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listened to the conversation at the table.
    Quentin sat up straight, his expression one of concern as he answered the officer’s questions.
    Jeanne hurried over to the podium to greet them. “Oh good lord, Penelope, I’m so glad you’re here. Oh, and Miss Madison and…”
    “This is my brother, Max,” Arlena said.
    “Oh, well,” Jeanne said. Her usually serene smile had been replaced with a nervous grimace. She began gathering up various menus, almost dropping them at one point. Her eyes flicked towards the back of the dining room at the table with the police officers. “They’ve been trying to call you, Penelope. Those detectives are asking about the two young girls you have working for you.”
    “Why, what’s going on?” Penelope asked, alarm sending a red flush up her neck to her cheeks. She pulled her backpack from her shoulders and reached inside for her phone. She had three missed calls, one from an unknown Florida number, one from Francis and one from Joey. “My phone must be on silent. I can’t believe I missed all of these calls.”
    “Nobody knows where the girls are,” Jeanne said, lowering her voice and glancing furtively around the room. Her silver curls swayed around her glasses that were always perched on the end of her nose when not swinging by a lanyard around her neck. “Their parents are really upset. They’ve been up and down the beach looking for them all weekend. No one has seen them.”
    “That’s terrible,” Penelope said. “Do you think they crossed over to the mainland?”
    “The ferry captain doesn’t remember seeing them,” Jeanne said, putting the menus in the crook of her elbow and wringing her hands. “The detectives came by this morning, started questioning my guests.” Jeanne shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear, let’s get you a table.”
    “I’ll be right over,” Penelope said to Arlena. “I’m going to check on my guys.”
    Jeanne led Arlena and Max in the opposite direction to a four top next to the large picture window overlooking the ocean. Penelope weaved her way to the table in the back. A few of the diners eyed her quietly while others gazed curiously at the back table.
    “And that was the last time you saw them?” The male detective was directing his question at both of her chefs across the breakfast table. He was making notes in a leather-bound notebook in front of him as they spoke.
    “Yes, sir,” Francis said. “We all did. It was a big party, and practically everyone from work was there. Hey, Boss,” he said as Penelope neared the table.
    “You guys okay?” Penelope asked.
    Quentin continued to stare at the table.
    “This is Detective Williams and Detective Torres,” Francis said, nodding towards the other side of the table. “They’re looking for Sabena and Rebekkah.”
    Detective Torres leaned forward.
    “And you are?”
    “I’m Penelope Sutherland. I’m the head caterer on the movie,” Penelope said, extending her hand. Torres stood up rigidly from her seat and shook firmly. Detective Williams stood up and looked down at Penelope, towering over her by at least a foot. He shook her hand with similar authority then retook his seat.
    “Miss Sutherland…” Detective Williams said, flipping over a page in his notebook. “We have you on our list of people to talk to. You hired Rebekkah Flores and Sabena Lambert to work as waitresses on the set?”
    “Yes. On occasion, we have the girls come and serve for us. It’s usually either for lunch or dinner, no more than twelve to fifteen hours a week.”
    “How well do you know them?” Detective Torres asked. Her arms had found their way back into a tight fold across her chest.
    Penelope thought for a second. “I’ve only known them for a few weeks. I do know they’re best friends. Sabena told me she and Rebekkah have been since they were little.”
    Detective Williams took notes as she spoke.
    “They’re hard workers. I’ve never had an issue with them not showing up or