Chapter 17

  

“You think I’m bad. Admit it,” Jackson Wilde said.

“I don’t think you’re bad. You’re my precious little boy,” Arlena responded, folding her hands together at her waist and pacing the carpet in her long black dress.

“You don’t think I’m evil, then? Possessed?” Jackson asked in a challenging tone.

“How does a child speak of such things?” Arlena asked.

Jackson smiled at her sweetly from the school desk in the corner of the room as Arlena paced, but his smile was tinged with darkness.

Penelope stood next to the craft-services table, holding a silver tray with two peanut butter banana smoothies. She watched the scene they’d been filming all morning unfold again from just behind the camera line along with a dozen other crew members. The clapboard under the assistant director’s arm said it was the fifteenth take of the day. The crew was filming on the ground floor of the event space adjacent to the inn. They’d cordoned off a corner and the set designers had transformed the space into a vintage playroom, complete with a study area with bookshelves, desks, and a small chalkboard. The frosty light seeped in from two large picture windows, casting Jackson and Arlena in shades of blue. Stage lights lit the corner of the room from the opposite direction, one of the production assistants holding up large round filters in front of them as Arlena and the children moved around the space.

“Continue your lessons, and don’t speak of evil again,” Arlena scolded the boy.

Dakota, who had been waiting just outside camera range for her cue, skipped onto the rug and began teasing her brother. “I’ve just had the most lovely walk with Mrs. Grose, and she gave me some sweets. Too bad for you, in here studying like always.”

Jackson shot his sister an evil look, then his face went slack and he looked back down at his desk.

“Take your seat, young lady,” Arlena scolded her. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Grose again about playing favorites, and what’s expected of you both during the day.”

Dakota took her seat and smiled sweetly, her eyes cutting across the room to find the camera.

“And cut,” Jennifer said quietly from behind the monitor she was staring into. “We’re going to do this one again after lunch. Everybody reset before you break.” She pressed a button below the monitor and marked the sheet she held in her lap with a red pen, jotting a note in the margin of the script.

The crew members reset the scene, rolling up cables, sliding cameras back to their starting positions, and raising the boom mic in the air.

Jackson and Dakota hurried to Penelope, eyeing the smoothies.

“One second,” Sybil said, plucking the straw from one of them and touching the bottom of it to her tongue, shaking her head immediately after tasting it. “This is peanut butter. I specifically asked for almond butter. Peanuts are garbage nuts. Almonds are much more nutritious and better for their skin.” She plopped the straw back through the hole in the lid, the plastic on plastic screeching loudly.

Penelope’s cheeks burned. “Sorry. Who did you give today’s menu requests to?”

“I don’t know,” Sybil said, waving her hand in annoyance. “One of your people. A man with black hair in a chef coat that said Red Carpet Catering. You’re supposed to be the best, according to Jennifer.” She smiled sarcastically and sniffed. Penelope was distracted by her perfectly applied makeup and styled hair that cascaded in symmetrical waves over the shoulders of her designer jacket.

“I’m sorry for the confusion. I’ll have new drinks made right away.”

Sybil huffed, clearly perturbed. Her green eyes darkened a shade as she took a step toward Penelope. “Jackson and Dakota have been working all morning and have earned their treat. Get it right.” She turned away and gazed at her children, who were still looking longingly at the smoothies.

“Ms. Wilde,” Penelope said. “Would the kids like some tomato soup and grilled cheese for lunch?”

Sybil turned back around and smiled, which somehow didn’t feel inviting. “I gave your man a weekly menu for my children. Please don’t deviate from my wishes or I’ll file a complaint with the studio. Jennifer might think you’re the best, but one call from me will get you thrown off this set.”

Penelope gave her a small smile and nodded pertly. The children stood perfectly still behind their mom, listening to every word she said. “Of course, Ms. Wilde, whatever you say.”

Sybil knelt down to straighten Dakota’s socks, tugging the lace flat against her ankles above her Mary Janes. Jackson put his hand on his mother’s back and stroked her shoulder. She smiled up at him and he gave her a quick hug. Sybil rubbed her cheek against his and brushed his bangs from his forehead.

“I’ll be right back with your smoothies,” Penelope said. The children eyed her cautiously, neither of them speaking.

Arlena caught up with Penelope as she walked outside, heading for the food truck.

“What’s for lunch?” Arlena asked.

Penelope sighed. “Roast beef or chicken, mashed potatoes, mushroom and leek risotto, shaved asparagus, our usual salad bar.”

“Yum,” Arlena said, throwing an arm over Penelope’s shoulder.

Penelope took comfort from the closeness and let go of the tension from her conversation with Sybil.

“You were good in that scene with the kids,” Penelope said. “Very natural.”

“I guess,” Arlena said. “I can never tell if Jennifer is happy with my work. She’s not giving a lot of feedback, and she always seems on edge.”

“Well, there’s a lot going on, with Jordan and everything,” Penelope said.

“True,” Arlena agreed. “But she’s been like that since we started. She’s changing the script and dialogue constantly. What I’m reading and saying now, it barely resembles the book anymore. I read the story and the script before I signed on to the movie, and I could follow the thread. Now she’s deviated so much from the original, it’s like I agreed to a different project. Or this one under false pretenses.”

“Are you unhappy with the way the movie is going?”

“I mean, I guess it’s okay,” Arlena conceded. “I want to support her, I’m just not sure we’re heading in the right direction. We’re wearing period costumes, but the rewriting of the dialogue sounds modern.”

“Are you having what they call ‘creative differences’?”

“Not yet, but…” Arlena tailed off with a nervous laugh. “Hey, have you ever seen those shows about haunted houses…ghosts? They say a place can have bad vibes, that they can radiate from a physical space.”

“I suppose that’s the definition of a haunted house,” Penelope said. “People have been telling ghost stories for hundreds of years.” Penelope glanced around the courtyard and thought if she removed the food trucks, the electrical fixtures, and the contemporary clothes of the movie crew that were milling around them, she could picture herself in the 1800s. The cobblestones, the old stone buildings, the remoteness of the location, and the sprawling forest right next to them. She shivered. “I have to get new smoothies blended for the kids. Their mom-ager was displeased with our first effort, so I need to redo them on the fly. See you later?”

Arlena nodded distractedly, lost in thought as she wandered toward the inn. Penelope knew Arlena liked to immerse herself in the roles she played. The fact that she was thinking the inn and surrounding area might be haunted was not surprising.

Penelope had made it all the way back to the kitchen truck when she heard Arlena scream. Penelope jolted and her arms went rigid, causing her to drop the smoothies on the ground, the lids popping off as they hit the cobblestones. Thickly blended banana and peanut butter oozed at her feet. Looking up from the mess, Penelope saw Arlena being twirled around by her boyfriend, Sam Cavanaugh, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Sybil sidled up to Penelope and looked at spilled smoothies, then at Arlena and Sam. “So they really are together. Good for her,” she said with interested admiration. “I wasn’t sure if they were for real or just a publicity couple.”

Penelope bent down to pick up the plastic cups, tossing them into the trash can near her truck. “They’re the real thing, all right.”

“Isn’t that nice,” Sybil said with a sly grin, openly eyeing the couple who were now hungrily kissing each other in the middle of the courtyard. “Whenever you have those drinks ready will be great. Sorry if I was a little rough on you back there. It’s already been a stressful day.” She turned on her high heels and headed back to the set, not waiting to see if her apology was accepted.

  

Arlena skipped lunch with the crew, her first time since she’d been on this set, preferring to spend her break with Sam in the suite. Penelope sent up a tray for them with two lunches, and a note to call down if she and Sam needed anything else. Penelope smiled as she arranged the platter, thinking how happy Arlena had been when she saw Sam after almost six weeks of being apart. Working on location could be fun—it was always an adventure and an interesting way to see different parts of the world. But it did take you away from your loved ones for long stretches of time, months at least, sometimes close to a year, depending on the movie.

Penelope’s thoughts moved to Joey. Would their relationship be strong enough to endure her career if she had to be away for months at a time? Maybe she would have to limit herself to taking local jobs, things that kept her close to home. New York was a major filming area, so she thought she could probably work it out if it came to that. Penelope didn’t know many married couples who kept the hours she did, and she definitely didn’t know of anyone with small children who did on-set catering. She was sure there were a few, somewhere, but imagined it would be hard to balance a personal life and children with the demands of a film schedule. She sucked in a breath and put her hand on her lower stomach.

Her phone buzzed and she felt a twinge of dread when she saw the name. “Hi, Ava.”

“Penelope, hi. Just wondering if you’ve heard from your school about potential replacement chefs?”

“Yes,” Penelope said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I got an email this morning listing a couple of potential candidates.”

“Great,” Ava said. “And will you have time later to come and learn Festa’s menu?”

Penelope put her hand to her forehead. “Is it okay with the sheriff? I thought the kitchen would still be closed.”

“No, he released it an hour ago. They came through and dusted for fingerprints, did whatever they were doing, poked around. We’re not going to open back up to customers right away, but I’m hoping we will in a few days.”

Penelope sighed. “Um, sure.” She thought about what her evening might bring. Hanging out with Ava for a couple of hours wouldn’t be the worst option, especially since Arlena would likely be busy with Sam. “We’re supposed to wrap at four. I can come over afterwards.”

“Perfect. See you then,” Ava said.