MURDER ON A DESIGNER DIET by Shawn Reilly Simmons Page B

have to keep my distance. The last time we responded to a complaint, Miss Alves called and threatened to bring a harassment suit against the department and our boss got a visit from his boss, telling us to stay away.”
    â€œWho is calling in the complaints about the parties?” Penelope asked.
    â€œNeighbors from the block mostly. A lot of the time it’s the lady next door. I gave her my card once, and now she leaves me messages about people not picking up dog poop from the sidewalk or parking in front of the fire hydrant. Her noise complaints from next door are real. She might be exaggerating about some of the other stuff.”
    â€œWhat does she think is going on there? And what does it have to do with Max?” Penelope said.
    â€œI don’t know. She just says there are always people coming and going at all hours of the night. It’s a quiet block except for that one building. Maybe Christian was slinging drugs out of there, but we’ve never found any. He’s either good at getting rid of them quick when we show up or he has a hiding place we haven’t uncovered.”
    Penelope was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of getting involved with what could be a very dangerous group of people. “That doesn’t make sense. I can’t believe Max would be friends with someone like that.”
    â€œWho knows what people do? Go ahead and help your friend. Just stay out of trouble.”

Chapter 18

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    Penelope took a bite of bagel topped with cream cheese and smoked salmon and stared out at the small park across the street. A few people were lounging on benches or lying on blankets on the grass reading books and newspapers, while others strolled along the asphalt paths, tugging dog leashes or pushing baby strollers. It was unseasonably warm for late fall, and the city dwellers were taking advantage of the weather before being closed up inside during the coldest months. Penelope wished she was with Joey, strolling through Central Park or taking in a museum on this beautiful day.
    She ate a chunk of cantaloupe, its deep sweetness reminding her of warm summer nights. She thought about the bitterly cold mornings of winter, and hoped she’d get to spend the holidays with Joey, their first Christmas as a couple. She usually tried to work as much as possible during the season to make it go by faster, but held out hope this would be a memorable one.
    Her phone was lying on the table next to her plate and she swiped it to life, gazing down at the picture of the two of them.
    Suddenly a text popped onto the screen. It was from her sous chef, Francis. “We have a call time for tomorrow yet?”
    Penelope swiped her cheek before typing her response. “Yes, crew arriving at 5 p.m. All-nighter until 5 a.m.”
    The little bubble appeared on the text screen, letting her know he was typing a response. It came across: “????”
    She smiled and typed, “I know. Crazy job. Can you let the others know?”
    His reply: “Sure, Boss. See you then.”
    She typed “THX” and put her phone back on the table. She waved at the waiter as he passed by. “I’ll take that mimosa after all.”
    He nodded and hurried back inside. Penelope replayed the phone call from Max the night before in her mind and wondered again if she’d misread the situation. She had been woken from a deep sleep, and her mind wasn’t sharp when she spoke with him. Maybe she’d blown the whole thing out of proportion, and in the process had put her own needs and happiness in jeopardy. She might be able to convince herself of that, except for the persistent image in her mind of Christian’s blood-soaked legs. The waiter placed the mimosa on the table in front of her.
    Penelope took a sip of her drink and pulled a pen from her purse. If she thought about something else besides Max’s wellbeing for a few minutes, maybe a good idea of how to proceed would come to her.