Murder on the Half Shell (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 2) (11 page)

Chapter 14

When Emilio met up with Penelope at the end of the path, his expression changed from anxiousness to relief.

“Chef,” Penelope said. “What are you doing here?”

“I made bail this morning. Had to wait until Monday for the court to be in session. Don’t get arrested over the weekend if you can help it,” he said, grimacing. “I’ve got a meeting with Shane and the developers in a few. I’ve got to get to the house to shower and change.”

“What’s happening with your case?” Penelope asked.

Emilio shrugged. “I don’t know. I have good lawyers on my side. They’re not going to get me on this, Penelope. I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“I know the girls were with you on Friday night, Chef,” Penelope said. “Regan told me all three of you went into your house after he dropped you off. Did you tell the police the truth about that?” She folded her arms across her chest and took a step back from him.

Emilio squinted at her behind his sunglasses. He smelled like sweat and his face was shiny under his spiky black hair. “Yeah, that’s what he told the cops. But then he drove away. Those girls came inside for a few minutes to sober up. They were going to get in trouble with their parents for being wasted. I went upstairs to call Dominique, and when I came back down they’d taken off.”

“You lied to me,” Penelope said, color coming into her cheeks. “I never wanted to believe the rumors about you back in school, you know, the ones about you messing around with your students? You never acted that way around me, and I defended you when everyone was talking about what happened with Christine and Summer behind your back. Looks like I was a fool.”

“Penelope, Summer lied about what happened between us. We were never romantically involved,” Emilio said.

Penelope looked at him skeptically, trying to contain the anger that was bubbling to the surface. “Then why did she say you two slept together? That’s what she said, isn’t it? That’s why you left school in the middle of the term…you couldn’t keep your hands off of her?”

“Penelope, don’t say that. You know she took the story back, that we all signed an agreement,” Emilio said, his voice hardening.

Penelope sighed. “What was in the agreement you signed?”

“Both girls recanted their stories to the dean, and I agreed to sever ties with the institute,” Emilio said quietly.

“But if you didn’t do anything wrong, why leave? If they lied, then…” Penelope said, trying to fit the pieces together.

“They were students, so the benefit of the doubt fell in their favor. Nothing could be proven, because nothing happened,” Emilio added quickly, “but it was a disruption that the administration didn’t appreciate. Then some of the parents raised concerns about me. Sometimes the appearance of impropriety is just as bad. In the end, it was agreed I should leave, and I took a severance settlement and went. Opened Craw Daddy’s with it.”

Penelope thought again to her days at culinary school, about how young she was, roughly the same age as both Summer and Christine. The memories of their faces began to mix with the slightly younger ones of Rebekkah and Sabena, and she felt a sense of helplessness come over her.

“You were right to defend me back then,” Emilio said, “And I’m sorry I disappointed you. I’ve had some problems in my past, but I’ve remade myself. I’m happy, I love my wife. She’s the only woman I ever want or need.”

Penelope wished she could see his eyes behind his dark lenses.

“And I didn’t lie to you about Friday night, I just knew how the truth would sound, so I just didn’t tell you everything that happened,” Emilio said in a soothing tone. “I need someone on my side in this.”

“Not telling me the whole story and asking me to help you is the same thing as lying,” Penelope said. “I don’t know how to feel about you anymore. It’s like the whole thing that happened with Christine and Summer is happening all over again. And here I am again, being put in the position to defend you.”

“Penelope, believe me, please,” Emilio said, scuffing the toe of his boot on the sidewalk. “I’ve always been good to you, helped you whenever I could. We worked closely together back in school all the time…did you ever feel threatened by me or feel like I was being inappropriate?”

Penelope looked out over the water, not responding. She filed through her memory, thinking of all the times they’d been alone in the kitchen, him leaning over her to demonstrate the perfect technique. She had to admit, she’d never felt an inappropriate vibe from him, but she also struggled with separating those feelings from the various accusations she’d heard.

“Thanks for getting that paperwork to Dominique,” Emilio said, interrupting her thoughts.

Penelope said flatly, “I didn’t love being the one to tell her and Shane about you being arrested.”

“Shane?” Emilio asked.

“I went over there right after you got…right after it happened. Shane was at your house, so I told them both at the same time.”

Emilio paused for a beat then smiled widely. “I see. Sorry about that too, but I appreciate that he heard it from you than from someone else.”

“Shane also said you were running late for lunch on Saturday. I thought you said he picked you up,” Penelope said in an accusatory tone. She was having a hard time looking directly at him, and continued to gaze at the ocean.

“He did pick me up, but I had him drop me at the city council building for a meeting first. It ran long because the town manager had more papers for me to file,” Emilio said evenly. “You been checking up on me?”

Penelope unfolded her arms and shrugged, pulling her gaze to his sunglasses. “I have no idea what to think or feel. And you just said you keep things to yourself when they make you look bad. Why should I believe you now? None of this makes sense and those girls—”

“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.