Murder on the Half Shell (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 2) (6 page)

Chapter 7

Penelope walked up Ocean Avenue, a paper shopping bag from Sackler’s swinging from her hand. The sun beat down on the top of her head and she thought about the hat on the counter in her bathroom back on the yacht.

She made a left on Seafoam Avenue and slowed her pace, squinting at the numbers on the weathered mailboxes as she walked. At the end of the cul-de-sac, she knocked on the door of number twelve, grateful for the shade the small porch provided. The house was faded green with beech-wood shutters, and the front window rattled slightly when Mrs. Lambert pulled the door open. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her expression a mix of fear and hopefulness. She squinted at Penelope through the dirty screen door and her mouth fell open, but she said nothing.

“Mrs. Lambert,” Penelope said, “I…” Penelope suddenly forgot what she had practiced saying on the walk over.

Mrs. Lambert continued to stare at her through the screen.

Penelope hoisted up the bag, offering it to the stunned woman. “I brought some groceries. I wasn’t sure what—”

“Penelope,” Mrs. Lambert said, as if waking up from a dream. She swung the door outward, the squeaking hinges sounding loudly in the damp air. “Come in.”

Penelope stepped inside, momentarily blinded by the dark interior of the living room. Mrs. Lambert shuffled behind her, picking up a remote and muting the large flat screen television that teetered on a too-small cabinet in the corner of the room. A doorway next to it led to the kitchen and Penelope went through, placing the grocery bag on the counter, pushing aside a stack of bills and junk mail. She looked back through the doorway and saw Mrs. Lambert was sitting on the couch, staring at the television, a cordless phone lying in her lap. 

“I picked up a few things for you,” Penelope said tentatively. “Some fruit and a rotisserie chicken from Sackler’s.”

Mrs. Lambert looked away from the television and at Penelope standing in the kitchen doorway. “I’m not supposed to leave the house, in case Bean calls.” She looked down at the dingy white phone in her lap, willing it to ring. Her eyes slid back to the television, focusing on a twenty-four-hour news channel. Tickers sped across the bottom of the screen, announcing news from places in the world far away from Andrea Island.

Penelope paused a moment, concerned that whatever she might say would be the wrong thing. “Can I do anything for you?” she finally asked.

Mrs. Lambert shook her head slowly at the television. “Bean is a good girl. She always calls when she’s going to be out late. Never any problems.”

“Is there anyone who can come and be with you while you wait?” Penelope asked.

“I do everything on my own,” Mrs. Lambert said dreamily. Penelope’s eyes flicked to a prescription bottle next to a box of tissues on the end table beside her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to call someone from your family? Maybe Sabena is with—”

Mrs. Lambert let out a quick laugh, the first time she seemed not in a daze. “I already called her dad. He’s in Vermont. He was no good to us when he was around, but he’s decent enough to let me know if she’d turned up there. He can’t be bothered with us.” She sighed and sank back against the couch.

Penelope glanced down the hallway off the living room. “Can I use your bathroom?”

Mrs. Lambert nodded and waved lazily behind her, un-muting the television. News of a natural disaster somewhere far away echoed off the bare walls of the living room. 

Penelope closed the door behind her and washed her hands in the pink porcelain sink, dabbing a few drops of water on her forehead. The noise from the television increased, and she could hear the news report clearly through the door. She looked at the faded pink, bleach-stained towels hanging behind her and decided to air dry her hands, since they looked like they hadn’t been washed recently. She pulled aside the shower curtain, exposing the vintage pink porcelain tub. The grout was wearing away in a few spots, but it was relatively clean. She popped open the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet and poked through a few pill vials, recognizing the names of a few anti-anxiety medicines, their names familiar from commercials she’d seen.

The phone rang on the other side of the door and Penelope jumped, closing the medicine cabinet with a snap. She stepped out into the hallway and looked at the back of Mrs. Lambert’s head over the couch as she spoke on the phone.

“No, nothing yet,” Mrs. Lambert said, her voice breaking at the end. She began to nod as she listened to someone on the phone, and then she started to cry, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box next to her. “I am…I will…” she said wetly, answering the tinny voice on the other end.

Penelope looked back down the hallway at two bedroom doors, slightly ajar and facing each other. The one on the left was decorated with sparkly blue and white letters, spelling out Sabena’s name. Mrs. Lambert continued to talk on the phone while Penelope slipped down the hall and into the girl’s bedroom.

Sabena’s bed was made, the thin comforter pulled tight and tucked under her pillow. The walls were covered in posters, a collage of familiar musicians and athletes. A collection of trophies and a pink jewelry box with a ballerina dancing across the lid sat on top of a small bookcase next to the desk. Penelope eased open the jewelry box, which held a few imitation gold necklaces, several sets of stud earrings and Sabena’s class ring, a thick silver band with a blue gem in the middle.

Penelope slid open the folding closet doors. Sabena’s clothes hung on matching white hangers and two rows of shoes were lined up on the floor. A collection of stuffed bears stared down from a shelf above the hangers next to a short pile of sweatshirts, folded and stacked neatly in the center. Penelope stepped up on her toes and looked further back on the shelf, noticing a box with a small gold latch on it that had been pushed against the wall.

Penelope glanced at the bedroom door, still hearing the loud television and one side of Mrs. Lambert’s conversation from the other room. She reached up and pulled the box towards her, almost toppling the sweatshirts onto the floor in the process. Penelope propped the box in the crook of her arm and eased open the top, two silky ribbons in the corners stretching tautly between the box and the lid. An envelope was on top, torn open at the seam. Penelope plucked it out, then walked over to Sabena’s desk and placed the box on it to get a better look. She peered inside and saw it was a form letter from the University of Florida, thanking Sabena for her interest in the school and directing her to different websites to get more information about enrolling. Penelope tucked the letter back inside the envelope and looked through the other contents of the box.

Several photographs were stacked together, the first one of two girls around six years old, one with dark hair and one white blond in matching bikinis, fingers linked in front of a plastic wading pool. Penelope smiled when she recognized Sabena and Rebekkah squinting into the camera, the sun shining brightly on their little faces. Rebekkah was missing a front tooth and Sabena had hooked a finger in the side of her mouth, pulling a face at the photographer. Penelope recognized Mrs. Lambert in the next photo sitting next to a man, who she assumed was Sabena’s father, on what looked like the same beige couch that was out in the living room. They appeared to be close to Sabena’s age now in the photograph, two kids looking uncomfortable and stiff with small smiles on their faces.            

As Penelope looked through the photos, an odd smell rose up, a sharp tinge of something burnt. Penelope crinkled her nose and pushed aside a stack of school achievement certificates, finding a plastic bag at the bottom, the top zipped closed. Penelope picked up the bag, looking through the plastic at a charred piece of material and some ripped photographs. She glanced again at the door and opened the bag, the smell of charred fabric hitting her nose immediately. She pulled out the scrap of material, seeing that it was burned the whole way around, as if it had been rescued at the last minute before disappearing into ash. It was thick polyester, dingy white with blue stripes. There were torn threads sticking up from the material, as if something had been ripped from it, in the shape of two letters: A and C.

Penelope looked at the material a few more seconds, then focused on the photographs inside the bag. There were about half a dozen, all of them ripped or burned, with only Sabena left in the remnants. Penelope plucked one of the halves from the bag, a picture of Sabena coyly eyeing the camera to the right of a jagged rip. She was on the beach at night, the dark ocean water visible behind her. Penelope shook the plastic bag gently to shuffle the pieces of photos but could tell the other half wasn’t inside. A man’s arm lay lightly across her back, his index finger slipped under the strap of the bathing suit strap on her left shoulder. Penelope held the picture closer, looking for any rings or other distinguishing features.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Lambert said from the doorway.

Penelope jumped and dropped the photo and plastic bag on the floor. Mrs. Lambert eyed her wearily, bringing a wad of tissues up to her nose.

“Nothing, just looking for something that might help us find the girls,” Penelope said, quickly snatching up the bag and replacing all the items in the box.

“Did you find anything?” Mrs. Lambert asked curiously as she wandered over to the desk.

“Maybe. Does Sabena have a boyfriend?” Penelope asked.

“No,” Mrs. Lambert answered quickly. “She’s not allowed. School comes first, she knows that.”

“She’s not allowed to date?”

“Not until senior year,” Mrs. Lambert said, clearing her throat. “And even then…there’s plenty of time for all of that, but for now she’s way too young. Why?”

Penelope plucked the plastic bag from the box and showed her the ripped pictures. “Looks like she was trying to cut someone out of her life. Who is this?” Penelope asked, pointing to the picture with the man’s hand.

“Sabena’s got a lot of friends, boys and girls, always has. She’s very well-liked, a student athlete.” Mrs. Lambert laughed weakly and rolled her eyes. “I asked her about these, caught her looking through them one night after she was supposed to be in bed. She got into a beef with another girl on her volleyball team at school. The girl graduated and went off to college last year. I told the detectives about it when they found these.” She tucked the picture back in the bag and closed the box. “You know how kids are, best friends one minute, mortal enemies the next. Luckily she and Rebekkah have always been like sisters. That was her mom on the phone, checking in.”

Penelope looked at the box, and folded her arms across her chest.

“I appreciate you stopping by. That was real nice of you. I’m going to lie down for a while,” Mrs. Lambert said, swaying slightly on her feet.

“Of course. If there’s anything—”

“I know. That’s what everyone says,” Mrs. Lambert said, a sharp edge in her voice. “Everyone wants to help. But that’s not bringing my baby back to me, is it?”

Chapter 8

Penelope walked back down Ocean Avenue, the thick wet air making it hard to pull in a breath. She kept thinking about that hand on Sabena’s shoulder, the familiarity of the touch beneath her strap, the look on Sabena’s face, trying to act so grown up when she had yet to shake all of the childlike features from the photo when she was just a little girl, playing in the yard with her best friend.

As she got closer to the docks she saw Detectives Torres and Williams again, in the same spot she had left them earlier, outside the vacant building next to Sackler’s market. She quickened her step when she saw Emilio also.

“Okay, Mr. Babineau, open it up,” Detective Torres ordered, nodding at the frosted glass on the front doors of the vacant building. They were secured with a thick chain and a large padlock.

Emilio tucked a stack of papers they had given him into his back pocket and pulled out his keys. He shrugged and unlocked the padlock. “You’re not going to find anything. This place has been locked up tight since last week.” When the lock snapped open, he pulled the chain from the doors and swung the left one open.

“Stay put,” Detective Torres warned him. She entered the building, Detective Williams right behind her. The door swished closed behind them.

“Penelope,” Emilio said when he saw her approaching. “I called my lawyer. They have a warrant.”

“That’s good. They’ll search your house and the restaurant site, then they’ll move on to someone else when they don’t find anything.”

“It will be a relief. I can’t believe this happened on the one weekend I come down here and mix with the locals. I hope that’s not an indication of how things are going to go—”

The doors banged open and Detective Williams rushed out, speaking urgently into his cell phone. “We need the chopper. MediVac stat. We’ve got two unresponsive females, possible OD. We’re at Ocean Avenue on Andrea Island, adjacent to Sackler’s Market.”

Penelope’s stomach did a flip and she stepped away from Emilio. He searched her face helplessly as Detective Williams said, “Mr. Babineau, we’re placing you under arrest.”

The detective’s voice faded away in Penelope’s mind as she took another step back and stared at her former teacher. His expression morphed from panic to fear to resignation as his hands were cuffed behind his back.

“Penelope,” Emilio pleaded as she continued to back away. “I didn’t do this.”

Penelope stood in the parking lot of Sackler’s Market as the MediVac helicopter took off from the athletic field behind the Andrea Island school complex, a small group of stucco buildings that housed the elementary, middle and high schools. After they’d handcuffed Emilio, the detectives sat him down on the sidewalk and re-cuffed him to the base of a sign that read
Andrea Island Historic District
in gold letters, his arms lying loosely behind him. Detectives Torres and Williams ushered the EMTs into the vacant building and, moments later, two stretchers came bouncing out, white sheets draped over Rebekkah and Sabena. Penelope caught a glimpse of Sabena’s face and her heart sank when she saw the grayish tint to her skin. Penelope closed her eyes, fighting back tears as they passed by.

After several minutes, Penelope went to Emilio and crouched down to talk to him. Detective Williams stood nearby, talking urgently with someone on his phone while Detective Torres draped police tape over the front doors of the restaurant site.

“Penelope, please,” Emilio said to her, his eyes slightly wild. “You have to believe me. I had nothing to do with this.”

Penelope looked at him closely, swallowing down the sour bile in the back of her throat. “I want to believe you, Chef. But the purse in your truck…and how did the girls get inside your restaurant?”

“I wish I knew. Help me, please,” he begged.

“I don’t know how to help you,” Penelope said, choking on the last word.

“Please, can you do one thing for me? Take the papers from the inside of my jacket and bring them to my house. My wife Dominique is there. It’s the permits and other documents for the restaurant. I don’t want them to get lost if I’m processed.”

Penelope looked at him doubtfully.

“You’re the only person on this island who I can trust. And you have nothing to do with this restaurant. I’m still working on everything with the city council. I don’t want them to see all of our proposed plans yet. Please, it would be easier. I know it’s a lot to ask. I’ll owe you one, okay?”

Penelope felt sorry for her once proud and cocky chef instructor, realizing how humiliating all of this must be for him. She also remembered how he patiently gave her special instruction in the kitchen classroom when she’d asked for help to perfect her filleting technique, coming in early on his own time to help her all those years ago. She tried to hold onto that image of him and not the one in front of her now.

“Sure. I can do that for you, Chef.” Penelope reached inside his jacket and retrieved a thick fold of papers from the interior pocket.

“Thanks, Penelope. And tell Dominique I’ll call. That I’ll be home soon,” Emilio said. “We’re renovating one of the old mansions on the west side of the island, house number four. Just follow Ocean Avenue until it turns into Mangrove Loop. You can’t miss it.”

“Okay, Mr. Babineau,” Detective Williams said, finishing his phone call. “We’re taking you over to the mainland station. Let’s go.” Detectives Williams and Torres led Emilio toward the docks.

Penelope tucked Emilio’s paperwork into her backpack, slung it over her shoulders and followed them at a distance. The midday ferry had arrived, its low horn sounding as it began to pull away from the dock and head back to the mainland.

When she reached the marina, Penelope stopped short, her heart making a sudden leap.

Leaning on the railing with his phone up to his ear was Joey, looking her way behind reflective sunglasses, a rolling suitcase propped against his leg. Penelope felt her phone buzzing in her backpack and quickly pulled it from her shoulders. Realizing that was silly, she walked quickly towards him and threw her arms around his neck. He pulled the phone from his ear and hugged her back.

“What’re you doing here?” Penelope asked, pulling out of the hug and looking up into his handsome face.

“I came to surprise you. Are you surprised?” Joey asked. “I hope you’re surprised and not weirded out. I tried to call, but…”

Penelope kissed him then, stopping him from saying anything else.