Chapter 7

  

When Ava and Penelope reached the Fosters’ winding driveway, a woman in a bright red coat stood at the edge of the road in front of a collection of mailboxes. She had a newspaper tucked under her arm and watched as Ava slowed down to make the turn. The woman raised her arm in greeting, squinting at them as they passed. Penelope waved back, then watched the woman decrease in size in the side-view mirror as they drove up toward the house.

Jordan and Megan Foster’s home was a well-maintained white clapboard house with a wide front porch anchored by round pillars. The Foster family lived a few miles from the center of town on a winding two-lane road. Ava eased her SUV up the newly paved driveway that led to a parking area and a detached garage behind the house. A basketball hoop was centered between the middle two garage doors, the red and white net swaying slightly in the breeze. A few lawn chairs lined the asphalt next to the garage, the spectator seats to the family basketball area. An orange tabby cat swished its tail at Penelope from the narrow path leading from the garage to the rear kitchen door.

“Hey, kitty,” Penelope said as she closed the truck door. She took a step closer and the cat darted away, slipping through a small hole covered by a flap at the base of the garage door. Through the kitchen door’s window, Penelope could see Megan at the counter talking to someone else she couldn’t see, her expression pained, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“Let’s go around to the front door,” Ava said, pausing her stride after noticing Megan also. “I normally just let myself in through the kitchen, but today—”

“Feels different,” Penelope said, nodding. “Of course.” She followed Ava along the slate path to the front door, counting the alternating red and yellow mums in matching pots as they went. There were exactly six on each side, all completely uniform and trimmed to the same size.

A woman with silver-gray hair wearing dark jeans and a sweater greeted them at the front door and took their coats.

“Thanks, Cynthia,” Ava said as she slipped off her boots and placed them near the others lined up in the foyer. Penelope did the same, glad she’d worn presentable socks that day. “How are you holding up?”

Cynthia shook her head slightly. “It’s a terrible time for the family. The kids especially. Come inside. I’ll let Megan know you’re here.” She motioned them forward, their coats hanging over her arm.

The Fosters’ home was warm and inviting, traditionally decorated and very neat. The walls were painted in bold colors and sleek furniture adorned the rooms, all in keeping with the traditional style of the home.

Megan greeted them in the foyer and offered a few awkward pleasantries before leading Penelope and Ava to the airy sitting room at the rear of the house. As they made their way through the formal living room, Megan moved slowly and brushed her dusky pink gelled fingernails lightly across the tabletops and backs of chairs as she passed. She wasn’t leaning on things for support; it was more like she was feeling the edges of her things to make sure they were still there.

She sank carefully down into a brocade wingback chair and waved her guests to a matching couch opposite her. The room was richly colored in maroon and teal, a theme picked up in the furniture, artwork, and ornate wallpaper. Ava and Penelope settled onto the couch and waited for Megan to begin, allowing a few moments of silence to pass as she gathered her thoughts. Penelope stared at the vase of flowers on the table between them. They gave off a cloying, slightly unpleasant scent, an earthy whiff of wet rot just beneath the floral aroma.

“Thank you both for coming,” Megan finally began. Her voice was shaky and her expression confused, as if she couldn’t remember why Penelope and Ava were visiting. She went silent again, her eyes dropping to the flower arrangement.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Penelope said quietly, smoothing her palms across her thighs. She knew that was the correct thing to say in situations like these, but she often wondered if it was enough. It didn’t feel like it was, but maybe that was the point, to not assume to know how the other person was feeling.

“Thank you, Penelope,” Megan said, coming back to full attention. “That really means a lot.”

Penelope smiled and lightly bit the inside of her cheek. She was feeling emotional, being in the house where Jordan lived and raised his family. She didn’t trust herself not to tear up in front of Megan.

“I wanted to ask you, and thank you in person, for helping out at the restaurant until we can figure out what is happening.”

“We have to make sure Festa, and everything we’ve created, continues,” Ava added immediately after Megan finished speaking.

Megan smiled at Ava gratefully. “Yes, that’s important. We employ so many people in town, young people, some of them the children of our lifelong friends. Jordan wouldn’t want to let anyone down. I’m so grateful to you, Penelope, for your help with this.”

Penelope paused a moment before speaking. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re asking.” She had the odd feeling that she had been part of a conversation she wasn’t aware of yet.

Megan’s face creased with fresh sadness. She pulled a tissue from a box on the table and looked down at her lap, twisting it into a thin rope as she spoke. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Penelope, but we’d love for you to fill in as head chef until we find someone…I know it’s a lot to ask, what with your responsibilities on the set.”

Penelope glanced at Ava beside her on the couch, taking in her hopeful expression. She looked back at Megan, who plainly wore her grief on her stunned puffy face.

“It would only be temporary, until we can find someone to run the kitchen,” Megan said. “We’d love your help with that too. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Penelope thought for a moment, considering what they’d asked.

“I suppose I can call my culinary school for a recommendation. They maintain a database of chefs and what area of the world they’re working in. It’s sort of a job-placement service. I can see if anyone is available to audition.”

Megan’s round shoulders sloped forward. “That’s a good start. You and Ava can test the candidates out, have them cook a night or two. See what happens.” Megan’s hair moved with her head as she nodded. It was cut in a blunt wedge with chunky blonde highlights, teased on top with two symmetrical points coming to rest just above her jawline, which was just beginning to soften with age.

“Sure,” Penelope said. “You can come and meet them too, taste the food.”

Megan shook her head. “That’s not necessary. I’ve always left the restaurant decisions to Jordan and Ava. That’s their department. Mine is the kids and our home.”

“Oh,” Penelope said, realizing she had never seen Megan at Festa. She stopped by sometimes to say hello if she was dropping off one of the kids after school, or if she had a book or garden club meeting in town, but Penelope had never seen Megan dine at the restaurant during the six weeks they’d been filming. Karen, their oldest daughter, was the family member Penelope knew the best. She’d spent many afternoons with her dad in the kitchen before she and her twin brother, Kyle, headed back to college when winter break was over.

“And you won’t mind filling in for a short time until we find someone new,” Megan said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“Don’t you think one of the cooks you already have working in the kitchen would be a better choice?” Penelope asked Ava. “I’m sure one of the assistant chefs could take the lead.”

Ava shook her head. “None of them are classically trained. They’re just townies, kids most of them. Definitely not head chef material. Look, of course they can cook like they always have, day to day. We’re just asking you to oversee, make sure the standards don’t lag during the transition. We can’t lose our reputation or customers.” Ava glanced at Megan.

Penelope took a moment to consider. “I’d like to help,” Penelope said reluctantly. “I’ll help you look for a replacement, and work with whoever you choose from the current kitchen staff, make sure he’s up to the job in the meantime.”

Ava sighed.

“Thank you, that’s a relief.”

“I’ll have to run this by Jennifer, make sure she’s okay with it.” Penelope’s eyes came to rest on the framed picture on the end table next to Megan’s chair. It was her and Jordan surrounded by their kids in one of those professionally taken photos meant to look like a candid shot. The six of them wore matching red and white ski sweaters and were staged in front of a backdrop printed with a forest scene, all laughing at something off to the right of the photographer.

“Jennifer will be fine with it,” Megan said without hesitation. “She’s a dear friend of the family and only wants what’s best for us.”

“Okay,” Penelope said, knowing the whole time she would get full approval from Jennifer before doing anything. Penelope and Red Carpet Catering were under contract with the studio, and that meant Jennifer was her boss. She wouldn’t do anything to put her team’s employment or her own reputation in jeopardy.

“Now that that’s settled, I have to arrange a funeral,” Megan said. The turn in conversation brought unexpected tears from Megan and an uneasy silence from Penelope and Ava. “Sorry.” Megan sighed wetly. “The kids are devastated. None of us knows what to do.” She gazed at Ava, who looked down at her socks.

Muffled footsteps down the front stairs and conversation from the kitchen broke the silence. Penelope craned her neck toward the sounds.

“Karen’s here,” Megan said. “I called her and Kyle before dawn, right after I heard. I’m glad I caught them at the apartment before classes started.”

“How long is the drive to IU?” Penelope asked.

“Bloomington is two hours away,” Ava said.

“My younger two are in high school, sophomore and junior year,” Megan said, looking at the photograph. “They wanted to go to school today, even though I told them they should stay home.”

The two younger kids in the picture had the same toothy grins as their dad. Karen and Kyle had the same closed-lipped subdued smile as their mother.

“They wanted to be with their friends,” Megan said, her voice breaking at the end. “I don’t know if that was the right thing. I told them to come home if it got to be too much.” Megan wiped a smudge of eyeliner from her cheek with her tissue and sighed.

“Mom? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you before.”

Penelope realized Karen was the other person she couldn’t see in the kitchen having the heated discussion with Megan.

“Oh, honey,” Megan said, standing up from her chair and taking a few awkward steps toward her. “I love you.” They hugged each other tightly, Karen’s eyes pinched closed, her cheeks splotched red from crying.

Penelope looked away, feeling like she and Ava were intruding on an incredibly personal family moment. Megan led her daughter out of the room toward the kitchen and Penelope sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Should we go? Let them deal with—”

“I’m sorry,” Megan interrupted, reappearing in the doorway. “I just realized I haven’t offered you anything. Would you like some tea?”

Penelope and Ava shook their heads in unison, but Megan insisted.

“Please, don’t go. Come in the kitchen.”

They stood up reluctantly and followed Megan through the formal dining room into the kitchen, the swinging door separating the two closing quietly behind them.

Penelope put her hands in her pockets and stood near the kitchen door, eyeing the updated appliances and blonde-wood cabinets while Megan busied herself with the kettle. She set it on the stovetop and blue flames licked up the sides.

“Is Karen okay?” Penelope asked.

“No,” Megan said without hesitation. “She went upstairs to freshen up. Tea always helps us feel better.” She busied herself by wiping the island counter with a towel and placing a collection of mugs from the overhead cabinet on the marble. She then laid out a small wooden box filled with a variety of tea bags.

A floor-to-ceiling built-in wine rack sat at an angle next to the pantry, most of the slots filled with differently shaped bottles. Penelope thought about Jordan in the kitchen, swirling a wineglass and asking her to join him in tastings with the different wine reps. Penelope sometimes bought wine for the set for special dinners and liked hearing about the different brands. Jordan said it was an art every chef must master, pairing the perfect glass to a particular dish, something he learned a lot about during his time in Napa.

“Do you need help with the arrangements, Megan?” Ava asked. “I can make some calls for you.”

Penelope thought she saw a flash of irritation cross Megan’s face before her expression returned to a mask of sadness. “Thanks, but I can manage. What else can I do? I have to stay strong for the children.”

“Of course,” Ava said, her cheeks reddening. “I just meant I can help, if you want.”

“No one can help me through this. My husband just took his own life. I mean, what was he thinking? Was his life so bad? He never said it was to me. I thought we were a happy successful family. Now look at us.” Megan choked back a sob and gestured around the kitchen. “I’m left here to pick up the pieces, explain this to everyone in town, at church. How am I supposed to face them?”

Penelope kept her eyes on the marble countertop, thinking whatever she might say would be the wrong thing.

“It’s plain selfish of him to do this. It goes against all he believed too, everything we’ve talked about, taught our kids,” Megan said, lightly touching the side of the kettle and pulling her finger back quickly from the heat. “I’m sorry, this is just so overwhelming. The sadness, it feels like a hole right through me.” Megan poured boiling water into mugs and slid two of them across to her guests.

“Please don’t apologize,” Penelope said quietly. She picked up a jasmine tea bag and dunked it in the water.

“Thanks for your understanding, Penelope,” Megan said, flashing a glance at Ava, who was busy making her own cup of tea. “This is going to sound selfish of me, but a scandal like this...this kind of thing doesn’t happen in Forrestville.”

“What do you mean?” Penelope asked. She was tempted to press Megan, but hesitant since she was clearly distraught.

“I can’t think of anything like this, at least with anyone of Jordan’s stature and reputation. Except for Helmsley,” Megan said with a look of disgust. “He had a heart attack, right there at his desk. They found filthy pictures on his computer that he was looking at right before he died.” Megan drew an X with her thumb across her heart and pressed her lips together in disapproval. “That’s the only other scandal I remember in our lifetime.”

“They weren’t just filthy, they were illegal, from what I heard,” Ava added.

“What’s happened to Jordan...his situation is hardly comparable to something like that,” Penelope said carefully.

Megan’s lips stayed rigid, but her eyes softened a bit. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

They all remained in uncomfortable silence until Penelope asked, “May I use your restroom?”

Megan waved a hand toward the hallway and went to refill the kettle. “Use the one upstairs. They haven’t finished putting in the new floor in the powder room down here yet.”

Penelope excused herself and slipped away, relieved to take a break from the tension. In the upstairs bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror over the double sink. Even though she felt haggard from the day’s events, her skin still looked healthy, her cheeks glowed, and her blue eyes were clear. She closed the lid of the toilet and sat down, putting her head in her hands and closing her eyes, breathing in the strong aroma of potpourri from a clay bowl on the tank behind her.

Stepping into the hallway a few minutes later, she listened for a moment to Ava and Megan’s mumbled conversation downstairs, discussing the funeral from what she could tell. She tugged down the sleeves of her sweater and craned her neck to look into the doorway of the bedroom across the hall. It was one of the boys’ rooms, decorated in shades of blue with framed posters of various sports stars and musicians on the walls. The bedspread was tucked tightly at the corners and a pile of books had been stacked in order of size on the desk. There were fresh lines from vacuum cleaner wheels along the rug, backing out of the room and into the hallway. Penelope looked at the carpet under her feet and saw she stood on two of them, the tracks leading in even lines back to the stairs.

The neighboring bedroom door was closed, Karen’s muffled crying coming from the other side. Penelope took a step closer and raised her fist, hesitating before knocking on the door. At the last minute, she decided to step away and give Karen her privacy. Just as she turned to go, Karen opened the door.

“Sorry, Karen,” Penelope said, startled. “I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just your mom is making tea and I wanted to see if you’d like some.”

Karen put a tissue to her nose and smiled weakly. “Mom always makes tea when anyone is upset. Or cocktails, depending on the time of day.”

Penelope returned her smile. “That’s what people do, offer comfort with food and drink.”

“I’m not ready to come back down yet. Maybe in a while.” Over Karen’s shoulder, Penelope saw Cynthia, the woman who had met them at the door when they arrived, sitting on the bed, her hands folded in her lap, a tragic look on her face.

“Sure,” Penelope said. “There’s no rush.”

Karen came forward and threw her arms around Penelope’s shoulders, hugging her tightly. “Thank you.”

Surprised, Penelope hugged her back, rocking gently and letting her cry. She looked at Cynthia, who returned a sad smile. Penelope had only met Karen a few times before in Festa’s kitchen, but knew her well enough to know she was a hard worker and a good student. Jordan was proud of all his kids, but he said Karen was the one most like him. Jordan had named dishes on his menu after each of his children, and Karen’s entry was a golden root-vegetable bisque, one of the most popular dishes they served.

Karen gathered herself and pulled away from Penelope, then went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Penelope said quietly to Cynthia, still perched on the edge of the bed.

“You didn’t,” Cynthia said. “The poor girl is in shock.”

“I’m sorry, but you introduced Megan as Mrs. Foster downstairs. Aren’t you family?”

Cynthia took a deep breath. “I suppose I am in some ways, but I’m old fashioned. It doesn’t feel right to call my employer by her first name. I’m the nanny. I came to live here when the twins were born, and then the other two babies came along soon after. Now I mostly look after the house, but I still help with the children, even though they’re almost all grown now.”

“It’s good you’re here to help the family through this,” Penelope said.

Cynthia nodded and swiped invisible dust from the nightstand next to Karen’s bed.

“I should get back downstairs,” Penelope said. “Nice meeting you.”

Cynthia looked around the tidy bedroom and didn’t respond.

Penelope slid her hand along the polished wood banister as she descended the stairs. The trill of a phone echoed on both levels and Penelope paused, listening to it ring twice more before hearing Megan pick it up. Penelope continued her descent, her socks padding lightly on the carpet.

When Penelope entered the kitchen, Megan stood behind the counter, a look of disbelief on her face. Ava stared at her, her eyes wide and questioning.

“Okay, yes, I understand,” Megan said, the color draining from her already pale face. Her arm went limp and her hand fell to her thigh, her fist tight around the cordless phone.

“What is it?” Ava asked urgently.

“That was the sheriff,” Megan said. “They’re saying Jordan was murdered.”

The phone slipped from her hand and clattered against the kitchen floor.