Murder Is the Main Course Read online

  Praise for the Red Carpet Catering Mystery Series

  “The Red Carpet Catering series delivers a buffet of appealing characters, irresistible movie-industry details, and tantalizing plot twists. As delicious as a gourmet meal—and leaves you hungry for more!”

  – Susan O’Brien,

  Agatha Award-Nominated Author of Finding Sky

  “Movie lovers, this is your book! Engaging and high-spirited, Penelope Sutherland never expected that catering for the cast and crew of a top flight movie would lead to…murder. Great fun.”

  – Terrie Farley Moran,

  Agatha Award-Winning Author of Caught Read-Handed

  “With a nice island flavor, a nice puzzling mystery and a great cast of characters, this was a very enjoyable read.”

  – Dru’s Book Musings

  “A fast-paced cozy easily read and enjoyed in an afternoon...with Simmons’ picturesque writing style you can almost taste the salt in the air. Take a vacation and join Penelope.”

  – The Reading Room

  “Such a fun book..The characters are very likable and the writing is very well-done. Think of it as a cozy behind the scenes.”

  – Booklikes

  “Delicious! A great read written by someone who knows the behind the scenes world of filmmaking...A winner!”

  – Kathryn Leigh Scott,

  Author of the Jinx Fogarty Mysteries

  “This series is so well done that you will feel as though you have just gone to a friend’s house to visit for a few hours.”

  – The Reading Room

  “Loved this book! The characters are well-drawn and it’s cleverly plotted. Totally engrossing…I felt as though I was actually on a movie set. The author is well-versed in her setting and she is able to keep the reader in suspense. I can’t wait for the second book in the series.”

  – Marianna Heusler,

  Edgar-Nominated Author of No End to Trouble

  “Much of what makes this such an enjoyable new mystery is the background information on both catering and movie-making. Equally compelling is just how seamlessly author Simmons works Penelope into the investigation...this is a fun new series for readers who enjoy their theatrical showbiz mysteries with a culinary twist.”

  – Kings River Life Magazine

  “A fun mystery on a movie set and delightful chef with delicious sounding food….Shawn Reilly Simmons has a flair!”

  – Penn State Librarian

  “With a likeable cast of characters and an inside look at the movie industry, this was an equally entertaining and engaging debut.”

  – Dru’s Book Musings

  “Simmons has given us quite a good beginning to a new series; she manages to create characters that are both believable and likable, while weaving in small tidbits of movie-making and what is involved in catering food to a movie crew. I look forward to reading the next in the series. Highly recommended.”

  – Any Good Book

  Books in the Red Carpet Catering Mystery Series

  by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  MURDER ON A SILVER PLATTER (#1)

  MURDER ON THE HALF SHELL (#2)

  MURDER ON A DESIGNER DIET (#3)

  MURDER IS THE MAIN COURSE (#4)

  Sign up for Henery Press updates

  and we’ll deliver the latest on new books, sale books, and pre-order books, plus all the happenings in the Hen House!

  CLICK TO SIGN UP

  (Note: we won’t share your email address and you can unsubscribe any time.)

  Copyright

  MURDER IS THE MAIN COURSE

  A Red Carpet Catering Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | May 2017

  Henery Press, LLC

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2017 by Shawn Reilly Simmons

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-203-0

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-204-7

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-205-4

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-206-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For John & Patricia Montgomery,

  my grandparents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, first and foremost, thanks to Matt and Russell for their constant love and encouragement. I really couldn’t do all that I do without them by my side.

  I’m honored to be a member of the endlessly helpful and supportive mystery writing community. From my Malice Domestic family to the Dames at Level Best, to my Sisters in Crime, my Mystery Writers of America pals, and my Crime Writers’ Associates in the UK, I have so many writing friends near and far that I never feel alone, even when I’m typing away in the dark well before dawn.

  And as always, thanks to Ildy Shannon, my first reader, to Colleen Shannon, a great source of support, and to Stephanie Reilly for always believing in me.

  This book takes place in Indiana, where I’m originally from, where my family has lived for many generations, and where I used to visit my grandparents every summer. I have lots of wonderful memories of those trips back home, and of spending time with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. It was nice to remember all the fun we had together while I was writing the book.

  Special thanks go to Kendel Lynn, Art Molinares, Rachel Jackson, Erin George, and everyone else at Henery Press. Over the course of four books, I’ve experienced nothing but support, enthusiasm, kindness, and encouragement. I’m truly grateful.

  Finally, I’d like to dedicate this story to readers. Not just readers of my books, but all readers, everyone who enjoys a good story, loves books, and makes reading part of their lives.

  Love,

  Shawn

  Chapter 1

  Penelope eased the door to the walk-in freezer open with the tip of her boot, then caught the edge with her hip before it could swing closed again. She inched inside the narrow metal space, balancing boxes of frozen chicken on her arm, a chill seeping through the sleeves of her chef coat. Her shoulders ached from the long hours she’d spent cooking the day before for the cast and crew of the new movie she was working on, a reboot of the classic tale The Turn of the Screw.

  Penelope crooked her elbow into the corner and flicked up the light switch. She heard an electric buzz, then a glassy pop as the overhead bulb lit for a second then snuffed out. When she stepped forward, the spring-loaded door swooshed shut behind her, leaving her in complete darkness. Penelope closed her eyes and counted to five, hoping they’d adjust to the darkness, but it was just as black when she opened them again. She took a tentative step forward and elbowed aside the plastic flaps suspended from the ceiling that held in the frigid air whenever the door opened. She tried to remember where there might be some empty spots on the shelves.

  Penelope slid a box of chicken wings onto a shelf on her left and was relieved when it stayed in place and didn’t come crashing back down on her. She shifted the remaining boxes onto one arm and ran her hand along the plastic shelf. While
she was searching for more room, she thought about going back out to the kitchen and looking for a flashlight or a replacement light bulb. She stepped into the middle of the walk-in, reaching out her hand to find the opposite wall.

  Something heavy brushed her shoulder when she reached the center, then twisted away. Penelope froze. The object bumped her again, harder this time, and the boxes dropped from her arm. Reaching out her hand, her fingertips brushed across thick cotton fabric. Her heart thumping, she backed toward the door, slipping between the flaps and feeling behind her for the red release button under the light switch, the one that made sure no one would get trapped inside the freezer with no way out. Penelope thought about what it would be like to be stuck in there, slowly freezing to death with no one on the outside able to hear her yells.

  There was no sound except a whispered rubbing, the creak of something being pulled tight. Otherwise the silence was overwhelming, a metallic buzz that filled her head and made her breathing sound like a freight train rolling through the small space.

  Penelope slapped the release button with a numb palm and pressed her back against the door. Light from the kitchen poured in, momentarily dazzling her, and revealing a blurred outline behind the plastic of something suspended from the ceiling in the center of the freezer. She rubbed her thumb against her fingertips, remembering the roughness of cloth under them, and willed herself to calm down.

  Penelope backed into the kitchen and watched the freezer door swing closed, the rubber edges sealing back together. The urge to leave and find someone else, anyone else, to help her deal with what was happening was overwhelming. She looked around the deserted kitchen, then out the frosted glass of the windows at the fresh snow that had fallen the night before. Everyone she knew who might be able to help was either upstairs in the inn asleep, or very far away, back home in New Jersey.

  Penelope cleared her throat and pulled open the walk-in door again. A pie-shaped wedge of light sliced into the blackness and she leaned in to pull apart the heavy plastic flaps, keeping the toes of her boots as close to the door as possible.

  Two bare feet twisted in mid-air, the skin tinged blue around a man’s toenails. Penelope willed herself to take another step, pushing the door open as wide as it would go. She slid a box in front of the door to prop it in place, the coolness encircling her as it mixed with the warmer air of the kitchen. She parted the plastic flaps, looking up into the man’s face, her worst fears confirmed. Penelope hurried to him and grasped his arm, feeling icy flesh beneath her fingers.

  “Oh no, Jordan,” Penelope said, choking back a sob. Her first instinct was to throw her arms around his legs and help him down, but when she saw the rope cutting into his neck and the unnatural color of his cheeks, she knew she was too late to help her new friend and owner of the kitchen she was working in. Chef Jordan Foster was dead.

  Penelope stared at his face as she backed out of the walk-in. Her heel caught on the box and slid it aside, the door easing shut once again. Penelope pulled her phone from her back pocket and dialed 911, an unfamiliar trembling overcoming her as she held it to her ear. When the voice on the other end assured her an ambulance was on the way, she hung up and dialed the movie’s director, who picked up after a few rings.

  “Go for Jennifer.”

  “It’s Penelope,” she said, her early-morning voice sounding hollow in her ears. She stared at the walk-in door, irrationally imagining Chef Jordan strolling out and flashing a toothy grin, catching her in a prank.

  “Morning. Crew call time is at nine. You’re not going to be late for breakfast, are you?” Jennifer asked, sounding distracted. Penelope knew she was often up hours before most of the crew, working on script rewrites or viewing the dailies in her suite before submitting them to the producers back in LA.

  “Jennifer, something’s happened to Jordan,” Penelope said urgently. “An accident, in the kitchen downstairs.”

  “An accident?” Jennifer asked. “Is he okay? Wait, why is he here so early?”

  “I’ve called an ambulance. They’re on the way,” Penelope said, hedging.

  “An ambulance? Penelope, what’s happening?”

  Penelope felt the rush of tears she’d been choking down since finding Jordan rise to the surface. “Jennifer, Jordan’s dead. I found him,” she cried.

  “No. He can’t be,” Jennifer whispered. “I’ll be right down.”

  Chapter 2

  Penelope was propped on a stool near the windows in the inn’s kitchen. Images flashed through her mind like a stack of gruesome flashcards: Chef Jordan’s feet twisting just above the floor, the blue tint of the skin around his toenails, the unnatural puffiness of his face, the look of panic, or maybe it was sadness, in his eyes.

  “You okay, ma’am?”

  The room around her came back into focus and she sat up straighter.

  “You looked gone there for a minute,” the EMT said gently from his place outside the walk-in door. “Give me a shout if you start feeling faint.”

  Penelope nodded quickly and he turned his attention back to his partner, who was inside the freezer with Jordan’s body. She stared at the yellow lettering on his back that spelled out the ambulance company, the dark blue uniform shirt taut across his shoulders, his pale thin fingers resting lightly on his belt. He shook his head once or twice as he spoke with the tall female police officer, who’d showed up at the same time as the ambulance crew. She scribbled in a spiral notepad, fraying at the edges, the diamond ring on her finger sparkling under the bright kitchen lights.

  “What’s happened?” Jennifer was suddenly standing in front of Penelope, her long brown hair spilling over her shoulders. The police officer’s head snapped up from her pad at the sound of Jennifer’s voice.

  Penelope rose from the stool and met her gaze. “Where have you been?”

  “I came as fast as I could. I had to get dressed,” Jennifer said.

  Time had slowed down for Penelope. It felt to her like hours had passed already. “I called 911 as soon as I found him,” Penelope said, nodding toward the walk-in. “The police, EMTs, they all came.”

  Jennifer searched her face. “I can see them, Penelope. I’m asking you what happened to Jordan.”

  “Oh, right,” Penelope said, gathering herself. “Like I told Officer Collins—”

  “Excuse me,” the policewoman interrupted. Penelope hadn’t noticed her approaching, but now she was right behind them. “If I could ask you to step over here please, ma’am?”

  Penelope hooked a thumb at her chest. “Me?”

  “No.” She gave Jennifer a quick nod. “It will be helpful if you don’t talk with each other until after I’ve gotten your statements. The sheriff will be here any minute.”

  Jennifer stared at her, confused. “I don’t have a statement. I just got here, I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “I’m sorry, you are...” Officer Collins flipped to a fresh page in her notebook.

  “Jennifer Carr, the director. We’re staying here, all of us, the cast and crew, at Jordan’s invitation. He’s one of my oldest friends. We grew up together. Please, tell me what’s going on.” Jennifer’s forehead creased with worry. Penelope looked away quickly, fearing a fresh round of tears coming on.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Carr, we’re still investigating and I can’t give details.” The young officer’s expression shifted from stern to comforting in a matter of seconds. “Your patience is appreciated. We’re here to help, I promise.”

  “Fine.” Jennifer walked away, pulling her phone from her pocket.

  “No calls either, if you don’t mind,” Officer Collins said.

  Jennifer held her phone out to show her she wasn’t calling anyone, then slipped it back in her pocket.

  Officer Collins turned her attention to Penelope and lowered her voice. “Ms. Sutherland, can you tell me again what time you got to the kitchen?”


  “Just after four thirty,” Penelope said. She gazed at Officer Collins’ shiny diamond ring as she jotted more notes.

  “Do you always start work that early?”

  Penelope brushed her cheek with her hand. “No. Sometimes. It depends on the day.”

  Officer Collins nodded and chewed her bottom lip. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, the blonde strands blending with her porcelain-colored skin. “And just to confirm, you didn’t see anyone or anything suspicious when you got downstairs?”

  “No. I mean, besides Jordan being here so early. Why are you asking...it’s a suicide, right?”

  “We investigate all unattended deaths. I know this is hard, but they’re standard questions,” she said, a bit quickly, like she was reciting from a manual.

  “Have you found something that makes you think it’s not suicide?” Penelope asked, instinctively lowering her voice.

  An expression passed over Officer Collins’ face, a brief second that made Penelope pause, stop her mind from turning in circles, and focus on what she was saying. “Too soon to say,” Collins said simply.

  “I can’t think of anything that was different, Officer Collins.” Penelope said, carefully considering her words. “It was the same delivery guy that comes every week. I met him out back in the lot like always, only for a few minutes. He didn’t come inside, just stacked everything on the porch, then left for his next stop. I logged in the delivery, and was putting things away before opening the kitchen up for the day. I went in the freezer and the light went out. Chef Jordan was—”