Murder on a Silver Platter (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 1) (13 page)

“Charles,” Paige said, waving him over.

He hurried over and knelt down next to her while she whispered something to him from behind her napkin. He nodded quickly and he stood up, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Paige set her fork down and picked up her wine glass, leaning back against her chair. “What did you think of dinner?” she asked Penelope, her gaze a bit unfocused.

Penelope swallowed a piece of bread and nodded. “Excellent.”

“Ready for dessert?” she asked, eyeing the other plates around her.

“Sure,” Penelope said, noticing that many of the guests were still eating, talking and laughing together.

“Good, you’re going to like it,” Paige said, gazing at the kitchen door.

When they’d finished dessert, chocolate covered cannolis with sliced almonds accompanied by espresso, Sal invited the actors and writers to the study to discuss the week ahead. Penelope decided to take a look at the kitchen and meet the Marco’s chef while she waited.

The kitchen was small compared to most modern houses, but it had bright white cabinets and stainless steel appliances, which made it feel like a larger space. Charles was at the sink washing dishes, and the chef, a large man with graying hair, stood at the island drying his knives.

“Can I help you?” the chef asked as Penelope entered.

“Hi, I’m Penelope Sutherland…I’m with the movie crew.” She hooked her thumb over towards the door in the general direction of the study. “Paige asked me to do the wrap party here and I thought I’d take a look at the kitchen.”

“She did mention something about that,” he said flatly, looking back down at his knives.

Charles glanced over his shoulder at her, his sleeves pushed up on his forearms above sink. Penelope eyed the space, visualizing where she would set up her crew’s stations to prep for the party. She went to the kitchen door and looked out through the windows at the backyard. A two-story barn-like structure sat at the edge of the property.

“What’s that building used for?” Penelope asked the chef.

He sighed. “That’s Mr. Marco’s home office and studio. They’ve used it for parties like the one you’ll be doing. Mrs. Marco should have mentioned that to you.”

“Is it heated?” Penelope asked, still looking at the building about fifty yards from the house.

The chef paused from his polishing and glanced up at her. “Of course it is. He works out there.” He shook his head and began slipping his knives into the different sized slots of his canvas knife roll.

“Oh, right. You said that,” Penelope said. She hesitated, thinking twice about bothering him again, then said, “Is there anything I should know about how the kitchen works?”

The chef rolled up the knife holder and said, “That behind you,” he flicked his eyes over her left shoulder, “is called a refrigerator. We keep things in there that will spoil if they get too warm. And this,” he glanced behind him, “is an oven. That’s where we heat things up, or cook, as it’s sometimes called.”

Penelope crossed her arms and willed the redness out of her face. “Gee thanks, that’s very helpful.”

“I hope you have a wonderful party. I’m sure it will be amazing,” he said, sarcasm rolling off his tongue effortlessly. He slid open a drawer on the island and tucked the knives inside.

Charles snuck a glance at Penelope over his shoulder and when he saw the chef wasn’t looking he pulled a face and rolled his eyes. Penelope hid a smile behind her hand.

The chef pulled on his jacket and exited the kitchen door, sticking a cigarette from his coat pocket in the corner of his mouth. Penelope watched his back as he slipped around the side of the house towards the street. Looking again towards the old barn, she saw Paige emerge from the door and light a cigarette, blowing out a large cloud of smoke. She shivered and pulled the collar of her long wool coat closer around her neck.

Charles washed the last pot and turned off the water. Drying his hands on a white towel he said, “Don’t mind him. He’s like that with everyone, especially other chefs.”

“Unfortunately I know the type,” Penelope said.

“You want to take a look at the building?” Charles asked, rolling his sleeves back down and buttoning them at the wrists.

“Sure,” Penelope said, watching Paige out in the yard, leaning up against the barn. She pulled another cigarette out of her coat pocket and lit it using the end of the one still burning.

“Grab your coat.”

Penelope retrieved her coat and they stepped outside, the cold air bit at Penelope’s warm cheeks. “Hi, Paige,” she said as they approached. “I wanted to look at the barn.”

“Help yourself,” Paige slurred, motioning unsteadily at the building behind her.

“Are you okay?” Penelope asked, alarmed that Paige suddenly seemed tipsy when she’d seemed relatively sober at dinner.

“Perfect. Take your time,” she said, and weaved back towards the kitchen door.

After she’d gone, Charles said, “She’ll be fine, I’ll make sure. Don’t worry.”

They entered the barn and Charles flipped a wall switch, illuminating dozens of antique lanterns strung with wire across the ceiling. “This building was originally built in the early 1800s. Mr. Marco spent a small fortune to have it moved here in pieces and reassembled on the property.” Charles nodded at a ladder staircase against the back wall. “His home studio is upstairs, where he writes and edits the movies. Down here is open space, mostly used for rehearsals or sometimes a local production. It’s pretty big so you can arrange whatever floor plan you want.”

Penelope nodded and walked the space, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck.

Charles noticed and said, “I’ll kick the heat on a few hours before, and if it snows I’ll clear a path to the house. And I can get the tables and chairs set up, serve, tend bar, whatever.” He turned and led her back to the door.

When Penelope and Charles reentered the kitchen they saw Paige standing at the island, still in her wool coat, pouring herself a glass of wine. “You guys…um…guys find what you needed to find out there?” Paige asked, sloshing some wine onto the counter.

“I think so,” Penelope said.

Charles hung his jacket back on the hook and walked quickly to the island, using a dishtowel to wipe the wine from the counter.

“They’ve finished up their meeting. I think they’re waiting for you.” Paige motioned with her wineglass towards the dining room and study beyond.

“Thanks,” Penelope said. “I’ll touch base with you soon to talk about menu ideas.”

“Penelope.” Paige stared at her and spoke deliberately, as if practicing a foreign language. She paused for an uncomfortably long moment then said, “I wanted to tell you…that what…whatever you decide is fine.” She paused and pulled in a sharp breath, pressing the back of one bony had against her mouth. “We’re going to be out of the country the very next day. Off to Tuscany.” Paige drifted towards the kitchen door, pulling her cigarettes from her coat pocket and fumbling with the knob for a few seconds before she was outside again.

Penelope watched her go then looked at Charles, who was leaning against the sink. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Call me if you think of anything else you might need,” he said quietly, grabbing his coat from the hook and following Paige out into the night.

Chapter 21

Penelope skidded out of the driveway the next morning, rolling through a puddle of slush at the end of the driveway. Her travel coffee mug tilted dangerously in the cup holder as she took the turn and she grabbed it with one gloved hand, righting it as she sped out onto the street. When she got to the next corner, she took a hard right and her messenger bag spilled onto the floor, all of her belongings sliding out onto the floor mat.

“Crap.”

She had dashed out of the house twenty minutes earlier without her phone. She made it halfway to the set before realizing she’d forgotten it and had to turn back. Now she had to hustle to get to work before her team did.

The sun wouldn’t be up for a couple of hours. Penelope didn’t see any other cars on the road as she waited at the red light in the town square of Glendale. She glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard and the green numbers glared dully back at her: 3:56 a.m. The cast and crew would be in at five, and she always liked to be in an hour before them to prep for the day.

“Come on…” she mumbled at the red light dangling over the intersection.

She was beginning to think the traffic light was stuck in the red position when it suddenly changed over to green. Penelope gave it gas and hurried out of town to hook up with the parkway. South Point was only one exit away so if she moved quickly she might only be ten or fifteen minutes behind schedule.

As she sped towards the access road, the alarm on her phone pierced the quiet interior of the car, notifying her that it was her start time on set and she was officially late for work. She glanced down and saw her phone was lying on the passenger side floor with the rest of the contents of her bag, flipped up against the door. The foghorn alarm bleated loudly and she wondered why she had chosen the most annoying ring tone she could possibly find.

Penelope reached down and tried to grab the phone with her right hand, still gripping the steering wheel with her left. Keeping her eyes on the deserted road ahead, she lunged in her seat to grab it, but her fingers only swiped the air in front of it. She didn’t think she could stand listening to her annoying alarm the whole way to work and maintain her sanity, so she decided to slow down so she could reach the phone. Penelope thought about pulling over, but she was on a two lane access road with guardrails on either side and there was no safe place to do it.

After another few seconds she decided to go for it. She checked her mirrors and saw no one approaching from either direction. She slowed to a crawl and then stopped. She put her truck in park, undid her seat belt and leaned over to grab her phone. Penelope yanked off her glove in her teeth and punched the flashing OFF button on the screen to silence the alarm.

Sighing in relief, she tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and grabbed the seat belt from behind her shoulder, pulling it back into place. She took a sip of coffee and put the truck back in gear. Right as she was about to hit the gas, red and blue lights lit up her back window. Penelope’s eyes jerked to the rearview mirror.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Penelope whispered harshly. She put the car back into park and stared at the flashing lights.

A sharp rap on her driver’s side window startled her and she jumped in her seat. Penelope turned and saw the back of a police officer’s gloved hand rapping on her window and a flashlight beam shining around the interior of her car. She pressed the button to lower the window.

“License and registration, please.”

Penelope leaned over and rummaged through her glove box, pulling the plastic envelope that contained her title and insurance documents from beneath a wad of Starbucks napkins. She snatched her wallet off the floor of the car, which was hidden under her notebook and a bunch of scattered invoices, and pulled out her driver’s license.

“How are we doing today, ma’am?” The officer was still shining the flashlight around the car but Penelope could tell it was a woman’s voice.

“I’m fine, Officer. Is there a problem?”

“Where are you headed?”

“To work. I’m running late actually…”

“Did you realize you were stopped in an active thruway, ma’am?”

“Oh yes. I dropped my phone.”

“We have a law against talking or texting while driving in this state,” the officer responded easily, cutting her off.

“I know. I wasn’t texting. The phone fell on the floor and the alarm was going off, so I—”

“Have you been drinking this evening?” the officer interrupted.

“No. I’m on my way to work.”

“At four in the morning?”

“I work on a movie set. Plus, I would never drink—”

“Step out of the car, please,” the officer said.

“Really?”

“Step out of the car.”

Penelope reluctantly clicked off her seat belt and opened the door, stepping out into the cold. When she came face to face with the policewoman she recognized her immediately.

“Hey, you’re—”

“I’m going to ask you to perform a field sobriety test. Please step this way,” Officer Jenkins said, motioning with her flashlight as she walked towards her patrol car.

“Honestly, I haven’t been drinking. I swear, I’m on my way to work,” Penelope said again. They were in a deserted area of the access road, sandwiched between a rusty guardrail and a thick section of trees separating them from the parkway. A few cars whisked past on the other side of the trees but they were otherwise alone.

“Then this should be easy for you,” Officer Jenkins said tightly. Her lips were set in a straight line on her deeply tanned face and the parentheses around it were dug in deep. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded at a spot on the pavement, the red and blue flashing lights lighting up the night around them. “Walk a straight line for me, heel to toe.”

“Can I ask what makes you think I’ve been drinking?” Penelope asked, moving over to the area she indicated and heel-toeing her Doc Martins together on the asphalt.

“You stopped your vehicle in an active roadway, very dangerous. I observed you drinking something in your car. You were using your cell phone in direct violation of New Jersey state law, and you were driving erratically before you stopped. And you did not come to a complete stop at the stop sign on the corner of Randolph and Carter.”

Penelope had taken ten or so steps but she stopped then and looked up at Officer Jenkins, who still stood with her arms crossed tightly at her chest. “Randolph and Carter…the intersection at the end of my street? You followed me all the way from my house?”

“Keep walking, Miss Sutherland. I wouldn’t want to add ‘failing to comply with a police officer’s instructions’ to the list.” Officer Jenkins ducked her head and walked alongside Penelope, keeping her eyes on Penelope’s feet.

After she had taken fifty steps, Officer Jenkins said, “Turn and face me, Miss Sutherland.”

Penelope braced herself against the cold air and turned towards Officer Jenkins.

“Stand on one leg,” she said.

Penelope stood for a moment and stared at her in disbelief. “Which leg, Officer?”

“Let’s start with the right one,” Officer Jenkins said, a smile cutting briefly across her thin lips.

Penelope sighed loudly and raised her left knee in the air, standing firmly and solidly on the pavement. She stared into the eyes of the other woman, not wavering in her gaze or her stance.

Officer Jenkins moved closer and stood a few inches from Penelope’s face. She stared into her eyes a few more beats. “Please return to your vehicle while I check your license and registration.”

Penelope fumed silently as she dropped her foot loudly on the pavement and turned towards her car. When she got in she turned up the heat and held her hands tightly against her mouth, blowing warm air into her gloves. She kept her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching Officer Jenkins’ silhouette in the car behind her.

She seemed to be taking her time, sitting in the front seat of her cruiser and typing information into the keyboard attached to her dashboard. Penelope’s eyes flicked to the digital clock in her car: 4:25. Her stomach did a flip when she realized she would be late for work for the first time since her movie catering career had begun. And right after she had determined not to get on Sal’s bad side again.

Opening her cruiser’s door slowly, Officer Jenkins got out and stretched before heading towards Penelope’s car. Penelope watched her in the side view mirror until she was level with the window, then lowered the glass.

Officer Jenkins handed Penelope back her license and registration and a computer printed ticket attached to a yellow envelope. Penelope glanced at it and looked back out the window.

“I’m only going to cite you for impeding traffic on an active thruway and failing to stop at a stop sign. You passed the field sobriety test this morning,” Officer Jenkins said, a tinge of disappointment in her voice. She rested her gloved hands on her thick leather belt.

“I passed because I don’t typically drink on my way to work,” Penelope said. She glanced back down at the ticket in her hand and saw the total at the bottom. Staring back at her in bold type: $350.

“You’ll want to watch the drinking and driving. We’re cracking down,” Officer Jenkins said, leaning down to speak to Penelope directly through the window.

Penelope couldn’t believe how badly her morning was going already. “Thanks, Officer,” she said sharply, “for the warning.”

Officer Jenkins patted the window frame. She stood up and walked back to her patrol car without another word.

Penelope watched her get into her cruiser and drive away, her car disappearing into the darkness ahead.

“Bitch,” she whispered. “At least now I know where that awful pink lipstick came from.”