Chapter 6

  

After the meeting broke up and she and her team cleared up from breakfast, Penelope retrieved her messenger bag from her room upstairs and went across the courtyard to check on Ava. When she entered Festa’s kitchen, unlocking the rear door of the restaurant with her key, she could hear Ava’s muffled voice through the office door.

Penelope took in all the gleaming silver prep tables and appliances. It was much larger than the inn’s kitchen, where they only offered light fare and continental breakfasts during the day. Guests of the inn dined across the courtyard at Festa, and all of the events were catered from this big state-of-the-art kitchen. A couple of times Penelope and her team had used the kitchen to cater for the film crew when they had a group of extras on the set and more mouths to feed than usual.

Knives and a variety of utensils lined the wall, suspended against the tiles by a magnetic strip, making them easy to grab from the prep stations. The crisp, acrid smell of lemon cleaner clashed with the earthier aroma of food, the memory of the previous night’s dishes still lingering in the air.

Penelope pulled her iPad from her messenger bag and scrolled through a few emails. She was forwarding an invoice to accounts payable in the production office just as the back door to the kitchen swung open.

Denis Billings walked in, his arms hugging a cardboard box with a swan logo on the side, its wings arching up to enclose an ornate W. Muffled clinks came from inside the box as wine bottles shifted together. He said a quick hello and set the box on the table against the back wall, rubbing his hands together and pulling the kitchen door closed.

“Hi, Denis,” Penelope said. “This isn’t your usual day, is it?”

Denis’s round face broke into a crooked grin. “You’re right, it’s not. I’m going to be a few towns over all day and wanted to drop these samples off for Chef Jordan. Ava said he’s looking to switch up the wine list, and I’m hoping he likes a couple of these.” His light blue eyes were hooded by thick orange eyebrows that made him appear constantly concerned, which didn’t fit with his lighthearted personality at all.

“Yeah, she’s here, but…Denis, something’s happened,” Penelope said gently. She watched his face morph from its usual jovial expression to sadness as she broke the news about Jordan’s death.

He steadied himself against the counter, looking as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “How can this have happened?”

“I’m sorry, Denis. I know you liked working with Chef Jordan,” Penelope said. “And he always spoke highly of you. I think you were his favorite wine rep.”

Denis nodded absently. “I just saw him.”

“I know. I was here when you brought over that nice cabernet I tried on Tuesday,” Penelope said, nodding.

“No. Last night. I stopped in for a drink on my way home,” Denis said.

“You saw him in the dining room?” Penelope asked.

Denis shook his head. “No, I met a friend of mine at the bar. I needed a smoke, so I stepped around back. Chef Jordan was too nice to say anything, but I know he didn’t like people smoking right outside the front door. I always come around behind the kitchen, at all my customer’s places. I saw him back there.” Denis nodded at the kitchen door. “Talking with someone. At first I thought they were joking around, but after a minute I could tell they were arguing about something.”

“Who was it?”

“Not sure. Little guy, bald, glasses. Old.”

Penelope eyed Denis, who was in his early twenties.

“Old?” Penelope asked. “Like elderly?”

“No, like older than Chef Jordan. Not grandpa old. Well, maybe.”

Penelope put aside the discussion of age for a moment. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

“Kind of. Something the man had for dinner, I guess. Honestly, I’d told Chef Jordan that I quit smoking, so I didn’t want him to see me sneaking one. I took off before he noticed me.” Denis’s expression was one of defeat as he hitched up his belt, tight across his soft middle. “He was always on me to clean up my diet, start running.”

“He was very fond of you,” Penelope said.

“Yeah, once in a while he’d take me out hunting, or we’d run across each other up in the woods during deer season.”

“I didn’t know you hunted.”

“I don’t really,” Denis said. “I just go out a few times a season with the guys. It’s a tradition, me and the buddies I grew up with. We used to get the first day of hunting season off school, and our dads would take us out.”

“I’ve never been myself,” Penelope said. “I’ve never shot anything, matter of fact.”

“Some girls do around here,” Denis said absently. “Sorry, women,” he amended, his cheeks reddening. He pressed a meaty fist to his mouth, suppressing a cough.

The office door opened and Ava appeared, her eyes wet and freshly rimmed with red. “So you’ve heard,” she said when she saw Denis.

Denis nodded, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Denis, we’re all family here,” Ava said. “We’ve all lost him.”

Denis mumbled a string of condolences and headed for the door, pausing at the last minute and turning back to them. “What does this mean? For the rest of us?”

“Don’t worry, Denis. I’ll be in touch. We’ll get everything sorted out,” Ava said.

He nodded goodbye and clumsily pushed his way through the door without another word.

“That’s how it’s been all morning,” Ava said. “The whole town will be in shock by lunch.” The phone in the office rang and Ava strode back, closing the door behind her.

Penelope glanced at the cardboard box on the back counter and went to the door, hoping to catch Denis before he drove away, but she was too late. The lot was empty except for Ava’s SUV. Thinking she might want the wine samples after all, Penelope carried the box into the dining room and set it on the floor behind the bar, nudging it with her toe next to a case of fruit juices. She took the marker from next to the register and wrote Samples, Not Inventory in big letters on the flap.

When she went to tuck the flap back down, an unsealed envelope that was tucked down between the bottles caught her eye. Assuming it was an invoice, she pulled it out and opened the flap. The only thing inside was a personal check, signed by Denis, made out to “Herring – Steele” in the amount of $425. She looked once more to confirm there was no accompanying paperwork.

“Great,” Penelope said. She reminded herself to find Denis’s phone number and call him to let him know he’d gotten his boxes mixed up or had dropped his utility-bill payment inside of his sample case by mistake. She tucked the envelope in the interior pocket of her chef coat, then folded the box’s flaps closed and eased it under the bar with the toe of her boot.

Back in the kitchen, Penelope sipped her coffee and pulled up the Forrestville Gazette’s website on her iPad to see if there was any news about Jordan’s death from the local paper. The feature story was about an upcoming farm-equipment expo, which was followed by a report on the current cold snap and a potential blizzard the following week. She scrolled down, finding no mention of the morning’s events. Penelope got the impression only a couple of people worked at the tabloid that came out once a week. Their office on Main Street was often dark behind the plate-glass window, the peeling gold letters on the glass and the vintage paper vending machines out front on the sidewalk looking neglected.

Ava emerged from the office and leaned against the doorframe, her hands tucked in her front pockets. “Megan just called. She’s asked us to come to the house.”

“Us?” Penelope asked, wondering why Jordan’s wife would want her to join Ava for a visit. “Why both of us?”

“She wants to ask you a favor.”