Chapter 3

  

Penelope stepped into her room upstairs and closed the door softly. She leaned against the door for a moment, then went over to the unmade bed, sitting down on the rumpled comforter and sliding her phone from her pocket.

She listened to a few rings as she stared at the early hour on the clock. Joey, her boyfriend back home in New Jersey, probably wouldn’t be up yet, but she had an urgent need to hear his voice.

“Penny?” Joey’s voice was thick with sleep, raspy and deep.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Penelope said quietly. The walls of the old inn were thin and she didn’t want to disturb her slumbering neighbors.

“Is everything okay?” Joey asked, sounding more alert.

“No,” Penelope admitted, then hastened to add, “Yes, I’m okay, but something happened. Something awful.” Penelope told Joey about finding Chef Jordan, keeping her voice low and speaking in even tones.

“I’m so sorry, Penny,” Joey said. She could hear he was up and moving around. She pictured him walking through the different rooms of his apartment, the dark sky outside his big living-room windows, the lights of the New York City skyline in the distance. “What can I do to help?”

“Hearing your voice is helping,” Penelope said.

“Sure,” Joey said. “I’d have my arms around you right now if I could.”

“I know,” Penelope said. “So...I don’t want to hang up but I should go, I have to get some things together for the crew.”

“Okay. Look, call me when you get a break later. I’m here for you whenever you want to talk about anything.”

“Thanks,” Penelope said. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” Joey said.

  

Penelope stepped out in the hall, her coat over her arm, and pulled the door closed, listening to the click of the lock. When she turned around she jumped when she saw the shadow of a figure near the staircase.

“Oh,” Penelope whispered. “You startled me.”

Marla Fenton, the inn’s head housekeeper, stepped into the light and stood staring at her in the dimly lit hallway. She pulled off her knit hat and twisted it in her gloved hands. Her gray hair was short and wispy, static causing a few strands to stand on end. “Sorry. I just got in.” She pulled open a narrow utility closet in the hallway and peered inside, then closed it again. “Seeing how much wood to bring up for the day.”

The suites on either end of the floors had fireplaces, a cozy touch to the rooms that also provided much needed warmth on the coldest days. “Marla, have you heard about Jordan? You must have seen what’s happening in the kitchen.”

“Oh yes,” Marla said, nodding quickly. “We can’t go in there yet.”

“Are you okay?” Penelope asked gently.

“I’m fine,” Marla responded in a near whisper. “How are you?”

Penelope squinted at her, considering her response.

“Tragic thing,” Marla said, pulling her hat back on. “He was a good man.”

“Do you want to come in and sit down a minute?” Penelope asked, motioning to the door of her room. Marla’s expression was so flat, almost stunned, and Penelope worried the older woman might be experiencing some kind of shock.

“No, lots to do, thanks,” Marla said. She pulled her hat off again, causing more of her hair to stand on end.

“This has to be hard for you,” Penelope stalled, concerned. “You’ve worked here for how long?”

“Many years now. I was here before all the fixing up. That’s been my cabin out there twenty years at least,” Marla said. “Not sure who will run things now, but I’ll be staying. I’m going to get back downstairs and get started what work I can.”

“Marla, I’m sure if you need to take a day off—” Penelope stammered.

Marla raised her hand in a placating gesture. “Thanks, but there’s lots to do,” she repeated. “Everything okay with your room?”

“Yes, thanks,” Penelope responded.

Marla turned to go, her rubber-soled boots squeaking down the wooden stairs.