murder on the Half Shell (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 2) (13 page)

Chapter 18

Joey and Penelope declined the dinner invitation, deciding instead to keep their original plans. Penelope stopped in her room before they left for Joey’s cabin to grab her backpack, tossing in a toothbrush and a change of clothes. 

Back downstairs, she poked her head into the library on her way to the lobby. Jeanne was in there alone, the lights dimmed and a glass of amber liquor in a tumbler on the table next to her chair. She faced out towards the windows, drinking quietly.

Penelope knocked lightly on the door before entering, so as not to startle her. “Jeanne, are you okay?” Even in the darkness, Penelope could see her cheeks were wet with tears.

Penelope walked over and eased herself down gently in the adjoining chair. “This is the second time today I’ve found you in here crying by yourself,” Penelope said. “Are you upset about us being here? Are we disrupting your life too much?”

Jeanne laughed and shook her head. “Well, that was quite a commotion up there this evening, wasn’t it? But for the most part, no. I’ve loved having you all here, bringing new life and excitement to this old place.”

“We’ve enjoyed it too. Thanks for opening up your home.”

Jeanne swirled her glass. “I grew up here, watching visitors and tourists come and go my whole life. It goes by so quickly. But I must say, having a movie filmed here…well, that’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in a long time.”

“Why are you upset then?” Penelope asked.

“It’s nothing, dear. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in my life, like all of the bad things are my doing. And when those girls went missing…I fear it’s my fault, that I’ve invited something unsettling onto the island,” she said, her voice falling to a whisper. “When Shane contacted me about coming here and using the Inn, I jumped at the chance. I’ve never been one to think change is bad. How could filming an elegant historical movie be an evil thing?”

Penelope tried to follow Jeanne’s line of reasoning.

“How could what happened to Rebekkah and Sabena be your fault?”

Jeanne sighed. “None of you would be here if it weren’t for me agreeing to the movie. I fought against some members of the city council to help get the permits, argued with the residents who said you’d be a burden on our resources, would disrupt the tourist season.” She snorted harshly. “I own the only hotel on the island and people were worried about losing money on the tourists.”

Penelope thought for a minute. “Who was against us coming, specifically?”

“You missed a lot of it in the beginning, before you got here,” Jeanne said. “When the production company sent out the location scouts, and we really started sitting down to discuss how we could make this work, we got a lot of opposition from the community.”

“Really? What happened?” Penelope asked.

“Everyone from the principal of the school to the marina owner to the town manager showed up for the city council meeting and had a say. They were mostly concerned about the disruption to the island, overcrowding the beach, loss of revenue and tourism.”

“I haven’t run into anyone who made me feel unwelcome,” Penelope said. “I’ve heard rumblings from a few of the crew about some less-than-pleasant residents, but you get that wherever you go. A film crew takes up a lot of space, that’s just the nature of what we do.”

“Well, it’s not everyone on the island, of course, but enough. Rose was one of the first people to throw up a fuss about you all,” Jeanne sniffed. “She hated the idea of a movie crew coming here. Too many strangers, she said. But she changed her tune when you booked up most of her cabins for the summer. I shouldn’t say, it’s none of my business, but I know she upped her rates when the production company contacted her. I guess she figured she’d at least make a nice profit once you got here.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Penelope said. “She probably had to turn away some regular summer rentals because of us.”

“True. I had to also. Rose has always had a good mind for business,” Jeanne said with a little laugh. “Do you know she charges her renters fifty dollars if they lose their cabin keys? You know it costs less than five dollars to get a key made over on the mainland.” Jeanne took another sip of her drink and stood up from her chair. “I’m going to head up to my apartment and go to bed. I’ll be more cheerful in the morning.”

“Okay,” Penelope said. “My crew is getting started in the parking lot pretty early. I hope we don’t disturb you too much.”

“It’s fine, dear. I’ll be getting up anyway.” Jeanne gave her a little wave and left the library, a little wobbly on her feet. Penelope waited a moment and then followed her out.

Chapter 19

Penelope was the first one on set the next morning. Waking up before sunrise was difficult, especially the first day after a long break. She had slept over at Joey’s cabin, murmuring a sleepy goodbye to him and kissing his ear before slipping out around four thirty in the morning. Waves crashed next to her, her feet sinking soothingly into the sand with each step she made toward the Inn. For just a moment, Penelope felt like she was all alone in the world, that she was the only person awake on the entire island. She’d treasured the silence, knowing the day ahead would be full of noise and chaos on set.

The Inn’s parking lot, now canopied with tents, would double as her kitchen and dining room for most of the coming week. A pile of long collapsible tables was stacked high in one corner. She pulled the top one down, straightening the legs and setting it up in the front of the tent. She arranged a few more into a large square, setting up the prep area for her chefs.

A few minutes later Penelope heard the backup warning signal and saw the glowing red taillights of her kitchen truck easing into the far corner of the parking lot. She stepped out of the tent and watched Francis and Quentin step down from the cab. They exchanged greetings.

“Where are the others?” Penelope said.

“They’re right behind us in the pantry truck,” Francis said. They both looked rested and energetic, ready to jump on the prep work for the day.

Penelope walked around the truck, performing a quick inspection, checking the gas and water lines. The trucks had been parked in the high school lot during the long weekend and she wanted to be sure nothing had come loose during transit. Or that they hadn’t been tampered with by any curious visitors.

Her crew set in motion, Penelope climbed into the cab of the kitchen truck, which doubled as her office, and began finalizing the menus for the week.

Breakfast came and went in a flash and one hundred and seventy-two people were fed. Afterwards they all dispersed, some of them heading to the makeup and wardrobe tent on the beach or back inside the Inn to get the first shot set up. Penelope stood in the middle of the tent after they’d all gone and surveyed the damage. “Not too bad,” she said to herself. It would take them an hour or so to break down the breakfast stations, store the leftovers, wipe down the tables and wash the dishes before they could start getting lunch ready. Luckily Jeanne had a pretty nice industrial dishwasher inside that they were paying her to be able to use.

“Hi, Miss Sutherland,” Regan said, entering the tent.

“Regan,” Penelope said. “Good to see you. Ready to help us prep lunch?”

“Sure,” Regan said. He walked over to a nearby table and gathered up a few stray cups and napkins.

“After you get the dishes done and restacked, why don’t you work in the kitchen today? I’ll tell Francis that you’ll be shadowing him.”

Regan paused and smiled widely. “Yeah, that will be great. Thanks.” A spring came into his step as he quickly cleared the tables.

For lunch, Penelope and her team prepared grilled Chilean sea bass with mango salsa, roasted cilantro lime chicken breasts over saffron-infused rice and grilled flank steak, sliced thin and served with roasted new potatoes rubbed with olive oil and seasoned with fresh rosemary. Penelope looked in on Regan a few times as they worked. She noticed he listened intently to the other chefs and seemed eager to follow their directions.

Quentin and Penelope got the ice bins in position and worked on filling up the frosted bowls with various salad toppings, greens and sides, working side by side at one of the long prep tables. “Let’s wait on bringing the ice out until they’re actually breaking,” Penelope said to him quietly. “You know how they are. I told them the same thing on the truck. I don’t want them firing anything until the last minute.”

Shane broke for lunch twenty minutes after the scheduled time, which wasn’t too bad considering his usual delays. The first diners began trickling into the tent, expectant looks on their faces as they ogled the steam tables and salad bar. If by some chance Shane had called the break on time, she would’ve had a line of people waiting and a row of empty steam trays for them to admire. But her gamble had paid off, and she felt like for the first time they had appetizing food that hadn’t been sitting for the better part of an hour while they waited. Arlena had wanted to read through her scenes for the rest of the day in private, so Penelope offered her the room upstairs, and had Arlena’s lunch delivered there.

The actors started filing into the tent behind the first group of crew members. They were easy to pick out in their period costumes. The women wore dresses draped with beads and the men wool suits with matching fedoras. Penelope circled the room a few times, watching the actors tapping the glass screens of their phones, a jarring contrast to their clothes. Their heavy makeup gave them a sallow appearance, which made them look otherworldly.

Penelope heard yelling outside the tent and hurried over to see what the commotion was. Several curious diners had paused and were gazing out towards the parking lot.

“This is all your fault!” a woman shouted at Francis.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re talking about,” Francis said in a soothing tone.

“What’s going on?” Penelope asked, stepping outside and recognizing Roni Lambert, Sabena’s mother. Her face was bright red below her blonde bangs and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.  

“I don’t know, Boss. She just came up here and started yelling,” Francis said, lifting his shoulders under his chef coat.

“It’s you! You’re the one,” Mrs. Lambert spat in Penelope’s direction. “You did this to her.”

Penelope’s heart started beating rapidly. “Mrs. Lambert, what do you mean?”

Mrs. Lambert lunged at Penelope but Francis grabbed her, holding her back gently by the shoulders. Mrs. Lambert gave up immediately and crumpled to the asphalt, sobbing into her hands.

“What the hell is going on down here?” Shane yelled, his already high-pitched voice going up an octave. He stormed out of the back door of the Inn towards them. “Penelope, what are you doing? I’m trying to review our scenes from this morning and—who is this?” he demanded, pointing at Mrs. Lambert, who sat rocking back and forth on the ground at their feet.

“This is Sabena’s mother,” Penelope said. She glanced behind her and saw that most of the people in the tent had gotten up from their chairs and stood silently behind her, watching what was happening.

Shane raised his hands in a questioning gesture. “Who?”

Penelope looked at him sharply. “Sabena Lambert. My server. This is her mother.” She willed him to make the connection.

A look of recognition finally came to his face.

Mrs. Lambert stopped sobbing abruptly and looked up, noticing the crowd of people watching her from the tent. She pulled herself back onto her feet, Francis officering her a hand. She slapped it away and rocked on her heels. The warm asphalt left an imprint on her thigh and she brushed sand from her leg. “You all come in here and take over, with your promises of fame, money, trying to make something different out of our kids. And now she’s dead because of you.”

Penelope’s knees wobbled beneath her. “Sabena is dead?” she whispered harshly.

Mrs. Lambert glared at Penelope, squaring her shoulders. “Bean is dead. There was nothing the doctors could do. My baby never woke up.” Her face crumpled into a sob, and she held her face in her hands.

No one said anything as they watched. Penelope looked at Shane with a questioning glance, which he returned with a shrug.

“Mrs. Lambert,” Penelope said, taking a step towards her. “We are all so sorry to hear about Sabena.”

Mrs. Lambert did not look up and continued whimpering, her shoulders shuddering under her faded t-shirt. Penelope took another step and reached out, placing a hand gingerly on the woman’s shoulder. Mrs. Lambert’s head jerked up and she shrugged Penelope’s hand away. Before Penelope could react, Mrs. Lambert shoved her hard in the chest, pushing her back into the crowd of onlookers, who thankfully caught her before she fell to the asphalt.

“You keep your hands off me, bitch,” Mrs. Lambert spat at her. “You’re all going to pay for this. I promise you that. You,” she pointed at Penelope, “and you,” she said, pointing at Shane. “You both think you’re better than everybody, but you’re not. Corrupting our kids with your drugs and your booze and your Hollywood nonsense, filling their heads with crazy ideas.”

Francis moved closer to her, ready to grab her if she made another move towards Penelope.

“I’ll see you both in court. I’ll ruin you. Who do you think is going to go see a movie made by a bunch of murderers? I’ll make sure everyone knows what you’ve done,” Mrs. Lambert said, wiping tears angrily from her face. And with that she turned to go, her flip flops slapping loudly against her heels as she walked back down to the avenue.

“Should I go after her?” Francis asked.

“For what? Just let her go,” Shane said. He stood with his hands on his hips.

Francis shrugged. “She assaulted one of our crew. You okay?” he asked, glancing at Penelope.

Penelope nodded. “I’m okay.” Her hands were shaking and her heart hadn’t slowed to its normal pace, but she wasn’t injured. She turned and thanked the people who had caught her and walked unsteadily over to Shane. The crowd began to break up, mumbling about the scene they’d just witnessed.

“Shane,” Penelope said. “Maybe we should take a break or call it a day. A crew member has died.”

“What?” Shane laughed, genuinely amused. “Are you crazy? Look at all of those people in there,” he said, pointing to the tent. “They’re dressed, made up and ready to go. We’ve got five more hours of work today at least. You want me to call it a day because a part-time waitress decided to party too hard and couldn’t handle it? No way.”

“But—” Penelope began.

“But what? And where do you get off advising me on anything? You’re the caterer. I could replace you tomorrow and no one would notice. Don’t get in my face about anything ever again or you’re off the movie.” Shane stormed back inside the Inn, slamming the door behind him.

Penelope stood stunned, going over Shane’s words in her mind.

“He’s outta line, Boss,” Francis said. “It’s his show, but he shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

Penelope nodded but didn’t look at him, her cheeks burning red. She walked over to the truck and took off her chef jacket, placed it on the seat of the cab and closed the door before heading towards Ocean Avenue.

“Boss, where are you going?” Francis said, jogging after her, a look of concern on his face.

Penelope shook her head and put her hands on her hips, feeling tension all the way down her back. “I’m taking a walk,” she said, pulling her sunglasses from the pocket of her baggy chef pants and putting them on. “You’re in charge. Do me a favor and finish service, get everything cleaned up.”

“Okay, Boss, no problem,” Francis said. “Anything you need, call me.”

Penelope thanked him quickly and walked off, heading south down Ocean Avenue.