Chapter 9

  

Penelope walked across the cobblestone courtyard to Festa, catching a glimpse of a few people in winter coats, huddled in a loose circle in the parking lot behind the inn. The inn’s jeep was in its normal place, in the last spot near the uphill walkway, the chips in the paint on the dark green grill shining silver in the fading afternoon light. Soup and chili would be perfect for dinner, and easy to pull off in the kitchen truck with things they already had on hand.

Penelope tugged one of Festa’s front-door handles and felt the double doors rattle against the deadbolt. She jangled the keyring from her pocket and picked out the bright orange one Jordan had made for her. She stepped into the foyer and pulled the door closed, locking it behind her.

The silence of the restaurant washed over her, the normally bustling dining room eerily quiet. Penelope moved through the dark-paneled room, glancing at the tables as she went, tugging on the tablecloths here and there, adjusting napkin-wrapped silverware on the plates, and making other minor adjustments to set the room perfectly. She eyed a half-full salt grinder on one of the tables and snatched it up, making a mental note to mention to the wait staff everything should be completely refreshed before they left for the day.

Penelope rolled the salt shaker between her hands, the clear plastic rubbing against her palms. She remembered Jordan’s infectious excitement when he got to work, always interested to hear how their day had gone. Penelope and her crew could have easily worked the entire movie from their trucks; they’d worked that way countless times before. But the inn’s kitchen allowed them more space and cut down on a lot of the back and forth with ingredients and dirty dishes. Jordan was generous to share his space with them.

Penelope thought back to an afternoon two weeks earlier, Jordan hurrying through the back door with a large parcel wrapped in twine and brown paper over his shoulder. He set it down on the counter and waved her over.

“You ever serve venison back home in New Jersey?” Jordan’s blue eyes twinkled as he spoke.

“Nope. I’ve never made it.” Penelope eyed the bulky parcel. “It’s not a popular dish back home.”

Jordan slipped off his sheepskin coat and hung it near the office door, returning quickly to the table and placing his hands reverently on the brown paper. “Then you’re in for a treat,” he said, excitement speeding his words. He grabbed a pair of shears from the metallic strip that lined the wall of the kitchen and snipped through the twine. The paper fell open, revealing a dressed side of deer.

“Wow,” Penelope said. “Where did you get this?”

“I shot him myself, yesterday morning.” Jordan eyed his prize proudly. “Local venison stew is tonight’s special. And I’m making sausage for weekend brunch from this guy too. There will be enough for your crew.”

Penelope nodded uncertainly. “I’m not sure how it will go over. I guess some will appreciate it.”

“I guarantee they’ll love it. You’ll see,” Jordan said, pulling the paper from beneath the slab. “Jennifer likes it, I know that for sure.”

Penelope laughed. Jordan’s confidence was beginning to sway her. “I’m having a hard time picturing Jennifer eating sausage, unless it’s tofu. I’ve only ever seen her eat granola and organic yogurt for breakfast. Maybe turkey bacon, but venison?” Penelope shook her head.

“Jennifer’s an LA lady now, I know. But she hasn’t completely changed. You know you can take the girl out of Indiana, but…”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the saying.” Penelope waved Francis and the other chefs over to watch Jordan break down the side of deer. He butchered the meat with a practiced hand, removing muscle and tendons and carving out perfect lean portions. He made it look simple and seemed to enjoy the role of instructor, pausing to explain what he was doing as he worked. Penelope took quick glances at her team while they watched intently, four young chefs from New Jersey, only one of whom had gone to culinary school.

Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, Penelope pulled herself back to the present, sitting at the end of the mahogany bar in Festa’s dining room. She placed the half-empty salt grinder down on the wood and stared at the crystals, which soon became blurry as more tears slid down her cheeks. She dropped her head into her hands and gave in to her emotions, crying for Jordan, for his family, and for his tragic loss of life.

Penelope’s phone buzzed in her back pocket and she considered not answering it, removing herself from everyone and everything. She swiped her face with her sleeve and pulled the phone up to read the screen, smiling weakly when she saw the name there: Joey.

“Hi,” Penelope said after clearing her throat.

“There’s my girl.” Joey was walking outside, the familiar sounds of traffic and mingled conversations in the background instantly bringing her home. “It’s not a bad time, is it?”

“It’s never a bad time to talk to you,” Penelope said, unzipping her jacket. She slid it from her shoulders and stood up, folding it over her arm. She snatched the salt grinder from the bar and walked to the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Joey asked.

“Yeah, no. It’s nothing,” Penelope said unconvincingly.

“Nice try,” Joey said. “You found a dead body today. It’s okay to be upset.”

Penelope sighed and entered the kitchen, thinking about what to say. She placed the salt shaker on the kitchen counter and went to the office, crooking the phone under her chin and patting her pockets to find the keys. They fell to the floor and she scooped them up, unlocking the office with the red one. “You’re right. It’s been a bad day,” Penelope began. “And I feel all on my own. The police are saying that Jordan’s death is suspicious. He might have been murdered, Joey. They’re investigating.”

“Suspicious. That means they can’t rule it a suicide yet. They must have found something on the body to indicate foul play.”

“Like what?” Penelope asked.

Joey blew out a sigh. “Could be a lot of things. Something doesn’t line up for them. Signs of a struggle beforehand, fingernail scrapings, bruises…”

“But those things could be there without it being murder, right?” Penelope asked. “How do they know?”

“The coroner can tell things,” Joey said. “If someone killed him, Penny...you were there right after, maybe. You have to be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Penelope said. She wondered if she was safe then, being locked in a deserted restaurant alone. “Joey, if someone killed Jordan and tried to make it to look like a suicide…that sounds personal.”

“About as personal as you can get,” Joey agreed.

“I wish you were here. I’m not totally alone—Arlena’s here—but this place feels so cut off from everything.”

“I know,” Joey said. “Listen, I was going to wait until you got back, but I think we should talk.”

Penelope fell silent and her stomach dropped.

“Talk? No, Joey. No one ever says anything good after they say they want to talk.”

Joey laughed under his breath. “No, I don’t mean that kind of talk. A good talk.”

“Oh,” Penelope said, still uncertain. “Okay.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t like being away from you, Penny Blue. I want to be with you every day. I want to talk about how we can make that happen. Especially if we want to take our relationship to different levels.”

A flutter slipped across Penelope’s chest. “Levels?”

“Yeah, levels,” Joey said. “We’ll talk about the levels later. Point is, we should be together. I don’t want you going off for months at a time where I can’t be with you.”

Penelope sighed. “It’s part of the job, Joey. I have to go where the work is.”

“There’s plenty of work in New York. You know there is.”

“True,” Penelope relented. “Look, I’m supposed to be getting things together for dinner. Will you be around later? Maybe I can call you before bed.”

“Sure. But text before you call. I’m heading out now with friends. Don’t want to have to yell at you over a crowded bar.”

A wave of disappointment washed over her. “Okay, have fun. I wish I was going with you.”

Joey’s voice turned serious. “Penny, I know it’s hard when we don’t know why things happen, like what you’re all going through out there now.” He fell silent as a bus rolled by on the other end of the line. “But everything will be okay. I promise. Just be careful.”

“I will. And I hope so,” Penelope said. “I really do.”

“Look, I just got to the restaurant. I should let you go,” Joey said. “You still up for a visit?”

“Joey, I’m dying to see you. Six weeks is a long time to be apart.”

“Okay, done. Are you still going to throw a birthday party for Arlena?”

Penelope’s stomach dropped. “I’d like to, but now with everything going on, we may have to scale it back.” She shook her head. “It’s kind of depressing now. I’m not sure a big birthday bash would be appropriate. Maybe in a few days things will feel different. I’ll have to play it by ear.” Penelope sat down heavily in the rolling chair behind the desk and shook the mouse, bringing the screen to life on the desktop monitor. The phone next to it began to ring, and Penelope glanced at it, unsure whether to answer.

“You know best. If you think it’s bad timing, I’m sure Arlena would understand,” Joey said.

“It’s a surprise. She’s not expecting a party. At least I don’t think she’s guessed. Sam’s flying in from where he’s filming in Oregon, said they rescheduled his shoot so he could get a few days off to visit Arlena for her birthday. What a mess,” Penelope said, deflating. The phone on the desk stopped ringing abruptly and immediately started ringing again, the sound cutting like a knife through the still office air. “Obviously a lot is happening now,” she said, gazing at the phone.

“You have to get that?” Joey asked.

Penelope bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to, but I probably should.” Penelope put off telling Joey about helping at Festa, knowing he’d be concerned she was overdoing it. For the first time since Ava and Megan had asked, she regretted agreeing to it.

“Go ahead and get it,” Joey said, his tone lightening. “I can’t wait to see you, Penny Blue.”

Penelope’s chest warmed and tears pricked her eyes again. She squeezed them closed and willed her voice to remain clear. “Can’t wait.”

Penelope ended the call and put the desk phone to her ear, hearing the dull metallic thrum of a dial tone. She set the receiver down. The message light blinked red on the handset. Not knowing how to retrieve messages, and figuring they were probably for Ava anyway, she turned her attention to the computer. She typed in the password Ava had given her. FAILED LOGIN blinked back at her from the screen. Her head was swimming and she was overwhelmed, but she was almost certain she’d typed it correctly.

She tried again, and even though she was convinced she typed the same exact password, the screen went black for a moment and then came to life, three silhouetted avatars staring back at her in the same spots as always, one with her name, one with Jordan’s, and one with Ava’s. She hovered the arrow over hers, then slid it over and clicked on Jordan’s. A screen opened up with various folders labeled Recipes, Menus, Wine lists, and Guests. The last one was designated as Personal and Penelope hesitated, then double clicked it.

A list of documents filled the screen, some appearing to be letters to or from customers, a couple of news articles, and other correspondence. Penelope clicked the menu to arrange them in time sequence, with the latest document appearing first on the list.

“Last night,” Penelope murmured as she opened the file. “‘Dear Jacob,’” she whispered as she read, “‘as previously stated, I intend to take legal action against you if you continue to slander my business and my good name, and damage my reputation with your putrid lies. Your jealousy is clear, but you can’t continue to misuse your position to malign my character or skill any longer.’” The letter ended and Penelope sat back in the chair, crossing her arms at her chest. “Jacob.” She tried to remember where she’d seen the name. When it came to her she sat up straight and searched for the review she’d read, pulling it up on the screen. “Jacob Pears,” Penelope said in a clear voice to the empty room. “He was the important guest last night.”

The desk phone began to ring again and Penelope snatched it up. “Festa, can I help you?” She spoke in a sharper tone than usual. Her iPhone vibrated on the desk, Ava’s name appearing on the screen.

Someone started pounding on the back door of the kitchen. Penelope stood up from her chair, causing it to roll away from her and bump into the office wall. She craned her neck to peer out, but couldn’t see the back door from where she stood.

“Who am I speaking to?” An abrupt male voice urged from the other end of the line.

“Penelope Sutherland. Who is this?” Penelope asked, distracted by more pounding from the kitchen. Her phone vibrated again, Ava’s name flashing insistently.

“This is Sheriff Bryson. Open the kitchen door, please,” he said sharply before hanging up on her. Penelope logged off on the computer and snatched up her iPhone. “Ava?”

“I’m on my way back,” Ava shouted. “Can you go across and let the police into Festa? They’ll be there soon.”

“Yeah, I’m already here, was going to put a new order in for tomorrow,” Penelope said, her heartbeat skipping as she walked toward the door.

“Okay, they’re going to...” Ava’s voice crackled and the connection went dead just as Penelope slid the deadbolt aside and swung open the door. Two police officers dressed in brown uniforms stood behind Sheriff Bryson, their wide-brimmed hats casting shadows over their faces. A young woman in a baseball cap stood off to the right, a leather bag slung over her shoulder.

“Miss Sutherland,” Sheriff Bryson said. He stepped into the kitchen, his team right behind him. The cold followed them in, clinging to their leather bomber jackets.

“Ava said you were on the way. How can I help, Sheriff?” Penelope asked as she closed the door. Sheriff Bryson pointed out different areas of the kitchen to his officers and they dispersed.

“I’m going to have to ask you to step outside,” Sheriff Bryson said.