Murder on the Half Shell (A Red Carpet Catering Mystery Book 2) by Shawn Reilly Simmons Page A

bartender Jen seemed to be the only one waiting on customers. Just then a strum of guitar strings sounded over the loud speakers as a man’s voice checked the mike.
    “Sounds like the band is tuning up,” Max said.
    Jen returned with their food and drinks, setting everything down quickly in front of them and turning to go.
    Max called after her, “Excuse me, who’s getting ready to play in there?”
    Jen’s expression softened. “That’s my old man, Jonny, and his friends. He loves getting up there and singing. They do some pretty good classic rock covers.” With that she moved away to help a nearby table.
    “I’m going to head to the ladies room, excuse me,” Penelope said after polishing off a few shrimp. Joey and Max both stood up briefly when she left.
    The restaurant’s interior was covered in dark wood paneling, a large square bar taking up the majority of the space. A row of tall two-top tables with stools pushed under them lined the back wall. Black and white photos of people in bathing suits lounging on the deck at Josie’s hung around the room. Judging from the variety of swimwear and hairstyles, Penelope guessed the photos spanned several decades.
    A stage was angled in the front corner, facing out over a scuffed linoleum dance floor. The band was setting up, flinging microphone cords and amp cables around and tuning up their guitars. Penelope popped into the ladies room, then was almost knocked over by Jen as she emerged back into the narrow hallway. Jen apologized and hurried past, pushing her way into the kitchen at the end of the hallway. Catching a glimpse of a familiar young man standing at the counter, Penelope went to the door and pushed it open wide enough to duck her head inside.
    “Regan, hey,” Penelope said, waving from the doorway.
    Regan stood behind a steel table in the middle of the kitchen, picking through a pile of shrimp.
    Regan looked up with a surprised smile. “What’re you doing here, Boss?”
    “Having dinner with some friends,” Penelope said, stepping all the way into the kitchen.
    Jen was busy at the back counter, pulling shrimp from the steamer, dusting them with seasoning and filling up clean baskets for service. She had a cordless phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she worked. “We close at two a.m.…Yes, there’s live music tonight…Okay, no, no reservations, just come on down…Okay, see you then.” She pulled off her plastic glove and ended the call, hanging the phone back in its cradle on the wall. When she saw Penelope in the kitchen she froze and said, “Did you need something, hon?”
    Regan introduced Jen to Penelope, who turned out to be his mother.
    “Oh, it’s nice to meet you. Regan just loves working on that set.” She excused herself as the phone rang again, grabbing it and a tray of shrimp before pushing her way back out the kitchen door.
    “Regan, can I ask you something?” Penelope said after she’d gone. She watched him sort through the shrimp and saw he was quick and efficient about it.
    “Sure,” Regan said, pausing for a minute and looking at up her.
    “Did you hear what happened to Rebekkah and Sabena?”
    “Yeah, I did,” Regan said, looking back down at the shrimp and resuming his sorting. His shoulders stiffened under his Josie’s t-shirt. “I had to talk to the police today. This lady cop came in here and asked me a bunch of questions.”
    “Detective Torres?”
    “Yeah, that’s her,” Regan said.
    “Were you with Rebekkah and Sabena on Friday night? Francis said you offered to get them home safely. Did something happen?” Penelope kept her tone neutral, worried she might scare him into silence.
    “Yes,” Regan said after a moment. “That crawfish guy with the French name? He came over and started talking to us. Like talking to all of us, but mostly talking to Sabena. He said he had no way to get home and that he’d give us beer if I gave him a ride.” Regan looked down at the shrimp in front of him