MURDER ON A DESIGNER DIET (11 page)

Penelope pulled open the middle drawer and grabbed a pen, nudging aside a dark wooden box. She heard something metallic rattling inside and opened the lid. It was an old handgun, small enough to fit in Penelope's purse.

“Is this yours?” Penelope asked, eyeing the gun.

“It was my husband's,” Mrs. Sotheby said. She leaned down and slid the drawer closed. “He was a private detective for an insurance company. Ironically, he didn't have it with him when he…when he might have needed it most.”

Penelope looked up at her. “What happened?”

Mrs. Sotheby ran her hand across a nearby shelf, wiping away nonexistent dust. “He walked in on a robbery, by accident, at a convenience store up on the avenue. The robber killed the store clerk and my Richie. In just one minute, my life was changed forever. We'd only been married a short time when it happened.”

“I'm so sorry,” Penelope said. “Did they catch your husband's killer?”

“That's the thing, dear. They never caught the man who robbed that store. It's been over forty years now. I doubt I'll ever know who killed Richie.”

Penelope looked again at the row of ledgers. She thought about all the time Mrs. Sotheby had put into recording the actions of others, and wondered if the police had worked as hard to find Richie's killer. Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her purse.

Arlena had texted, “In the car out front whenever you're ready.”

“I have to go,” Penelope said. She jotted down her name and number on a slip of paper on the desk. “Here's my number. Would it be okay if I contacted you again?”

Mrs. Sotheby wrote down her own number and handed it to Penelope. “Sure, that would be fine.”

Penelope took some photos of the last few pages of the ledger with her phone. “I really appreciate you letting me see all of this. I hope it helps. I'm worried an innocent man is being framed for Christian's murder.”

Mrs. Sotheby shook her head sadly at Penelope. “I hate to tell you this, dear, but I haven't seen many innocent people come in or out of those doors.”

Chapter 23

  

The Town Car sped away, heading back towards Tribeca.

“That woman gives me the creeps,” Arlena said with a shiver.

“What do you mean?” Penelope asked.

“I don't know. She's just cold, I guess. She talks about her models like they're clothing racks instead of people.”

“Not to mention being so offhand about Christian's murder. Even if he wasn't related to her and really was just an employee, a normal person would have some kind of emotional reaction to someone dying in their home, right?”

“You would think,” Arlena agreed. “I did find something interesting when I sent her to get cream and sugar for my coffee. I looked through a shoebox she had tucked up on the top shelf. It was so out of place—everything else in there was sleek, manuals and catalogues.” Arlena pulled a small stack of photos from her jacket pocket. “I grabbed a couple of photos from it.”

Penelope looked at the pictures in Arlena's hand. One was of a group of girls in mismatched outfits, smiling at the camera. A few of them had missing teeth, so she guessed they weren't in their teens yet. “These are just kids. Where were they taken, I wonder?”

“No idea. But they remind me of the kids from those commercials on TV.” Arlena flipped through a few more of them. “You know…those ads where they want you to sponsor a child from an impoverished country?”

Penelope examined another photo from the stack. “This one looks like Sinay, the girl with the groceries, but she's younger here.”

“How old do you think she is now?”

“She's probably still in her mid-teens. Whatever is going on with her and Joyce seems off. One minute Sinay is afraid of her own shadow, and the next she's hugging Joyce in the kitchen like she's her mother.”

“She seemed afraid and uncomfortable when she brought the coffee into our meeting.”

“Maybe Joyce sponsors girls like Sinay, brings them to America and helps them find work. She said something about wanting to be a model.”

“I suppose that could be it,” Arlena said. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I need to eat again if I'm going to stay on this schedule.”

They rode in silence for a moment before Penelope spoke again. “What should we do next? After eating?” She pulled her phone out of her purse and stared at the blank screen.

“I think you should get some rest. You look exhausted,” Arlena said. “I'm taking you back to the hotel and then I'm going to meet Daddy and find out what the plan is to help Max.”

“I hope he gets released soon,” Penelope said.

“Daddy said he'll have to wait until tomorrow, that they don't do bail hearings on weekends. That's if he's even granted bail.”

“Maybe something in this ledger will point to another suspect in Christian's murder.” She pulled open the picture and enlarged it on her screen, scrolling through Saturday's page. She gave up trying to decipher Mrs. Sotheby's shorthand when her eyes began to blur over from exhaustion.

The car pulled up outside the Tribeca Loft hotel once again. Arlena helped Penelope to her room, ordering her a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich once they were inside. “And a pot of ginger tea, please. Can you also bring up a bed tray?”

Penelope pulled off her clothes and stood under the shower, making the water as hot as she could stand, holding her splinted arm outward to keep it dry. She did her best to pile her hair on top of her head with one hand before getting into the shower. She intended to go straight to sleep after eating. She didn't have the energy, and didn't want to ask Arlena to dry her hair before collapsing into bed. She came out of the bathroom wrapped in one of the soft white robes that were hanging on the bathroom door just as the room service waiter was knocking on the door. She got into bed and Arlena situated the tray over her legs, placing the soup and sandwich on it and propping an additional pillow behind Penelope's back to make her more comfortable.

Penelope settled into bed, feeling a wave of exhaustion come over her as she ate. She forced herself to eat every drop of the soup, even though it was a struggle to stay awake.

“Here, take another one of these before you fall asleep,” Arlena said, shaking out another pain pill from the vial.

“Ugh. I hate taking those,” Penelope said. “They make me feel fuzzy.”

“Well, it's just temporary. It's better than being in a lot of pain, right? You'll rest easier.”

“I guess,” Penelope said, accepting the little pill and washing it down with some tea. “Ginger tea...that's the second time today I've heard that,” Penelope said, yawning. Her eyes were slipping closed even as she fought to keep them open.

“Sienna got me into it,” Arlena said, taking a sip. She reached over and grabbed the remote, flipping on the TV. “It settles your stomach. Like ginger ale, but without all the sugar.”

Penelope gazed at the screen, her eyes slipping closed. Something nipped at the edge of her mind, but floated away as she fell deeper into the softness of sleep. The last thing she remembered before drifting off was Arlena tucking the blanket over her shoulders and whispering, “Goodnight, Pen.”

Chapter 24

  

When Penelope woke the next morning, she was still in her robe under the blankets in the same position she had fallen asleep. She'd slept for almost ten hours, and it felt like she hadn't moved at all. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, the home screen alerting her to several texts from the night before. She scrolled through them quickly, disappointed none of them were from Joey.

The first was from Arlena. “Rest well. Call me when you wake up. I extended your room a few days and got a suite here for me & Daddy.”

The next message was from Francis. “Meeting the produce order outside Crawford at 4. See you tonight.” Penelope perked up at the thought of the long night ahead of her.

The next one was from Officer Gomez. “Max's GF turned herself in, being questioned by the detectives. Call me later re: Sotheby.”

Right as she finished reading that, a new text popped up on her screen. It was from Arlena and simply said, “Turn on CNW. Disaster.”

Penelope looked around for the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the unfamiliar channels until she found CNW, the Celebrity News Network. She tried not to watch CNW as a rule, because their “news” and talk shows seemed to mostly involve celebrities getting ambushed coming out of clubs or being chased in airports while reporters shouted inappropriate, rude questions. Their legitimate stories were infrequent.

There was a commercial on, advertising one of their shows later in the day, but a news scroll at the bottom of the screen caught her eye. “Max Madison arrested for murder in love triangle gone bad.”

“Oh no,” Penelope said under her breath.

The commercial ended and a reporter came on the screen, standing outside the police station where Penelope had been the previous morning. She wore a low-cut blouse and bright red lipstick and was clearly excited to be there.

“Max Madison is in police custody awaiting a bail hearing this morning. Murder allegations have been made against Mr. Madison concerning the death of a popular Manhattan club promoter, Christian Alves. Alves had previous convictions for drug offenses and it remains to be seen if his murder is drug related, or the result of a love triangle with Max's on-again, off-again girlfriend, Hannah Devore. Several sources say Alves and Madison were both involved with Devore, a notorious party girl and daughter of Niles and Chastity Devore…”

Penelope muted the television and picked up her phone, dialing Arlena.

“Pen, how are you feeling?” Arlena asked. It sounded like she was outside and out of breath.

“Better, thanks. I just saw the news about Max.” Penelope glanced up at the TV again and saw Randall's face staring back at her. The network was showing a still shot from one of his older movies, the caption beneath reading, “Famous Son Arrested.”

“It's terrible,” Arlena said.

“Where are you?” Penelope asked. She watched a taped segment of Randall approaching the police station, obviously from the night before, and then putting his hand over a camera lens when it got too close to his face. The shot cut to another camera's view of him smashing the first camera onto the sidewalk and pushing a reporter into a row of bushes.

“I'm heading to the courthouse now for Max's bail hearing,” Arlena said.

“I got a message from Officer Gomez that they've been questioning Hannah,” Penelope said. “Maybe she can help clear up what happened.”

Arlena laughed harshly. “That little...she's not helping at all. She's saying Max did it, that he shot Christian out of jealousy over her.”

“What?” Penelope said. Her scalp started tingling, and the sensation moved all the way down to her shoulders. “I can't believe that.”

“That's what the lawyer is telling us she said. Max swears it's a lie, but it's his word against hers right now.”

Penelope thought for a minute. “I saw her making out with Christian in the ladies room the night of the fashion show.”

“I can't believe that little tramp. It's bad enough to lie, mess around with his feelings, but now she's playing around with murder charges.”

“I know. Why would she do this?” Penelope asked.

“I don't know…look, I have to get inside before they start. Don't tell anyone else about what you saw at the club, okay? It only makes Max look guiltier. I'll call you back after I deal with Max and then Daddy.”

“Was he arrested too? I just saw what happened last night on TV.”

“No, thank God. The reporter said he'd press charges, but Daddy offered him money for the camera and said he'd give him an exclusive about Max. So we're okay.”

Penelope was relieved at least this one thing might have gone their way.

“I'll check back with you later,” Arlena said, ending the call.

Penelope made her way to the bathroom and flipped on the overhead light, looking at her face in the mirror. It was puffy from all of the sleep and medication, and the skin around her eye had darkened to blackish purple all the way around and up her forehead. The gash on her eyebrow was covered in a dark purple scab. “Lovely.”

Penelope showered quickly, gently toweled her face dry, then attempted to apply enough foundation to cover the bruises on her face. When she was through, they were more light purple than dark, but it was still obvious she had taken a hit to the face. She pulled a t-shirt over her head and slipped on her last pair of clean jeans. Penelope decided she'd have to pick up some clothes if she was going to extend her stay in the city. It was a lot nicer than making the trip back and forth to New Jersey, especially with all that had been going on. Her phone buzzed in the other room just as she finished getting dressed. She hurried to answer it, her heart lifting in her chest when she saw Joey's name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Penny, it's me,” Joey said. His voice sounded strange, but she was so glad to hear from him, she put that aside.

“Joey, I've been so worried about you,” Penelope said.

“I got your last message. I'm sorry I couldn't call you until I got back in a cell area. I've been stuck up in the mountains in the snow, had to pull off the road for a few hours at one point. Are you okay?”

“I'm okay now,” Penelope said, relieved to be talking to him. “I sprained my wrist and bruised some ribs.”

Joey was silent for a moment. “I'm worried about you, Penny.”

“Where are you?”

“I'm still upstate, heading south down to you. I've been driving for a while, should be back soon depending on the roads. I got suspended from work, two weeks without pay, so I decided to take an unscheduled vacation. Then this happened to you.”

“Why were you suspended?” Penelope asked.

“For firing my weapon off duty, and for being under the influence of alcohol at the time. They only have my word that I was pursuing a suspect, and that I shot him. The guy I was chasing is in the wind, and no one has come forward to turn him in. I can't even prove it happened. Unfortunately, my word doesn't mean much to them right now. They tried to give me a month's suspension, but my union rep pointed out I've never been in trouble before, so they knocked it down to two weeks.”

Penelope sat down on the edge of the bed. “Joey, I'm so sorry.”

Joey sighed on the other end of the phone. “It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're okay, and you're keeping yourself safe until I can get back.”

After a few seconds of silence Penelope said, “I will. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Penny,” Joey said. “I'll be there as soon as I can. I hate knowing you're hurt. Promise me you'll be careful.”

“Yes, I promise. I really wish you were here, Joey,” Penelope said, trying to keep her voice strong.

“I'm sorry I left. I was angry, and being selfish about it. It won't happen again.”

“Okay, call me when you get back,” Penelope said. She felt a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“I love you,” Joey murmured before saying a quick goodbye and ending the call.

As she listened to the dead air over the phone, Penelope realized she was fighting for air, struggling to bring in a complete breath, the urge to be with him was so strong. She closed her eyes and imagined he was there holding her, protecting her from everything that was happening. She opened them again and her vision blurred behind the tears she'd been fighting.

She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, glancing at the muted television. A series of images flashed across the screen: Max, Arlena, Randall, Hannah. She picked the remote and turned it off.