I was going to die. And I couldn’t seem to stop giggling.
CHAPTER 38
Theo
After circlingdowntown 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.”
