Okay, two.
One was Penelope. Her bedroom door was open, but the door to her art studio was closed. That probably meant she was in there painting. Despite the strange pull I felt urging me to go see her, I resisted the temptation and went to the kitchen to make coffee.
The second thing—and the one I was determined to focus on—was the question of whether Edwin Morris had been murdered.
Pen and I had already talked about the possibility that there were notes in other paintings, but with everything else we had going on, we hadn’t figured out how to find them. She’d mentioned the painting at her grandma’s assisted living facility, and the possibility we could find a way to snoop around and check it. But that was only one painting. Ideally, we wanted to check more.
The gallery seemed like the best place. But how could we check there for secret notes without getting caught? It wasn’t as if we could waltz in and ask permission to remove the frames.
And unless we could really narrow it down, anyone could be a suspect. Amanda and Michael had possible motives, but there was too much we didn’t know. We couldn’t let anyone find out that we’d found a note in the painting or that we were investigating Morris’s death.
Leaning against the counter, I sipped my coffee. The idea hit me like a bolt of lightning and I almost dropped my mug.
Disguises.
I was either completely nuts or freaking brilliant. It remained to be seen. I found my phone and grabbed my laptop, takingthem to the dining table. Sucking down my coffee like it was the elixir of life, I set about figuring out how to make my plan work.
About half an hour and another cup of coffee later, I rushed down the hallway and knocked on Pen’s art studio door.
“Hey, Pennifer?” I called.
“Come in.”
I opened the door and found Penelope looking like a hot mess. She held a paintbrush in one hand and a palette in the other. Her oversized T-shirt was paint-splattered, and her leggings had a hole in the knee. Her bun drooped to one side, and, to top it all off, she had a big stroke of blue paint across her cheek.
She was adorable.
“Morning,” she said.
“Do you have a minute?”
“I have lots of minutes. I’m just working on a painting.”
“Good. You know how we were talking about the note, and that we should see if we can find more?”
She nodded, her eyes brightening with interest.
“I have an idea. But we need to get moving. Marigold has time between clients, but we need to get to her salon soon.”
She blinked at me in confusion. “Marigold?”
“My sister-in-law. She owns Timeless Beauty.”
“I know who she is. I’ve seen her at the football games. But what does she have to do with finding out whether Morris left more notes?”
I checked the time on my phone. “I’ll explain in a little bit. For now, you have paint on your face.”
“Oops.” She seemed to have forgotten she had a paintbrush in her hand and swiped another streak of blue across her cheek. “Did I just make it worse?”
My mouth turned up in a grin. Damn, she was cute. “Little bit.”
“Shoot.”
“It’s okay. But do you mind getting cleaned up? And put on something nice, like a dress. It’s all part of the plan.”
She shrugged. “Okay. Just give me a few.”
While Pen got ready, I went to my room to change clothes. My plan called for a certain look. Thankfully, I had a nice suit. That was one good thing about half my brothers getting married recently.
