The headline readHuman Remains Found Near Raven Falls.
Shaking her head, Colleen clicked her tongue. “Terrible.”
“Where’s Raven Falls?” Penelope asked.
“East of here,” I said. “I think about an hour north of Spokane.”
A journalist was interviewing a police officer at the scene. Penelope grabbed my arm and pointed at the TV. “Theo.”
I didn’t know what she was so worked up about. “Yeah, it’s awful. I hope the family can get some closure.”
“No. Look.” She kept pointing.
“What am I looking at?”
“The crime scene,” she said. “Look where they are.”
I still didn’t know what she was talking about. The cop was standing in a field of brown grass with a few small pine trees. There might have been water—a river, probably—behind him in the distance, and beyond that, a rocky hill rose into the cloudy sky. An old barn stood off to one side, not far from where he and the journalist were standing. The paint was faded to a dull gray and the large doors were crooked, hanging like a little kid’s loose teeth.
“I think I’ve been through Raven Falls once,” I said. “But I don’t know where that is.”
“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.
