Chapter 25 #2
“Neither do I, but it looks exactly like an Edwin Morris painting.” She moved her arm to point at the wall above the coffee and tea station. “That painting. I’ve stared at it hundreds of times. I’d know it anywhere.”
I looked between the painting and the TV screen a few times, trying to match the two images, but the interview ended, and it went back to the newsroom.
“What are you talking about, Penny?” Colleen asked.
“I swear that crime scene was the same as the painting over there.” She gestured again.
“Well, how could that be?” Colleen asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m telling you, it was.”
“See if you can find that news story online,” I said as I stood.
“Where are you going?” Pen asked.
I pointed to the painting.
Before she could ask what I meant—or tell me not to take it off the wall—I went over to the coffee and tea station. The painting did look strikingly similar—especially the barn with the crooked doors. I wanted to know if this one had a note in the back.
One of the staff watched me with confusion as I lifted it from the hook on the wall. I smiled. “Just need to borrow this for a minute. She’s an art teacher.”
That wasn’t much of an explanation, but she didn’t stop me, so I brought the painting to our table.
“See?” Pen held up her phone next to it.
The paused news story on the screen showed the crime scene. I quickly compared the details. She was right. It looked exactly the same.
Without a word, we flipped the painting over and started running our fingers over the back of the frame.
“What on earth are you two doing?” Colleen asked.
Penelope gasped. “Here.”
I felt the spot. Something stuck out of the frame, just enough that I could feel it with the pads of my fingers.
Pen knew what she was doing, so I held the painting while she unfastened the back. She loosened it enough that she was able to get a grip on the edge of the paper and draw it out.
I gently set the painting aside while Penelope unfolded the note.
What have I done?
I met Penelope’s gaze. We were both wide-eyed, and without needing to say a word, I knew an identical thought had just run through our minds. Had Edwin Morris killed someone and painted the scene of the crime?
Had he been murdered? Or was he a murderer?
“One of you better explain what’s happening,” Colleen said.
“It’s a long story.” Penelope folded the note and hastily tucked it in her purse. “I promise I’ll fill you in on everything soon.”
I glanced around. The other residents seemed uninterested in what we were doing. Probably because the TV volume was so loud. Pen refastened the back of the painting, and I took it to hang it on the wall.
“False alarm,” I said to no one in particular once the painting was back in place. “Thought there was an art emergency, but everything is fine.”
That got me a few glances, but no one seemed to care. Or they couldn’t hear over the weather report blaring from the TV. Either way worked.
I went back to our table where Penelope was standing, saying goodbye to Colleen.
“I’m sorry we can’t stay longer,” she said.
“I’ll be fine.” Colleen waved her hand. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but be careful.”
“I will,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. And call me if you have another dizzy spell or anything like that.”
Colleen’s eyes flicked to me again. “All right, Penny. See you later.”
Penelope hugged her grandma, and I offered a distracted goodbye.
My mind raced as we walked out to my truck. What were the chances Edwin Morris had painted the scene where a body would later be found, and it wasn’t a coincidence? Especially with that note.
Suddenly, the whole thing seemed like a much bigger deal—one I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of. Hunting killers was Garrett’s job, not mine. And every time one of my brothers got mixed up in something bigger than him, things went bad. Really bad.
I hadn’t resolved to never date again because, in my family, relationships seemed to come with a hefty side of danger. But it was one of many reasons to maintain my no-dating rule.
Not that I was dating Penelope.
We got in my truck, and I made a snap decision.
That was the difference. I wasn’t dating Penelope, and I wasn’t going to.
So I could help her figure out what happened to Edwin Morris, even if it turned out he was much more than he seemed.
It wasn’t going to lead us into unexpected danger for which we had no way to be prepared.
That particular curse seemed to follow my brothers, but it had always been tied to their love lives.
Pen was just a friend. I totally had this.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.
She nodded, her eyes wide. “I think Edwin Morris murdered that woman.”
“And painted where he did it. Or at least where he left her body.”
“Do you think that’s what the other notes mean? He had more victims?”
“I think that’s exactly what they mean.”
She adjusted her glasses. “I was not expecting this. Edwin Morris a murderer? What do we do?”
I tapped the steering wheel. “I think we try to find the pattern. Find the locations in those other paintings.”
“And see if we find a body?”
“Yeah.”
She hesitated for a second, then met my eyes. “You’re right. The fact that this one painting might match the site of a body isn’t enough. But if there are more…”
“The police will take it seriously.”
“Now I feel a little bit bad for suspecting his son. And Amanda.”
“I don’t know. Those two still might have something to do with it. Maybe he was a murderer and he was murdered.”
“True, that’s possible. How are we going to find out if the other paintings are real places?”
“Remember what the lady at the gallery was saying? How most of Morris’s paintings are general landscapes. But a few have a defining feature or a landmark, like the barn in that one. And didn’t the other one with a note have a cabin?”
“It did. And the one I have at home has that big rock formation by the creek.”
“Exactly. I bet we can find out where they are. They could be local.”
“The background in the creek painting does look like it’s around here.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m a little creeped out at the idea of hunting for murder victims. But all we need is a little bit of evidence and law enforcement can do the rest, right?”
“Absolutely. No shovels needed.”
She snort-laughed. “I’m sorry. Laughing at that is very morbid.”
“It’s all kinds of absurd, when you think about it.” I turned on the
truck. “Ready, Detective Fallbrook?”
“Ready, Detective Haven.”
“By the way.” I put the truck in reverse. “Penny?”
She groaned. “Don’t even think about it. Grandma Colleen is the only person who calls me Penny.”
Grinning at her, I chuckled. She smiled back.
Just friends, Theo. Just friends.
That was the only way this was going to work—and the only way she wasn’t going to get hurt.