Murder on the Half Shell (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 2) (2 page)

Chapter 2

“You just crack their heads off like this.”
Snap!
“And then suck out the juice.”

Penelope watched as the man’s thick fingers twisted the head off of a crawfish. He raised the little red head to his lips and sucked it clean. Her stomach did a flip when he handed one to her to try.

“That’s okay,” she said, glancing around to see what else was being served for dinner.

“Come on. Don’t tell me a brave girl like you is afraid of little Crusty here. You have to have one,” he said, motioning for her to take the sea creature from his grubby hand.

Penelope accepted it, pinching it between two fingers.

“Here, give me that.” He gestured toward her clear plastic cup filled halfway with white wine.

Penelope reluctantly handed it over, watching it disappear behind his thick knuckles. Earlier that afternoon, as Penelope and her crew finally served lunch after a forty-minute delay, Shane had announced he’d arranged a beach party for the entire cast and crew to celebrate the end of the long filming week. She’d been looking forward to it ever since.

By the time the cast and crew finally broke for lunch, her staff had to pull the tray of salmon off the line because it had gotten too dry, but they were able to salvage most everything else. Penelope had to admit she’d been thinking about a crisp glass or two of Sauvignon Blanc all day. She hadn’t particularly been looking forward to pulling apart a boiled crawfish for dinner. Somehow it felt like she was back at work in the kitchen.

“You’ll thank me after you taste it.” 

Penelope leaned forward slightly, holding the crawfish away from her body with a crooked arm, afraid she would dribble its juice on her short white sundress. She looked into the eyes of the crawfish and then into the eyes of Emilio Babineau, celebrity chef and owner of Craw Daddy’s, a popular restaurant in New Orleans, and coincidentally her former culinary school instructor. She pinched the head between two fingers and began to twist, separating it from the body.

“There you go,” Emilio said, chuckling. “Now, suck it out.”

“Really?” Penelope asked. “I use shrimp heads for making seafood stock, but I’ve never been tempted to suck on one.”

“It’s a delicacy. You won’t believe the flavor in there.”

Penelope scrunched up her nose and placed the crawfish head between her lips, trying to shake the image of tiny crawfish brains. When she pulled the liquid into her mouth, all doubt fell away as she tasted the spicy brine. “Oh man, that is good.” She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, the crawfish’s head still pinched between her fingers.

“Just like a baby lobster,” Emilio said.

The table next to them was piled high with boiled crawfish, shrimp, corn and potatoes, all resting on a layer of newspaper. A few members of the film crew stood nearby, drinking beers and picking through the food. Penelope slid her feet out of her sandals and spread her toes in the sand, which was still warm even though the sun was setting over the ocean. She shifted her weight back and forth, giving her tired feet a mini massage.

Arlena approached them, her black sundress rippling in the wind, revealing evenly tanned legs. She glanced at the table piled high with crawfish, and Penelope saw the briefest moment of disgust slip across her face.

“Emilio, this is Arlena Madison,” Penelope said, introducing them. “Emilio was one of my chef instructors at culinary school. Shane flew him down from New Orleans to throw this party for us tonight.”

Emilio gazed at Arlena. “I’ve seen all your movies. You’re even more beautiful in person.”

“Thank you,” Arlena said, smiling graciously. She then turned to Penelope and said, “Sam’s not coming this weekend, but he sent the boat. Since we’re off for a few days, I was thinking we could stay on it together. Take a break?”

“Sam Cavanaugh?” Emilio asked. “So the tabloids are right. You two are an item?” He flipped open the cooler that was wedged in the sand nearby, plunging his hand into the ice water and grabbing a beer. He seemed to remember just then that he was holding Penelope’s plastic cup of wine and handed it back to her. She took it from him, disappointed that it was now warm to the touch and smudged with crawfish juice.

“Sure,” Penelope said to Arlena. “It will be nice to get away.”

“Hey, you want a crawfish?” Emilio asked. He turned and scooped a handful of them from the table, shaking off the excess liquid onto the sand, and took a step towards Arlena.    

Although he was still well away from her, Arlena took an awkward step backwards. Her foot caught in her long dress and she lost her balance. Penelope grabbed her forearm, stopping her from falling over.

“Damn, girl, you okay? These critters are long gone, ain’t gonna bite ya.”

His New Orleans drawl was becoming more pronounced with each beer.

“Arlena’s allergic to shellfish, Chef,” Penelope said.

“Really? Now that’s a damn shame. Not even a tiny little crawfish?”

“Nope,” Arlena said, giving him a tight smile.

“And here I am, the Crawfish King of Louisiana. Looks like things won’t work out between us after all.” Emilio laughed loudly at his own joke.

Penelope motioned with her glass to the thatch-roofed bar perched on the beach behind them. “Drink?”

“Absolutely,” Arlena said, flicking her eyes at Emilio. He beamed at her, an icy beer in one hand and crawfish dangling from the other.

“Excuse us, Chef,” Penelope said, picking up her sandals and leading Arlena up the beach towards the bar.

The sun was just setting for the day and a loose circle of tiki torches flickered in the breeze, marking off the space for the party. Penelope was relieved she and her crew had the night off and that someone else had to do all of the cooking and cleanup for a change.

Penelope ordered two glasses of wine and asked the bartender for some wet wipes. She tore open the foil packs and wiped the spot on Arlena’s arm where she had touched her, and then carefully wiped away the crawfish residue from her hands and underneath her fingernails.

“That guy was your teacher?” Arlena asked a bit incredulously.

“Yes, he taught fish kitchen. Actually, he gave me a letter of recommendation that helped me get my first job after school.” Penelope glanced over her shoulder at the growing crowd on the beach, noticing her crew grouped together at one of the tables.

Gavin ducked around a few partygoers and approached the bar. “Hello, ladies. Penelope, it’s nice to see you out of your apron.”

“Are you recovered from this long week of work?” Penelope asked.

“Not quite.” He pulled a thin silver flask from the pocket of his pants and took a swig. Penelope could smell the distinct tang of whiskey. “But I will be soon.” He offered the flask to Penelope who waved it away. He pulled his cigarettes from his other pocket, an odd-sized pack with an unfamiliar holographic design on the front.

“What are those?” Penelope asked.

“Lambert & Butlers,” Gavin replied, eyeing the pack before slipping it into his shirt pocket. “I had to pay duty on the extra cartons I brought over with me. Luckily more will be coming my way next week.”

“They don’t sell something you can smoke at Rose’s?” Arlena asked, crinkling her nose.

“I’m hopelessly British, I’m afraid,” Gavin said. “I can’t smoke tobacco from Virginia, USA, wherever that is. I sound like a snob, don’t I?”

“It just adds to your charm,” Arlena said. “America is going to embrace you when this movie comes out. Then maybe you’ll appreciate our cigarettes.”

“From your lips,” Gavin said.

“Penelope, over here!”

Penelope followed the shout and saw Emilio, who had been joined by Shane, waving her over. Penelope sighed and rolled her eyes at Arlena. “Be right back.”

“Duty calls,” Gavin said.

Penelope made her way down the beach, feeling the warm breeze blow through her thin dress.

“Emilio says you were his student,” Shane said.

“That’s right, several years ago,” Penelope said, nodding, “About seven now. I was sorry when you left—”

“To open the restaurant,” Emilio said quickly, clapping Shane on the back. “When those kinds of opportunities arise you have to go for it.”

Shane choked on a mouthful of beer. After recovering he said, “Small world, huh?” 

“It sure is,” Emilio agreed.

“How do you guys know each other?” Penelope asked. 

“I’ve been a fan of Craw Daddy’s for a while now,” Shane said. “I eat there every time I’m in New Orleans. Me and Emilio got to know each other, and now I’m an investor in the restaurants.”

“Restaurants?” Penelope asked. “I didn’t know you had more than one.”

A gust of wind blew the tails of Emilio’s Hawaiian shirt up, and Penelope caught a glimpse of his belly. He wasn’t overweight, but he’d definitely gotten softer around the middle since school. He also seemed to have more tattoos than she remembered, having seen him sunbathing behind the kitchen classroom on more than one occasion. He now had a cartoon drawing of a smiling crawfish on his left calf and his restaurant’s logo blazed across the right. His arms were covered in flames, licking upwards as if they had caught fire on a hot grill.

“Craw Daddy’s is expanding,” Shane said, slapping Emilio’s bicep.

“We’re opening up our new location right here.” Emilio swept his arm in an arc, motioning at the white sand and ocean, rocking forward as he gestured. Penelope glanced at the cooler next to Emilio’s feet and wondered how many beers were left inside.

“You’re opening a restaurant on this little island?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah, and I’m remodeling an old house for a vacation home here too. This guy is a great salesman.” Emilio swung and almost missed Shane’s bicep in a return punch. “I’ve got the original place in New Orleans and one opening in Atlanta, and we’re looking at Miami,” Emilio said with an amazed expression.

“Wow, that’s a lot of ground to cover,” Penelope said. “How did all of this happen?”

“Shane here has the Andrea Island connections, but he wants to take Craw Daddy’s to the next level. He introduced me to the powers that be up in town and they dig it. Well, most of them,” Emilio mumbled, shrugging again and taking another swig from his bottle. “Shane thinks it will be a big draw for people to come here, you know, the exclusive VIP celebrity crowd. ‘Dine in paradise at the Andrea Island Craw Daddy’s.’ That kind of thing.” Emilio motioned with his hands as if reading off of a marquee in the sky, his beer bottle dangling between his thumb and forefinger.

“I know it will be my favorite place to eat. And I’ll bring lots of friends,” Shane said, nodding.

“Well, congratulations, Chef,” Penelope said. “I’m really happy for you.”

Emilio paused, as if he was trying to remember something. After a few seconds, he appeared to abandon the thought and said, “Shane has some great contacts here. Found the restaurant location for me, everything, really. Everyone likes seafood, right?” He laughed again, his cheeks bright red under his dark five o’clock shadow. His spiky black hair was holding up surprisingly well in the Florida humidity. “Well, not everybody,” he murmured, raising his beer bottle in a toast towards the bar behind them and taking a long look at Arlena.

“I remember coming here with my sister when we were younger,” Shane said to no one in particular. “Our parents would load us up first thing in the morning and drive half the day, cross over the ferry to get here. This was our favorite place to visit when we were kids.” His eyes lost focus for a moment.

Emilio and Shane began reminiscing about a restaurant they frequented in Vegas. Penelope excused herself when they moved on to musing over some aspiring actress they had met there who offered to do an audition for Shane during dinner. Penelope was relieved to have missed the end of that story, embarrassed for the woman they were discussing in less than flattering terms.

Penelope walked back toward the bar, taking another look at her team as she passed. Her gaze stopped short and a pin pricked her stomach when she noticed a beer bottle dangling from Regan’s hand as he talked to the group. Rebekkah and Sabena gazed at him intently, both of them glassy eyed and hanging on his every word. The girls were dressed alike in tiny white shorts and pink tank tops, long ponytails and matching hoop earrings brushing their shoulders.

“Regan?” Penelope approached her team from behind, interrupting him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Miss Sutherland,” Regan said. He didn’t attempt to hide the beer from her. “Sure.”

Sabena and Rebekkah leaned closer to each other, their water bottles dripping condensation onto the sand. Rebekkah pulled out a bright pink tube of lip gloss from her tiny silver cross-body purse. She swiped her lips with the sparkly liquid, then offered it to Sabena, who to Penelope’s surprise, accepted it and swiped her own lips. Penelope didn’t like drinking out of someone else’s water glass, much less using their freshly swiped lipstick wand. Sabena rubbed her lips together and tucked the tube into her back pocket. The faint smell of artificial strawberries wafted towards Penelope. She refocused on Regan.

“Are you drinking a beer?” Penelope asked. She stood on the dune, the downward slope of the sand giving her more height.

“Yes, do you want one?” Regan asked. He took a step towards the cooler propped in the sand next to the picnic table.

“No. Regan, are you twenty-one?” Penelope asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Regan’s eyes lit up. “Almost…in a year and a half.”

“That’s what I thought,” Penelope said. “I just filled out your paperwork for payroll. You’re old enough to work but not old enough to drink.” She made eye contact with Francis, who shook his head sheepishly.

“Oh, right. My parents let me drink as long as I’m not driving. I’m sorry, I forgot. It’s an island rule.”

Penelope looked into his eyes and could see he wasn’t lying. “The thing is, it’s not really allowed, legally, in the rest of the country. The production could be held liable, and me personally, if anything happened to you.”

“Sorry, Boss,” Regan said. He drained the bottle onto the sand and tossed it into the trash barrel. “I’ll stick to soda from now on.”

Penelope turned to the girls. “I know for sure you are both way too young to be drinking.”

Rebekkah grinned and showed Penelope her water bottle. “Just water. We signed a pledge at school.”

“What kind of pledge?” Penelope asked.

“No drinking, no cheating, no drugs, you know. The usual,” Sabena chimed in.

Regan sniffed a quick laugh as he dug around in the cooler for a soda.

Penelope sighed. “I’m not going to make you sign anything like that. I trust your judgment, but don’t let me down, or you won’t be asked back to the set.”

The girls nodded in unison.

“How are you getting home?” Penelope asked.

“Bean’s mom is coming to get us,” Rebekkah said. “We’re sleeping over.”

“Okay, have fun tonight. And have a good weekend,” Penelope said.

Francis jogged behind Penelope as she walked back up the beach towards the bar. “I should have said something to him about the beer, Boss. I’ll make sure he sticks to soda.”

“Good. Keep an eye on them too,” she said, eyeing Rebekkah and Sabena’s tanned legs. Sabena giggled behind her hand at something Regan said and shot a quick glance at Penelope.

Penelope never would’ve been allowed to drink in high school, or even stay out late at a party. She felt uneasy, the beach suddenly feeling dangerous, the crashing waves reminding her that the ocean swallowed people whole, sweeping them away to where they were never found again. And the thorny brush of the mangrove fields that lined the sand could hide anyone who wanted to stalk a young vulnerable girl at a party.

Penelope willed the paranoid thoughts from her mind and turned away from her team. “Be safe,” she said to Francis over her shoulder as she walked away.