Chapter 31
Theo
Prepping for our first playoff game—and school in general—kept me busy all week. And the fact that Pen and I spent more nights together in my bed than in our separate rooms probably should have worried me.
But it was so good, I couldn’t bring myself to keep my distance. Besides, we were on the same page. We’d just added a new dimension to our friendship.
We’d met with Garrett Thursday night to go over what we knew and show him the notes we’d found. The body at the creek had already been identified as a woman in her late twenties who’d disappeared five years earlier from nearby Wenatchee.
Garrett took the possibility that Morris had something to do with both victims seriously, but made it clear that they didn’t have enough to consider Morris a suspect.
Our theory that he’d intentionally painted the sites where the bodies were found was interesting, but so far, just a theory. And could be a coincidence.
I didn’t think so, but the ins and outs of law enforcement investigations were Garrett’s area.
Football was mine, and Friday night, my kids killed it. Away games were always tough—harder mentally—but they’d played like they already knew they were going to win. They were just showing the other team.
It had been a great way to end the week, especially since Pen had made the two-and-a-half-hour drive to watch the game. We’d both slept in the next day and spent a leisurely day together—mostly in bed.
I woke up Sunday to a text from my mom asking if I wanted to join them at Christmas Village. It was still November, but Christmas Village had expanded to open in the fall with a pumpkin patch and hayrides. Personally, I was in for the hot cocoa and kettle corn.
Penelope had slept in her own room Saturday night. Probably for the best. I liked it when she stayed in bed with me, but we were walking a thin line.
I got up, and when I came out of my bedroom, Penelope’s door was open, but I didn’t see her in there.
She wasn’t in the kitchen or in the living room, either.
Had she gone somewhere? A quick check out front confirmed her car was in the driveway.
She could have gone for a walk. The sky was clear, but it was pretty cold out, so I doubted that was the case.
I went back down the hallway and approached her art studio.
The door was ajar, and I could hear the faint sound of her humming.
Quietly, I moved closer, my mouth turning up in the hint of a smile.
She was still in her tank top and pajama pants with her hair in a ponytail.
Palette in one hand and paintbrush in the other, her back was to me, and I watched as she took a step away from her easel and tilted her head, as if considering.
Still humming softly, she painted a few strokes, pausing to dip her brush into the paint. From what I could see, she was painting a creek. It wasn’t the same scene in the Morris piece. This was her own. The creek curved around wet rocks and the sky was a brilliant blue.
It was stunning.
I watched her for a moment, captivated, until my chest started to ache. Pulling myself from the scene I couldn’t get enough of, I turned and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. I didn’t want to interrupt her.
Halfway through my first cup, she emerged. She had a few flecks of white paint on her cheek and a bit of blue on her nose.
“I didn’t hear you get up.” She put her palette and brush in the sink and came to the table. “How’s your head? I was worried you might be getting a migraine.”
“Really?” Instinctively, I stretched my neck. Everything felt fine. “No, I think I’m okay.”
“That’s good.”
“What made you worry I was getting a migraine?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes you make a face like your head hurts and rub the back of your neck. You did it a few times yesterday.”
I stared at her for a second, struck by the fact that she’d noticed.
I wasn’t sure what to do with that, so I tried to brush off the feeling. “I’m good. What are you up to today? You know, since we’re no longer hunting for bodies.”
She laughed. “My lack of amateur detective work has left my schedule remarkably open.”
“My family is going to Christmas Village. Any interest in wandering around with a bunch of Havens? I can’t promise my brothers will behave themselves, but there will be hot cocoa and kettle corn.”
“Hot cocoa and kettle corn sound fantastic. When do we need to leave?”
I checked the time. “We have a couple of hours, so take your time.”
“I’ll go shower.” She stood. “I probably have paint on me. Do I have paint on my face?”
“A little.”
“You should have told me.”
I smiled. She was so damn cute. “I would have if we were leaving the house. But you’re cute with paint on your nose.”
Her cheeks flushed and she stumbled backward. “Yeah, well… I don’t want paint on me when we go to the Village. So, I’ll just go shower now.”
She went down the hallway and I let out a long breath, tempted to follow her into the shower.
The air was crisp as Penelope and I got out of my truck at Christmas Village.
Hay bales, cornstalks, and pumpkins stood on either side of the big Cook Family Farm sign, and the transition from fall to Christmas decor was already beginning.
Twinkle lights were strung along the walkways and six-foot candy canes flanked the entrance.
Penelope was dressed in jeans with boots and my Timberwolves hoodie. She’d basically stolen it at this point, and I had no desire to get it back from her. I liked seeing her wear it too much.
Kind of like she was mine. Although she wasn’t. Not like that.
We walked past the entrance and the scent of sugar filled the air. Congregated in an open space just inside was practically my entire family.
Mom had Garrett and Harper’s daughter Isla in her arms, and Dad was carrying Emily, Zachary and Marigold’s daughter. Both babies were bundled up against the cold with little knit hats on their heads.
Josiah’s daughter, Abby, was strapped to his chest in a baby carrier. She had a similar knit hat, as did my older nieces and nephews—Annika and Levi’s kids. Even Owen had one. I had a feeling Mom had made all of them.
I lifted my hand in greeting as we approached. “Hey, everyone. Do you all know my friend, Penelope?”
After a chorus of greetings, Marigold stepped in to give her a hug. So did Melanie. Luke gave me a knowing glance, but I ignored him. Zachary’s look was longer, and less subtle, but I ignored him, too.
Owen lifted a hand and gave her a shy smile. “Hi, Ms. Fallbrook.”
“Hi, Owen,” she said with a smile. “I bet it’s weird to see your teacher outside of school.”
“Wait, Penelope is Ms. Fallbrook?” Luke asked. “The Ms. Fallbrook?”
Owen’s eyes widened in alarm, and he shook his head at Luke. “No.”
Garrett grinned at his son, and I chuckled. Owen had once admitted to having a crush on Penelope when she’d been his middle school art teacher.
“What do you mean, the Ms. Fallbrook?” Penelope asked.
Luke glanced at Owen and seemed to decide to take pity on him. “He just said you were one of his favorite teachers.”
“That’s sweet,” she said. “Thanks, Owen.”
Owen let out a relieved breath and Luke winked at him.
I just shook my head. Owen wasn’t the only one who got confusing feelings around Penelope.
“It’s nice to meet everybody,” Penelope said.
“Since we’re all here, should we walk around?” Mom asked.
Owen reached for his baby sister and took her from Mom. She giggled and batted at his face.
“Yes, please,” Annika said. Her son, Will, was jumping up and down in front of her. “I think someone needs to get his wiggles out.”
Our group started down the path, and Penelope settled in beside me with her hands stuffed in the pocket of my hoodie. We wandered past an apple cider donut stand and a booth selling local honey and jars of spices. The big kids ran around the adults, laughing and joking with their aunts and uncles.
When we stopped at a few of the little shops to browse the Christmas decor, I made sure to look carefully at the ornaments Penelope lingered over so I’d remember which ones she liked. Roommates could get each other Christmas gifts, right? That wasn’t weird.
Gradually, we separated into smaller groups as people meandered around. Annika’s kids wanted to see the reindeer and their guard donkey, Horace. I’d promised Pen hot cocoa and kettle corn, so we moved farther along the path to a booth selling both.
The kettle corn came in big bags, so I bought one for us to share, along with two cups of cocoa. Pen took hers with a smile, and we moved across the path to get out of the way.
She sipped her cocoa, getting whipped cream on her lip. As much as I wanted to kiss it off, I held back.
I glanced away as she licked her lips and had to do a double take. Was that Amanda? A man held her hand and led her to one of the little shops. He looked around, as if he were checking his surroundings, and I caught a glimpse of his face. It was Michael Morris.
“Pen,” I whispered, nudging her with my elbow. “Look.”
“Look where? What am I looking at?”
Instead of going into the shop, Michael led Amanda around the side of the building.
“I just saw Amanda with Michael Morris.”
“Where?”
“They went around the side of that shop over there.”
“But why would they be together?” she asked.
I shrugged. Without saying another word, we casually walked past the shop and stopped on the path, pretending to dig into our bag of kettle corn. I angled so I could just see behind the small building and took a handful.
The couple clearly thought they were out of sight. Michael put his arms around her and brought her in for a long kiss.
“He’s married,” Pen whispered. “And I don’t think it’s to her.”
He broke the kiss, and they started talking.
I wondered if we could get close enough to hear.
Nodding toward the shop, I took Pen’s hand.
We hurried around the other side and took careful steps toward the back.
We couldn’t see them, but their voices carried enough that we could hear their conversation.
“I just don’t understand why you have to cancel,” Amanda said.
“I told you, it’s not a good time,” Michael answered. “I have some things I have to handle.”
“What things?”
“Things you don’t need to worry about.”
“You mean her.” Her tone had an edge of anger.
“It’s not about that.”
“Of course it is. Everything is about her.”
“Will you stop?” he snapped. “I already told you, I’m going to take care of it. She’s at her parents’ anyway. I doubt she’s coming back this time. I’m not worried about her.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“I think somebody knows.”
“About—”
“Shh. Don’t. Not here.”
“But, how? It’s not possible.”
“It shouldn’t be possible. But Curt keeps asking questions.”
“He gives me the creeps,” she said.
“You and me both. Listen, I just need to lie low for a while. If Curt keeps poking his nose where it doesn’t belong, eventually he’s going to—”
“No,” she said, interrupting him. “We made sure.”
“I know we did. But if we leave now, it’ll look suspicious. I promise, I’ll make it up to you once everything dies down.”
They went quiet and Penelope raised her eyebrows at me, as if to ask what I thought they were doing. I shifted enough to glance around the corner. He had her pushed up against the building.
I grabbed Penelope’s hand, and we quickly moved back to the path. “They were making out back there.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah, I wish I could unsee that.”
“I have so many questions right now,” she said as we walked. “They’re the ones having an affair?”
“It looks like it.”
“I wonder if they were the ones having an affair all along, and Amanda was never with Edwin.”
“Or she went for the son after the father died.”
Pen winced. “Could be. But what was Michael talking about when he said he thinks someone knows? He couldn’t have meant the bodies that were found?”
“I don’t see how he’d know about that, unless he’s got a friend in the sheriff’s office or something. They’re not even investigating his father.”
“Whatever he was talking about, Amanda was in on it.”
Our eyes met and I knew we were thinking the same thing. Did they kill Michael’s father? Was the murderer also a victim?
Maybe we’d been right all along, and Morris’s death had been foul play.
My vision shimmered around the edges, and I blinked a few times, hoping it would go away. A spasm of pain hit me out of nowhere, shooting up my neck and radiating across the back of my head.
“Shit,” I mumbled, grabbing the back of my neck.
“Are you okay?”
I blinked again, but it was coming on fast. “Not really.”
“Is it a migraine?”
“Yeah.”
She put her hand on my chest. “Let’s get you home. I’ll drive.”
“No, I can…” I trailed off. It felt like someone was jamming an ice pick into the back of my skull.
“I got it.” She took the bag of kettle corn and slipped her hand into mine. “Let’s go.”
With my vision starting to blur and the pain making me nauseated, I went with Pen to my truck, and she drove me home.