MURDER ON A DESIGNER DIET (13 page)

Chapter 27

  

Penelope said goodbye to Jimmy and called Arlena from her seat in the café.

“Pen, where are you? I was just knocking on your door,” Arlena said.

“Where?” Penelope asked, confused for a minute. “Oh, at the hotel. I forgot you guys were checking in.”

“We're staying on the floor above yours. Max is getting released around lunchtime, after they process his bail. The judge set it at two million. Max had to surrender his passport, which seemed to bother him more than the money. You know how Max is about rules or anyone telling him what to do or where he can go.”

“I know,” Penelope said, thinking about Sienna and her home in London.

“Where are you?” Arlena asked again.

“I'm in the Village near Max's building,” Penelope said. “In the bookstore café next door.”

“What are you doing there? Have you found anything new to help Max?”

“Maybe. I'm not sure how it fits together yet, but I was thinking there must be a reason why Hannah turned on him. I'm not sure what I thought I'd find over here to be honest. Arlena, I know she's your friend, but has there ever been anything romantic between Max and Sienna that you know of?”

“No. They're good friends. I know they've been hanging out a lot while she's been in town. Why?”

“I don't know, I just started thinking about her and Max and Hannah. The lady that works at the bookstore next to his building saw them together recently.”

“They do hang out together, that's not news. He's been helping her with the fashion show. They're not dating,” Arlena said with finality. “I've talked to Sienna many times over the past few months, seen her several of times too. If she were romantically involved with Max, she would have told me. Or he would have.”

Penelope was unconvinced but stayed silent.

“Do you have work today?” Arlena asked.

“Yeah, call time is five,” Penelope said.

“Are you feeling up to it?”

“I have to be. They threatened to fire my team if I didn't show up with them.”

“What jerks. You want me to make a call for you?”

“No,” Penelope said a little too loudly. She lowered her voice back down to normal. “Thank you, but I can handle it. The guys need to get paid, and I can make it through. Luckily filming will be over soon. We have a couple more weeks at the most.”

“Come back to the hotel and rest before you have to go in. We're going to camp out here until we figure out what to do. Max can't go back to his apartment. Daddy hired a couple of security guys to keep any curious journalists out of the hotel.” Arlena said “journalists” like it was a dirty word. “You should have seen them down there at the courthouse. Like a pack of jackals.”

“Okay, I'll check in with you later,” Penelope said.

Even though Arlena insisted there was nothing between Sienna and Max, Penelope knew how Max was with women. She wasn't so sure. Arlena didn't want Max dating her friends, letting him know many times that crossed a line for her. But she thought Sienna might be friendlier with Max anyway. Penelope finished her latte and thought about her next move.

  

Penelope took a cab to the V Hotel in Chelsea. When they pulled up out front, Penelope eased herself out of the back and looked up at the shiny glass tower, considering what she was going to say to Sienna.

As she walked down the hallway to the suite she saw a housekeeping cart outside the double doors, which were propped open with a vacuum cleaner.

“Hello?” Penelope said, wrapping her knuckles lightly on the door. A soap opera was playing loudly on the television and a pile of sheets and towels was in the middle of the floor. The smell of disinfectant wafted through the air of the suite. “Hello?” Penelope said, louder this time.

The maid emerged from the bathroom, yellow gloves up to her elbows. “Yes, miss, can I help?”

“Hi,” Penelope said, stepping inside. All of the clothes that had been flung around the room were gone, and the bedroom doors were open, the beds stripped bare. “Are they gone?”

The maid pulled off her gloves and muted the television. “Yes, checked out.”

Penelope glanced around the room, trying to think. “When?” she finally asked.

“This morning.”

“Do you know how many people were staying here?” Penelope asked. “It was the British woman and the blond man, and another girl, right?”

The maid shrugged apologetically. “I'm not sure.” She looked over at the muted television.

Penelope thanked her and left, deciding to see if she could get more information about Sienna's abrupt departure from the front desk. She stepped back off the elevator in the lobby and approached the smiling woman in the green blazer. “Hello, can you tell me when one of your guests checked out?”

The hotel clerk looked at her a bit warily but agreed. “Let me see if I can help you.”

“Sienna Wentworth, Suite 1912?”

The woman typed on her keyboard. “Miss Wentworth has checked out as of this morning.”

“Did she say where she was going?” Penelope asked.

The woman looked at her with a confused look. “No, we don't capture that information.”

“So she didn't mention anything in passing?”

The clerk shook her head, glancing past Penelope into the lobby. “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

“Do you know the names of the other guests in Sienna's suite? I'm curious about who was staying here with her.”

The clerk's expression became closed. “I'm afraid I can't give out that information. We value the privacy of our guests.” She sounded like she was reading off of the hotel brochure.

Penelope sighed and headed back outside, checking her phone for the time. It was already late in the afternoon, so she figured she'd have to head to work before long. She really hoped she could make it through the night. She dialed Arlena and left a message, asking her to call Sienna. Maybe she would be able to find out where she'd gone off to.

Chapter 28

  

Penelope shrugged her chef coat over her shoulder and carefully slid her splinted wrist through the sleeve. She thought about taking off the splint while she was in the kitchen, but worried if she hurt her wrist any further it would be too painful to continue working. Luckily her sleeve stretched over it without too much trouble.

After the security guard had unlocked the front doors and let her into the lobby of the Crawford, she'd popped into the ladies' room to check how her makeup was holding up against her bruised face. Some of it had worn off, so she reapplied the cool liquid to her eye and up her forehead. She couldn't completely cover everything, but wanted to hide as much of it as possible. Mostly satisfied with her appearance, she rode the creaking elevator down to the kitchen in the basement, rehearsing the story she would tell her team about her injuries.

The first person she saw was her sous chef, Francis. He stood in front of the elevator doors, carrying a stack of sheet pans from the rolling racks over to his station. He froze, his mouth falling open.

“What happened, Boss?” he asked, his surprise turning immediately to concern.

“Guys, gather round, okay?” She motioned the other chefs over. When they'd all assembled she said, “I was hit by a cab yesterday and I sprained my wrist. I'm okay. It looks worse than it is, but I'm going to need your help to get through the next couple of services.”

“You sure you should be here? We can handle things,” Francis said.

“That's not an option right now. We committed to this job, and we have to stick together.”

They all agreed, and Francis said, “We got your back, Boss.”

“I know I can always count on you guys, and that means a lot,” Penelope said, making eye contact with each of them. “Here's the plan for tonight. They're going to be filming until morning and don't have a specific break time yet, which tells me they don't know when dinner will be. I say we put out some of our best comfort food. It will get us all through the night and will keep well through whatever window they give us. Let's do our turkey chili, a choice of soups, and we can do Francis's Gruyere and Gouda mac and cheese he came up with on the last movie. And Red Carpet S'mores for dessert. They're always a crowd pleaser.”

After they'd settled on the menu, Penelope's team took their stations, chopping vegetables to begin the base for soups. They decided on creamy tomato basil, spicy black bean, and shredded rotisserie chicken with noodles, lemon and kale. Francis found three big soup pans and they got to work, settling into their familiar roles. The harmony Penelope found among her team in the kitchen soothed her, and she realized she felt safe for the first time in days.

Penelope took the elevator upstairs to check on the set, see where they'd be setting up for lunch. The doors slid open and Penelope realized the cameras were rolling, and she'd almost walked out onto a live scene.

“You mustn't fret, dear. You're the only man for me and you know it.”

A young redheaded actress in a vintage evening gown held a smoldering cigarette at the end of a long black holder, her hair sprayed into place in a series of silky waves. Next to her was an older man in a suit, seated in a tall leather chair behind a desk, eying her suspiciously.

The elevator door began to close and Penelope stuck out her uninjured hand to stop it, silently holding it open.

“Honestly, dear, I don't know what gave you the idea about me and Randolph. It's preposterous, I tell you,” the woman said.

“You're a damn liar,” the man boomed. He stood up suddenly from his chair and swept everything off of the desk onto the floor. A fan of papers fluttered through the air and a water glass smashed against the hardwood floor.

Penelope held her breath and remained frozen in place.

The man leaned across the desk, propped his bulk on one thick fist, and pointed angrily at the woman, rage etched across his face. “I knew the minute I married you I'd regret it and I was right. You're a common tart. A trollop,” he sputtered.

Penelope could see the director around the corner from the elevator alcove, sitting in a chair and staring intently into a monitor, his face lit blue from the screen. He apparently hadn't noticed the elevator door opening, or he did and didn't want to cut the scene. Penelope hoped she was out of camera range.

“Now darling, you mustn't say such things. I'm a good wife to you, and you'd do well to remember that,” the woman said, standing her ground against her much larger costar.

The man's face reddened and he spat, “I should have known marrying a showgirl would bring a life of misery. What was I thinking? You won't get one more dime out of me if I find out you've been cavorting with that Frenchman.” He glared at her and retook his seat, unbuttoning his jacket and straightening his lapels.

“And cut!” the director yelled from his chair. “Great work, guys.”

“Can you tell him not to spit so much?” the actress shouted. Her voice had changed from vintage and sweet to modern and grating.

“Sorry. I was just feeling the moment,” the man said, smiling widely at her.

The actress swiped at her cheeks with her hands and glared at him. A few crew members moved in to reset the scene, picking up scattered papers and sweeping up broken glass.

“Everyone take five,” the director said. He walked through the set, pulling his phone up to his ear and ignoring the key grip who attempted to speak with him.

“Five minutes people!” the assistant director yelled. He waved enthusiastically at Penelope, who was still waiting in the elevator. “Catering can set up lunch over there today.” He nodded towards a cluster of tables draped in white at the far end of the room, then started talking to someone on his headset, shaking his head as he walked away. Penelope let the elevator doors close and rode back down the basement.

  

After they'd set up lunch in the penthouse, the smell of their soups filled the air and revived the crew. The actors and crew members swarmed the table, ladling the chili and soup into their bowls and tearing off big pieces of French bread to go with it.

When everyone had been served, Penelope sent Francis down to bring up the desserts and coffee urns from the basement.

“We have Red Carpet S'mores coming,” Penelope announced to the room. A few members of the crew glanced up from their bowls, mild interest on their faces. “And lots of coffee.”

“Everyone give Penelope a hand,” the director said, leading the room in a smattering of applause. Penelope smiled and helped clear a space when Francis returned with the desserts.

Penelope's phone buzzed in her back pocket and she pulled it out, glancing at the screen. “Hi, Arlena. You're up late.”

“I wanted to check on you to make sure you're okay over there.”

“Yes, I'm making my way through,” Penelope said. She watched a few crew members wander up to the table and fill their plates with sweets.

“I'm sending a car for you when you get off,” Arlena said.

“Thanks, but I can get a cab,” Penelope said.

“No, it will be easier. I told the driver to wait for you outside. He'll be there at five and wait for you until you get off.”

“I appreciate it. How's Max doing?”

“He's been sleeping a lot. He's in the bedroom now, passed out. Daddy and I have been up talking with the lawyer about his case, but we're about to turn in too.”

“Did he say anything about what happened at Christian's?” Penelope asked.

“He keeps saying he will, but he isn't ready to talk to us right now. He says he's too traumatized and needs time to think.”

The assistant director yelled from behind her. “Twenty minutes, people!”

“Can I stop by in the morning and see him?” Penelope asked. She looked at Francis and he nodded, understanding she wanted him to begin clearing the tables. He signaled the others and they began wrapping up the leftovers.

“Of course you can,” Arlena said. “Maybe he'll talk to you.”