Murder on a Silver Platter (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter 19

Penelope finished her first cup of coffee during the drive to Glendale High School the next morning, which sat right outside of the center of town. She zipped her car keys in the pocket of her thin Lycra jacket and breathed in the crisp air as she made her way from the parking lot to the football field. There was a quarter-mile track surrounding the field and Penelope planned to sprint for two miles. Some days she liked to run as fast as she could, feeling her heart pumping through the effort. It always relieved her stress.

Penelope started off at a jog, warming up her cold legs and arms so they would work harder for her in a few minutes. After the second turn around the rust-colored rubber track, she picked up her pace, leaning forward into the wind, her arms slicing the air at her sides. By the time she was on her second mile, she ran in a full out effort, her breath puffing in and out like a locomotive steaming along a track.

Penelope slowed to a jog and decided on one more lap around to cool down. She glanced at her watch and was pleased she’d finished at a respectable pace. Making her final turn, a flash of movement in the football stadium seats caught her attention. She shaded her eyes and looked up, slowing to a walk. Flags attached to the railings fluttered in the breeze, flashing the school colors of red and white. Penelope walked quickly around the final turn and to the gate that led out to the parking lot.

Back inside her warm car, Penelope took a sip of tepid coffee. She ducked her head and looked up at the stadium seats through the windshield, jumping when she saw someone standing in the top row staring down at her car. The person was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and the sun was at their back, making it impossible for Penelope to see their face.

Her heart skipped a beat and she started the car, popping the locks down quickly as she eased out of the parking space. As she turned and drove towards the exit, she looked at the person in the bleachers and felt they were still watching her, turning to follow her car’s progress from the lot. She rolled through the stop sign at the lot’s entrance and exited quickly back onto the main road.

A few minutes later Penelope turned into the parking lot of Glendale Grocery a few miles down the road from the school. She parked and nervously glanced around, relieved that no one else was in the parking lot.

“Good morning,” an elderly woman greeted her right inside the store as the automatic door slid open. It was early still and the morning smells of coffee, donuts and pastries from the bakery filled the air.

The woman handed her a colorful sales flyer with the day’s specials and a voucher for a cup of coffee. “You’re one of the first customers today, so the coffee is on us,” she said proudly, soft white hair floating around her head. She began gathering up another flyer and coupon for another customer entering behind Penelope.

Penelope picked up a hand basket and made her way through the store, selecting items from the produce section. She then strolled to the bakery to claim her free coffee and get some bagels, pointing at her choices through the thick glass. “Black, no sugar,” she said, handing him the coffee voucher.

The deli worker passed a bag of bagels and croissants over the counter to her and placed a large cup of coffee on top of the case.

“Thank you,” Penelope said, tucking the bag into her basket. After picking up some cream cheese and half and half from the dairy aisle, she wandered to the registers and stood in a short line, her coffee in one hand, her shopping basket dangling from the other.

Penelope raised her coffee cup to her lips and glanced at the magazine rack on her right as she waited, reading the tabloid headlines: “Meryl Streep Has Alien Baby,” “How Kim Kardashian lost 80 lbs!” and “Bad Bikini Bodies.” Penelope rolled her eyes and shifted her weight, shaking her head at the exploitative pictures of unsuspecting celebrities looking less than fabulous. She looked to the right side of the aisle. “Plastic Surgery Gone Wrong!” yelled from another headline.

“Oh no,” Penelope whispered under her breath. Underneath the large bold type was a picture of Arlena, her face and lips swollen behind big black sunglasses and a thin grey hooded jacket pulled up over her hair. She was tugging the hood as close to her face as possible but it did little to hide her identity or her severe allergic reaction.

Penelope placed her shopping basket on the ground between her feet and plucked the magazine from the rack. Tucking the paper coffee cup awkwardly in the crook of her arm, she flipped through the pages, looking for the article inside. Finding it on page nine, she skimmed it quickly.

Horror queen Arlena Madison has gone under the knife with disastrous results. The budding beauty and daughter of Randall Madison was photographed rushing from her doctor’s office, trying in vain to hide from our cameras. All we can say is…thanks, Arlena. Now we don’t even have to watch your movies to be truly scared…

“Excuse me, miss?” The cashier beckoned from her perch behind the register. Penelope glanced up, alarmed, her thoughts lost in the article. She looked behind her and saw two impatient looking women giving her dirty looks from behind their full shopping carts.

“Oh, sorry, go ahead.” Penelope knelt down and picked up her basket, moving out of line to let the other customers go ahead of her. She stepped back and glanced down the row of registers, each of them anchored by magazine racks, all of them full of the edition she held in her hand. Penelope’s heart sank and she got back in line, contemplating how she would tell Arlena this latest bit of bad news.

“Are they serious?” Arlena said, snatching the magazine from Penelope’s hand. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen except for Max, who was sleeping in and would miss the newest drama unfolding in Arlena’s life. Arlena tore through the pages until she found the article, her eyes widening as she read the outright lies on the page.

“Everyone will see you back at work tomorrow looking like yourself.” Sam eased the magazine from her hands. He placed it on the counter and hugged Arlena. She hugged him back and nodded stiffly, but picked the tabloid up again when he let her go, holding it closer and staring at the pictures.

“Those jerks,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, Arlena. I wanted to show you before someone else did.”

“I know,” Arlena said, flinging the magazine back down on the counter.

Randall fumed at the other end of the island while Penelope began unloading the groceries, quietly placing items on the far counter next to the stove.

“I should sue them.” Arlena sat at a stool next to Sam.

“Everyone knows these kinds of papers are full of lies. If you sue them, you might bring more attention to it than they’d get if you just left it alone.” Sam rubbed Arlena’s back as she propped her chin on her fist, her elbow on the counter. “I’ve been through this before. It’s not worth the trouble.”

“How did they get that picture of you?” Penelope asked over her shoulder. “You went straight home from the set, right?”

“Yep. This was taken before we left. I can see the corner of my trailer,” Arlena said, pointing to the edge of the picture.

“Do you think it was one of the crew?” Penelope asked.

“It happens,” Sam said. “Someone on my last set took pictures of me in my trailer through a crack in the door. Everyone has a camera on their phone now, it’s easy.”

“Daddy,” Arlena said, “what should I do?”

“Screw them,” Randall grumbled. He stood and walked over to Penelope, taking a bagel from the deli bag. “Like Sam says, don’t give them the satisfaction. Focus on your work. That’s the best advice I can give.”

Chapter 20

Sal Marco lived on Elm Street in the older section of South Point in the house where he’d grown up. The streets were lined with old elm trees and regal homes that sat close to the road. Warm lights lit the two-story brick house and shadows of party guests moved across the windows.

Sam and Arlena walked hand in hand to the house while Penelope followed with Randall at her side. They rang the bell, hearing faint conversation on the other side of the front door before it opened.

A smiling Sal opened the door. “There they are, my main man and my leading lady.” Sal reached out his arms in a greeting gesture, bringing Arlena in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then patting Sam’s arm roughly. Sam placed his hand on the small of Arlena’s back and ushered her inside.

Sal watched them pass then stepped onto the porch to give Randall a gruff hug. “So good to see you, my old friend.”

“It’s been a while, Salvatore,” Randall said, pulling out of the hug and holding Sal at arm’s length. The two men turned to go inside, Randall’s arm draped heavily over Sal’s shoulders.

Sal stopped short, remembering Penelope on the porch. “Come in, Chef, so glad you could join us.” He motioned for her to go ahead of them.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Penelope stepped into the long front hallway. It was lined with family photos, some of them vintage looking. Penelope recognized Sal as a child and a young man in many of them, with his parents and other family members at various ages. In the center of the hallway was an oversized wedding photo of Sal and Paige. It was surrounded by smaller pictures of them posing in exotic locales, mainly sandy beaches or icy mountaintops.

The hallway led to a large study at the back of the house, where most of the party attendees had gathered. Penelope walked over to the bar and stood next to Arlena and Sam.

“Would you like a drink?” Sam asked, motioning to a young bartender wearing a crisp white dress shirt.

“I’d love a Cosmo.” Penelope realized she’d lost Sal and Randall somewhere along the way. Maybe they were reminiscing over the photographs in the hallway.

“Are you all right, Pen? You seem distracted,” Arlena said, accepting a champagne cocktail from Sam.

“I wanted to talk to Sal about what happened on Friday.” She accepted her pink martini from Sam.

“Don’t stress about it,” Arlena said. “He wouldn’t have invited you over for dinner if there was still a problem.”

“Unless he wants to let me down easy by firing me after drinks and a home-cooked meal,” Penelope muttered.

The walls of the study were lined with built-in bookshelves that housed hundreds of books. Paintings hung around the edges of the room and the furniture was modern but retro in style. “This is a cool house,” Penelope said, admiring the shelf next to the bar.

“Daddy says Sal inherited it after his parents passed away. They’ve updated it, of course,” Arlena said. She nodded towards the far end of the room. “Wow, is that a Mondrian?”

“I don’t know much about art. But I think so.” Penelope swept her gaze around the room, making a mental note to Google Mondrian when she got home. Maybe she could ask Joey about him too.

“…and then we couldn’t get the same horse for the shoot, so we had to redo all of the horse scenes with a horse who could stand to work with Bobby,” Sal’s voiced boomed from the doorway of the study. He entered with Randall, both of them laughing. Everyone turned and some started laughing along with them, although they hadn’t heard the whole story. Penelope wondered which Bobby they were talking about. De Niro? Redford?

Penelope took that moment to pull Sal aside. “Sal, I have to tell you,” she said in a low voice, “the thing with Arlena…it turns out it wasn’t the lemons, it was something with her makeup.”

“Randall was telling me on the way in. Let’s talk about it later, huh?” Sal said, patting her shoulder and turning back to the others. Turning to Arlena he said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Let me tell you, I’m going to find out who messed with your things and they’re going to be sorry.”

Arlena glanced away, not sure how to respond.

Changing the subject, Sal said, “Hey, you probably don’t remember this, but Randall brought you here when you maybe two or three years old. I could see then you were something special. And I was right.”

“Thanks, Sal. Daddy never mentioned that.”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t have any kids of my own, but I’ve watched all of his grow up nicely from afar. Hey, Randall,” Sal shouted across the room. “You never told Arlena about bringing her here when she was a baby?”

“You’ve got a better memory than me from those days, Sal,” Randall shouted back at his friend.

“I guess that’s true,” Sal said, shaking his head. “Tonight I want you to enjoy yourselves. But we’re running behind schedule, and I expect you all to stay sharp for the next two weeks so we can get this little gem in the can.”

They all agreed, nodding and promising to do their best.

“I feel better now.” Sal winked at the trio. “Excuse me. I have to check on the kitchen. My wife gets lost back there.”

A burst of laughter erupted from the group of people surrounding Randall, who said, “And that was only the first time. You can imagine how she felt after the fifth.” He slapped one of the men on the back and motioned with his empty beer bottle towards the bar, excusing himself.

“Daddy’s having a good time,” Arlena said as Randall sauntered over to them. A pretty redhead got up from one of the chairs and followed him, taking the spot beside him at the bar and smiling widely at him.

Arlena tapped her father on the shoulder and whispered under her breath, “Daddy, she’s an actress in the movie. Don’t get too familiar with her for my sake, at least while we’re still working together.”

Randall waved Arlena off and turned to talk to the shapely read head. Arlena rolled her eyes at Penelope, who looked away. Everyone fell into different conversations, which all began to fade and run together for Penelope as watched the other guests chatting in loose groups throughout the room. There were about twenty people in the study, Penelope recognizing everyone as either an actor or writer. She was the only member of the set crew at the party.

Just then Paige stepped up to the bar and said, “Charles, another Manhattan, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the bartender said, grabbing a cocktail shaker and getting to work on her drink. She said to Penelope, “I’m so glad you’re here. I asked Sal to invite you because I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“Oh sure,” Penelope said. “What can I do?”

“It’s about the wrap party. Sal wants to do it here at the house, and I was hoping your team could handle it. We can discuss specifics later, but I wanted you to see the kitchen and the house and get a feel for the place.”

“Sure. We’ll do something nice. It will be easy.”

“That’s a relief. We’re off to Tuscany right after Sal’s done here and we’re sending the staff ahead of us, including our chef. We’ll be there six months for his next project, and I’m trying to coordinating everything. It’s becoming overwhelming. If you could handle the wrap party that’s one less thing on my plate.” Paige turned to Arlena. “I’ve been hearing wonderful things about the movie. I wish I could get over to the set every day and watch you work. Sal’s been considering this one for a long time.”

“Oh yeah?” Arlena asked.

“I gave him the book over fifteen years ago, back when we first started dating. It took him this long to develop it and find space on his calendar. You know how busy we all get. Something bigger was always coming along and
Remember the Fall
kept getting pushed to the side.”

Charles set Paige’s drink in front of her and she picked it up to take a sip. “If you ask your dad,” she motioned at Randall, “he’ll tell you this room hasn’t changed much at all since Sal got his start in movies. Of course, I was still in grade school…”

“It’s exactly like I remember it,” Randall said.

“Sal’s got a long tradition of having the cast over for Sunday dinner. You guys work such long days, sometimes I feel like I don’t see Sal at all,” Paige said. Her severe blond bangs snagged her long eyelashes when she blinked, causing them to bounce on her forehead. Penelope fought the urge to reach up and brush them from her eyes. Paige’s collar bones stood out sharply above the neckline of her shimmery silver top and she wore skintight black jeans with silver flats. Even in flat shoes she stood a few inches taller than Arlena.

“I know what you mean,” Randall said. “Movies are murder on relationships. But you guys have been together a long time.”

“Together fifteen years, married for twelve,” Paige said. “We met on
Haymaker
, my first movie.” She took another sip of her drink. “And my last, it turned out.” She glanced around the room at the other guests. “A show business marriage of fifteen years is like fifty years for a regular marriage, isn’t it?”

Her guests all chuckled politely at her joke.

“Everyone knows I wasn’t the first Mrs. Marco,” she continued, glancing at Arlena. “But I’ve lasted the longest.” Paige patted Randall’s arm and said, “Please excuse me, we’re about to sit down and I need to check on the kitchen.” She headed towards the hallway, saying a brief hello to another guest leaning on the bookcase by the door.

“Paige is wonderful,” Randall said, in an uncharacteristically lowered voice. “She saves Sal from himself, keeps him sane. I knew his first two wives and let’s just say the third time’s the charm. For Sal anyway.”

“All right, everyone.” Paige appeared once again in the doorway of the library and swept her arms towards the dining room. “Dinner is served.”

The dining room walls were covered in dark red silk. Antique wall sconces that had been painted white were spaced evenly around the room, large white pillar candles burning on each one. A matching chandelier hung over the center of the long wooden table that was covered in colorfully patterned dishes and sparkling stemware.

“Looks beautiful, dear,” Sal said, kissing Paige on her cheek.

Paige thanked him, placing her cocktail at the head seat at the end of the table as she watched her guests take their seats. “We’re dining family style tonight, so everyone dig in when you get settled,” she said over the murmured conversation in the room.

Penelope took the empty seat next to her, the legs of her chair scraping the wooden floor as she pulled it from the table. Two bottles of wine made their way around the table, passed from guest to guest in opposite directions as Charles came through the swinging kitchen door with the appetizer course, two large platters piled high with antipasto, a varied selection of cheeses, meats and olives.

“Let’s all take a moment here,” Sal said when he saw that everyone had found a seat. He looked at Paige at the opposite end and bowed his head. He grasped hands with Randall and Arlena, who flanked him and said, “Let us give thanks for this bountiful meal, for each other’s company and for our health on this beautiful day. We are lucky to be together and for this we are eternally grateful. Amen.” He looked up again. “Let’s eat.”

After a few minutes Charles reappeared with a large bowl of salad and cleared away the picked over platters of antipasto. He returned quickly with two tureens filed with the main pasta course, penne ala vodka, and everyone began passing them around the table.

“It’s been a rough first week, huh?” Randall said quietly to Sal after he’d served himself some pasta.

Sal cut his eyes at him, a flash of annoyance darkening his brow. “You said that right.” He stabbed at his plate, piercing a cluster of penne. He pointed it at Randall. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone was trying to get back at me for something.”

Randall grimaced. “You’re the hometown hero around here, the famous director who never forgot his roots. Who do you think is trying to get back at you, and for what? I think it’s my family they’re after, either me or Arlena. Or both.”

Sal forked the pasta into his mouth and glanced down the table. “Who knows.” He took a quick look at Arlena, who was engrossed in a conversation with Sam. “Maybe we’re being paranoid and what’s happening on set is just bad luck.”

“That girl getting killed outside Arlena’s house was no coincidence,” Randall said darkly. Sal put his fork down and said a quick prayer under his breath. Randall paused a moment then said, “You and I have been around long enough to have rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. If it is you they’re after, why now? Has anything happened lately?”

Sal shook his head, gazing at a spot over Randall’s shoulder. “Like you said, we’re in my hometown, but I’ve never made a movie here. Maybe someone thinks it should have stayed that way.”

“So, what, you ticked off the prom king back in high school and now he’s out for revenge?” Randall chuckled. “You’re not hurting anyone by working here. Actually you’re creating jobs and bringing money in.”

“I don’t know,” Sal said, a note of resignation in his voice. “Sometimes you think you’re doing the best you can for people and then it turns out you’re doing the worst thing possible.”

Paige picked at her pasta from the other end of the table and watched them talk, straining to hear their conversation. The kitchen door whooshed open and Charles appeared with two long bread baskets that he set quickly down on the table.