Chapter 38 Theo
Theo
After circling downtown to see if I could spot Pen’s car—I couldn’t—I headed home. Filled with restless energy, I fidgeted and tapped on the steering wheel as I drove.
She’s at home. She has to be.
Dread poured through me when I turned onto our street. The driveway was empty. She wasn’t there.
Fuck.
I parked and went inside, just in case she’d put her car in the garage. Which she never did, but I was getting desperate.
“Pen?” I called, going from room to room. “Pen, are you here?”
The bedrooms and bathrooms were empty. No sign of her in her studio. No car in the garage. I checked the kitchen, looking for any indication she’d been home. Maybe she’d started dinner and realized she needed something from the store. But the kitchen was clean.
I tried calling again. Still no answer.
Maybe she’d gone to see Colleen. I looked up the number for the assisted living center and called.
She wasn’t there, either. I talked to two different people, and both confirmed they hadn’t seen Penelope Fallbrook since the previous weekend.
I decided to call Melanie since she’d seen her last.
“Hey, Theo,” she answered.
“Is Penelope with you?”
“No. We were at the Steaming Mug earlier, but I’m home now.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
Melanie hesitated. “I assumed she was going home, but I guess she didn’t say specifically.”
“She didn’t mention anything about going to the Painter’s Loft? The art gallery downtown?”
“No. What’s going on? You sound worried.”
“I don’t know where she is and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Should we be concerned?”
“Maybe.”
Her voice muffled. “Luke, Theo’s on the phone. He’s worried about Penelope.”
A second later, my brother got on. “What’s up?”
“Fuck, how do I even explain this?”
“I don’t know. Summarize?”
“A local artist died, and Pen and I think he was a serial killer who painted the locations of the bodies. And maybe someone killed him, too. And his wife might have been stalking Pen, but at her old house. Pen left me a message saying she was stopping by the art gallery and now she’s not answering her phone, and I don’t know where she is. ”
“So, the serial killer is dead.”
“Yeah.”
“But the serial killer’s wife was stalking Penelope?”
“Possibly.”
“And the gallery?”
“Belonged to the artist and his wife.”
“The serial killer and the maybe stalker.”
“Yes. And Pen doesn’t know the wife might have been stalking her.”
“Which means she could have walked right into a spider’s web and
not known it.”
“Exactly!”
“You obviously checked the gallery and she’s not there.”
“Right.”
“Have you called Garrett?” he asked.
“Not yet. I called Melanie since she was with her earlier.”
“And you’re sure she’s not at the gallery?”
“I don’t think so. It’s closed and locked up. Looked totally dark.”
He paused. “How locked?”
I knew what he meant. My brothers and I all knew how to pick locks. It had been a basic Tilikum feud skill.
“Go,” I said. “See if you can get in. I’ll call Garrett.”
“Don’t tell him what I’m doing.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll get Josiah and Zachary to check around town. Maybe she’s just out shopping or something.”
“That’s what I keep hoping. But my gut tells me something’s wrong.”
“I get it. Call me if you find her. And don’t leave your phone somewhere.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know. Be careful.”
“You too.”
He ended the call, and I brought up Garrett’s number and hit Send. It rang, but no answer. I didn’t leave a message; I’d call him back.
Just in case, I called Pen again. Still nothing. “Damn it.”
As glad as I was to have Luke checking the gallery, at least to rule it out, I knew she wasn’t there.
Gina Morris. I didn’t know what she’d want with Penelope, but she was the only real lead I had. If they weren’t at the gallery, where else would they be? Her house? She probably lived in town, but I didn’t know where.
I didn’t have time for this. How could I find out where Gina Morris lived—fast?
It hit me like a shock of lightning. Amanda.
If she was having an affair with Michael Morris, chances were she’d know where Gina lived.
I’d had her number once, from when Aunt Louise had set me up with her.
I had to still have it. I never cleaned out my contacts.
I probably still had people from high school in there.
Sure enough, there she was. But would she answer? That was a good question. I hit Send.
“Hello?”
“Amanda? It’s Theo Haven. I know this is weird. Please don’t hang up.”
“Oh. Hi.” She sounded understandably surprised. “What’s up?”
“Do you know where Gina Morris lives?”
“Um, yeah. Why?”
“I’m looking for my girlfriend and I think she might be with Gina.
” Okay, so she wasn’t actually my girlfriend, but that was my dumbass fault, and as soon as I found her, I was going to fix that.
“She probably just left her phone on silent, but I’ll be honest, I’m a little worried about her.
I want to swing by and see if she’s there. ”
“Sure, but…what made you think to call me?”
I winced but decided there was no point in lying to her. “I kind of saw you with Michael Morris at Christmas Village.”
“Oh god.”
“Look, that’s none of my business. I just need to know where Gina lives.”
“Sure.” She didn’t know the address off the top of her head, but she gave me directions and a description.
“Thanks, Amanda.”
“No problem. I hope she’s okay.”
“Yeah, me too.”
I rushed to my truck and pulled out of the driveway. According to Amanda, Gina Morris lived in the southeast corner of town. I ran through the directions in my head as I drove so I wouldn’t forget, and repeatedly picked up my phone, hoping Pen would call.
She didn’t.
The drive felt like an hour, even if the clock on my phone insisted I pulled up out front less than ten minutes later. Amanda had said I couldn’t miss it, and she was right. The house had a circular driveway, a wraparound porch, and a dark red door.
The knot of dread in my stomach tightened. I’d been hoping to find Penelope’s car, but the driveway was empty, as were the spaces in front of the garage.
I got out and went to the front door. The house reminded me of the gallery—dark and seemingly empty. Glancing in a window, it looked like a move in progress. There were boxes everywhere—some stacked, others flat or with open tops.
I knocked and waited. Nothing. Not a sound. I knocked again. “Mrs. Morris?”
Still nothing. “Penelope?”
I beat on the door with the back of my fist. If someone was in the house, they’d have to hear me.
No answer. Not even the faint sound of footsteps.
I checked the knob. Locked. With a frustrated growl, I went looking for another door. There were two—one on the side of the house, and double glass doors in the back. Also locked. I knocked on both, but still no indication anyone was there.
Where the fuck were they?
I jogged over to the garage. Amazingly, the side door was unlocked. I didn’t bother worrying about breaking and entering. I’d explain later. I just needed to find Pen.
“Penelope?” I called.
The garage was cold and dark. I flipped on a light, revealing…
nothing. Just a typical garage with storage shelves, a cluttered work bench, and a midsize SUV parked on one side.
The other space had a car covered by a canvas cloth.
I crept in and tried the door leading into the house, but it was locked.
Since there weren’t any other places to look, I left and jogged back to the front of the house. Feeling increasingly frantic, I looked in the windows. Something was wrong. I didn’t know how I knew, but I was absolutely certain.
Was it possible I was freaking out over nothing? Yeah. Did I care? Nope. I was going to find Penelope by any means necessary.
Even if it meant Garrett wound up arresting me.
I didn’t have anything on me to pick a door lock, so I decided to try the windows. Several were within reach, but were solid glass—not the kind that opened. One of the side windows looked like it would open, but it wouldn’t budge.
Breaking the glass was not a good option, especially because I didn’t know if Pen was actually inside.
But I had to get in. She was in trouble.
I went to the front of the house and looked up.
The second-story windows were closed, but if I could climb onto the porch roof, I could reach them. Maybe I’d be able to get one open.
Using the railing, I hoisted myself up and grabbed the gutter, hoping I didn’t rip it off the edge. It took my weight as I pulled myself up and over, and I scrambled onto the roof.
The pitch was shallow, making it easy to stand. Ignoring the sound of a car driving by—nothing to see here, just a guy on a roof in the dark—I checked the front windows. Locked.
Careful not to slip, I made my way around to the side of the house. There was one window, leading into a dark room. I tried to lift it, and it moved. Not much, but if I could get it to slip a little more, I’d be able to get my fingers underneath.
Gritting my teeth, I splayed my hands against the cold glass and pushed upward. It opened a centimeter or two—just enough that I knew I had to keep trying.
“Come on, you bastard.”
Finally, I opened it enough to wedge my hands in the gap. It still stuck, but with a stronger grip, I managed to create enough space to get in.
I squeezed through and stood. The dark room looked like it was used for storage.
There were easels, canvases, empty picture frames, and plastic totes stacked on shelves.
I crept across the room, careful not to trip or knock anything over, and eased open the door. It led into an equally dark hallway.
Fuck, this was crazy. I hoped Gina Morris wasn’t big on firearms for home defense.
“Hello?” I called. “Sorry for breaking in. I’m looking for Penelope Fallbrook. Pen, are you here?”
Silence.
With a deep breath, I started down the hallway, checking rooms. A closet. A bedroom that appeared to be partially packed, and another that was empty. A large bathroom. A master bedroom that was obviously lived in, but no sign of Gina. Or Penelope.
I hurried down the stairs, calling for Penelope again. There were boxes and disassembled furniture, even dishes in the sink. But no Gina Morris, and definitely no Penelope.
There was one last door I hadn’t tried. Easing it open, I peered into the dark room.
“Pen? Are you in here?”
I flipped on the light. Nothing. Just an empty room. “Fuck.”
My phone rang and I almost fumbled it trying to see who was calling. Garrett.
“I can’t find Penelope and I think something’s wrong,” I said, not bothering with bullshit like hello.
“Okay, slow down,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. “What’s going on?”
“Penelope. She went to the Morrises’ gallery for some reason, and no one’s seen her since. And I think Gina Morris was trying to stalk her. Something’s wrong. She’s in trouble.”
“Where are you?”
I hesitated, glancing around, and decided fuck it. “Gina Morris’s kitchen. I broke in. Penelope isn’t here.”
“You broke in…” He trailed off. “Fuck, Theo. Okay, we’ll deal with that later. Where did you last see her?”
I headed for the front door. She wasn’t there, so no reason to stay. “School. She met Melanie at the Steaming Mug after work. I already talked to Mel. She figured Pen was going home after that, but Pen left me a voicemail saying she was stopping by the gallery first.”
“And that’s the last time you heard from her?”
“Yes.” I shut the door behind me and went to my truck. “I checked the gallery, but it’s locked. Seemed empty. Checked my place. Don’t think she’s been there. So I came here.”
“She has her car?”
“Yeah.” I got in my truck and started the engine.
“What’s the make and model?”
“Honda CRV. Silver. I don’t know the license plate.”
“That’s okay. We’ll find it. I’m downtown, so meet me outside Harper’s bakery. We’ll go from there.”
“Got it.” I drove around the curve in the driveway and turned onto the street.
Garrett ended the call, and I headed back toward town, the knot of dread sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach.