Murder on a Silver Platter (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter 6

Penelope drove slowly up her street, coming to a stop at the stone pillars that anchored the long driveway leading up to their house. She blew out a noisy sigh and hoped she had given Sam and Arlena enough time alone. After the hospital she had gone back to the set where her crew was finishing the dinner cleanup, breaking down steam tables and putting the kitchen and pantry trucks back in order. Penelope insisted the crew clean and arrange everything for the next day at the end of each shoot. Experience had taught her there was nothing worse than starting off the filming day disorganized. It always put them too far behind to comfortably keep up.

Before heading home, Penelope made her produce and fish orders for the next day’s deliveries, signed off on payroll in the production trailer, and picked up the following day’s call sheet. After her work was finished, she went to South Point’s Main Street Wine Bar and had a big glass of Pinot Noir and some butternut squash soup with crusty bread for dinner to kill time.

She ate at a small table for two near the big picture windows, making notes and sketching out future menu plans in a spiral notebook. Although she was exhausted she enjoyed the peace and quiet, the good food and wine. The small votive candle on her table flickered whenever a member of the wait staff walked by. She found herself watching them, judging how they were working as if they were her own staff. She forced her mind to relax again and took another sip of wine.

Penelope thought back to when she and Arlena had met and become friends on a movie set a few years ago. Arlena was the lead actress and Penelope was one of the chefs on the catering crew. The film was
Slash ’Em Dead Again!
—the fourth installment in the
Slash ’Em!
movie series. Arlena was the top screamer, running from the terrible Slash ’Em monster for most of the movie. The movies were a huge success, terrified moviegoers eagerly lining up to pay their hard earned money to watch Arlena and other young actors and actresses chased, slashed, skewered and otherwise traumatized on the big screen.

Penelope was assigned to take care of Arlena’s long list of culinary requests on the set: no fat, no processed food, no fruit after two o’clock, six coconut waters chilled in her trailer every morning, nothing containing sugar allowed anywhere near her plate, and the biggest one, absolutely no shellfish. Arlena also requested a fresh vegetable tray every morning in her trailer, and a protein shake every day at three. It was a long list of do’s and don’ts, but Penelope happily prepared her meals to order and catered to every request, excited to be working on her first big movie.

Penelope’s dream was to own her own on set catering business, and when she graduated from culinary school she took every theatrical job she could. She’d catered commercials for one day, rehearsals for an Off-Broadway production that closed down after one week, and a low budget music video where they director tried to pay her with gift cards. But she’d persevered through the bad jobs and put aside all of the money she could, saving up to buy her own trucks and hire a crew to launch Red Carpet Catering.
Slash ’Em Dead Again!
was the last financial boost she needed.

“You’re the only one around here who doesn’t make me crazy,” Arlena said through tears one morning as Penelope delivered the vegetable plate to her trailer.

Penelope looked around and realized she was the only one in the trailer, and that Arlena, who had never spoken directly to her before, was talking about her. “Me?” Penelope said with disbelief.

“Yes,” Arlena said, frustrated. “You listen to what I ask, you take it seriously and you do it without giving me an attitude. Or asking me a million questions.” She snagged a cherry tomato from the chilled vegetable plate Penelope was holding. She pulled her lips apart in an exaggerated grimace as she bit into the tomato, trying to not smudge her thick coat of lipstick. “What was your name again?”

“Penelope Sutherland. I’ve enjoyed working with you,” Penelope said. She placed the plate on Arlena’s vanity table.

Arlena didn’t respond. She paced the length of the trailer, wringing her hands and muttering quietly. Penelope knew from that day’s call sheet that day Arlena was filming “the scene,” her toughest one of the week. She had to lay bare her feelings and beg for her life in front of Slash ’Em, a bigger than life, scary masked psychopath. A monster who always struck at night when the actresses were all half-naked. She figured Arlena was getting into character.

“I should get back to work. Let me know if you need anything else, Miss Madison,” Penelope said to Arlena’s back. When she didn’t turn around or respond, Penelope stepped quietly to the door.

Arlena spun towards her suddenly. “Would you come and be my chef? I could use someone like you…someone I can trust who will be there for me, keep things together for me at home.”

“Wow,” Penelope said, surprised at the sudden offer. She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I’d be able to. I’m planning on starting my own theatrical catering business…it’s been my dream for a long time.”

“Why can’t you do both? Come be my live-in chef, cook for me when I’m home. You get your company set up, I won’t get in the way of that…and I’ll be sure to request you on my future projects. I get what I ask for a lot of the time.” Arlena ran her hands through her hair as she walked to the vanity table. She picked up a slice of cucumber and popped it into her mouth.

Penelope did some quick math in her head, thinking about the money she’d saved and her current income from the movie. If she could reduce her living expenses by moving in with Arlena, and get paid to cook for her on top of it, she could get her company off of the ground much quicker than she’d originally planned.

“When would you like me to start?” Penelope said.

Penelope packed up her tiny apartment in two days and moved into Arlena’s renovated brick mansion in Glendale, New Jersey. Penelope had never lived in a town where all the houses were beautiful and neighbors gathered regularly for dinner at the country club. She’d never considered her family poor, but she did grow up on the rougher side of the tracks. Arlena’s street was usually quiet, populated by domestic divas and their professional husbands who commuted into Manhattan, only forty minutes away by train. Penelope’s favorite room in the house, after the sleek and well-appointed kitchen, was the library with its oversized stone fireplace. She loved cuddling up under a blanket to read or watch a movie in there whenever she had an evening off.

So far their arrangement had worked. Arlena’s impulsiveness and Penelope’s more reserved nature meshed well together, and Penelope liked having someone to cook for. There was more than enough room at the house for Arlena and Penelope to live without crowding each other. Sometimes Penelope ended up doing more than just cook for Arlena, but Red Carpet Catering was thriving, so she didn’t have any complaints.

Penelope’s eyelids were heavy as she pulled her black Range Rover up the driveway and around the side of the house. A bright yellow Hummer, which Penelope assumed was Sam’s, was parked in the front. She pulled her truck slowly into the far bay of the three car garage next to Arlena’s BMW. Production provided a car service for her to and from the set, and she hardly ever drove.

Pressing the button on her visor to lower the garage door behind her, she sighed and decided she would slip quietly in through the kitchen door at the back of the house so as not to disturb Arlena and Sam. She looped her black leather messenger bag over her shoulder and followed the stone path that led from the garage through the back garden. Penelope was thankful that when the landscapers came to plow the driveway they’d remembered to clear the paths to the house.

Penelope peeked through the glass window panes of the kitchen door and didn’t see anyone inside except Zazoo, dozing on his bed in the corner. She opened the door and slipped inside, thinking she would grab a wine glass and a nice bottle of red and head to the library, hopefully unnoticed, where she could unwind with her book before bed. Zazoo’s head shot up and a small yip stuck in his throat when he heard the door open. Penelope made eye contact with him and put her finger to her lips, silently requesting that he stay put and be quiet. He reluctantly laid his head back down on his paws, keeping his eyes trained on her as she came inside and closed the door.

Arlena and Sam had a seven a.m. call time in the morning and it was after nine already. She figured whatever party was happening here would be ending soon. Neither of them would want to look puffy-eyed on camera.

She grabbed a bottle of Pinot out of the wine rack in the pantry and headed over to the hanging wine glasses next to the refrigerator. As she reached for a glass, she heard the low murmur of voices and muffled male grunts coming from the hallway leading to Arlena’s side of the house.

“Great,” Penelope whispered to herself, rolling her eyes. She grabbed the glass, tucked the wine bottle under her arm and tiptoed towards the opposite hallway and the library.

Sam’s grunting stopped and then Penelope heard Arlena start up with her own grunts.

Penelope didn’t want to eavesdrop on Arlena in the throes of passion with Sam Cavanaugh, even accidentally. She’d watched Sam make love many times, with lots of ladies, up on the big screen, she and millions of movie lovers everywhere. But it was creepy in real life.

She had almost made it to the doorway when she heard Sam call out, “That’s it! Just like that. Now eight more.”

“Eight more? Eight more what?” Penelope whispered to herself. Realizing that she needed a wine key to open her bottle, she debated heading back into the kitchen to get one. She also considered dropping her plans entirely and heading back out the door, getting into her car and driving to the nearest hotel. But then she remembered they lived in a huge house with lots of rooms and this was her home too. She resolved to grab the wine key as quickly as possible and make a break for the library.

She crept back into the kitchen, wobbling on her tiptoes. She eased open a drawer on the center kitchen island and grabbed a wine key, easing the drawer closed. Arlena shouted “Yes!” Penelope jumped and lost her grip on the opener. It fell, clattering to the wooden floor and skittering over to Zazoo’s bed. He eyed Penelope suspiciously, a gravely growl in his throat, threatening a torrent of barking. She froze in place, not sure which way to go or what to do. She hoped the amorous couple hadn’t heard her.

“Penelope? Is that you?” Arlena called from down the hall.

“Sorry! I dropped the wine key. It’s me, no big deal. Don’t get up.” She rolled her eyes at herself. She stood frozen in place, wine bottle tucked under her arm, glass in hand and Zazoo at red alert.

Arlena and Sam came into the kitchen, both of them dressed in workout clothes.

“You’re home,” Arlena said, hugging Penelope. She was sweaty, but it was Arlena’s version of sweaty: beautiful and dewy accompanied by a sweet, clean soap smell. She would never allow herself to smell like a gym locker.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” Penelope said, relaxing a bit.

Sam opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. He handed one to Arlena and twisted the cap off of the other one for himself. There was a sweat ring around the neck of his shirt and his biceps were shiny. Penelope admired all of the different muscles standing out so clearly on his arms and the way his shirt stretched across his chest.

“Of course not. Sam was showing me the latest moves he learned on location in Taiwan. Super killer workout, Pilates and Martial Arts mixed together.” Arlena’s feet were bare and perfectly shaped, her toe polish a deep rose color. She leaned into Sam and they both drank from their water bottles, arms entwined.

“It’s good stuff,” Sam said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “I should go.”

“It’s late. You can stay, or at least take a shower. We have lots of spare bedrooms,” she said, taking another sip of water.

“I’m going to head out. But I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. He scooped Arlena up inside one of his large biceps and kissed her passionately on the mouth. Penelope looked away, but she didn’t think either of them cared she was standing there. Penelope retrieved the wine key from the floor and opened the bottle on the island.

Finally coming up for air, Sam said, “Penelope…Wife of Odysseus.” He set Arlena gently back on the ground and turned to Penelope. “I’m reading a script about them. It’s pretty intense, maybe too intense even for me. By the way, you make amazing crab dip.” With that he grabbed his heavy leather jacket from the row of hooks by the door and draped it over his shoulders. He kissed Arlena again, this time tenderly on the top of her head, and then headed out the door backwards, bowing deeply to the two of them as he left.

Arlena closed the door behind him and turned to face Penelope, leaning on the door. The two friends looked at each other, listening to Sam’s Hummer roar down the driveway. When the engine had faded away, Arlena grabbed a wine glass for herself, motioning for Penelope to fill it.

Penelope poured. “So, what happened?”

“He’s very interesting.” Arlena took a big sip of wine. She was jumpy and preoccupied, mentally cataloging the highlights of her evening with Sam Cavanaugh.

“Did you guys…?” Penelope said, taking her own sip of wine, eyeing Arlena mischievously.

“No. You know I don’t play things that way.” Arlena drummed her polished nails lightly on her glass.

“I’m glad you had fun,” Penelope said. She paused a beat before continuing. “I talked to Detective Baglioni at the hospital after you guys left. It doesn’t sound like they’ve gotten much farther on the case.”

Arlena’s blissful mood dipped. “You think he would’ve figured out what happened to Holly by now.”

Penelope thought for a minute then went to her messenger bag and pulled out her iPad. “Maybe they have and they can’t say.” She sat down on a stool and swiped the tablet to life. She opened her search engine and typed “Holly Anderson, New Jersey.” Within seconds the screen was filled with links to websites and a row of images of different girls, all presumably named Holly Anderson.

Arlena looked over her shoulder at the screen. “There are lots of Holly Andersons, looks like. Click on the
Ledger
article again, see if it’s been updated.”

Penelope opened up the website and scrolled through the piece. “Look, breaking news at the top. It says she was a high school student from New York, and that her death has been ruled a homicide by investigators.”

Arlena put her glass down on the island and looked closer at the screen.