I gently set the painting aside while Penelope unfolded the note.
What have I done?
I met Penelope’s gaze. We were both wide-eyed, and without needing to say a word, I knew an identical thought had just run through our minds. Had Edwin Morris killed someone and painted the scene of the crime?
Had he been murdered? Or was he a murderer?
“One of you better explain what’s happening,” Colleen said.
“It’s a long story.” Penelope folded the note and hastily tucked it in her purse. “I promise I’ll fill you in on everything soon.”
I glanced around. The other residents seemed uninterested in what we were doing. Probably because the TV volume was so loud. Pen refastened the back of the painting, and I took it to hang it on the wall.
“False alarm,” I said to no one in particular once the painting was back in place. “Thought there was an art emergency, but everything is fine.”
That got me a few glances, but no one seemed to care. Or they couldn’t hear over the weather report blaring from the TV. Either way worked.
I went back to our table where Penelope was standing, saying goodbye to Colleen.
“I’m sorry we can’t stay longer,” she said.
“I’ll be fine.” Colleen waved her hand. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but be careful.”
“I will,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. And call me if you have another dizzy spell or anything like that.”
Colleen’s eyes flicked to me again. “All right, Penny. See you later.”
Penelope hugged her grandma, and I offered a distracted goodbye.
My mind raced as we walked out to my truck. What were the chances Edwin Morris had painted the scene where a bodywould later be found, and it wasn’t a coincidence? Especially with that note.
Suddenly, the whole thing seemed like a much bigger deal—one I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of. Hunting killers was Garrett’s job, not mine. And every time one of my brothers got mixed up in something bigger than him, things went bad. Really bad.
I hadn’t resolved to never date again because, in my family, relationships seemed to come with a hefty side of danger. But it was one of many reasons tomaintainmy no-dating rule.
Not that I was dating Penelope.
We got in my truck, and I made a snap decision. That was the difference. I wasn’t dating Penelope, and I wasn’t going to. So I could help her figure out what happened to Edwin Morris, even if it turned out he was much more than he seemed. It wasn’t going to lead us into unexpected danger for which we had no way to be prepared. That particular curse seemed to follow my brothers, but it had always been tied to their love lives.
Pen was just a friend. I totally had this.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.
She nodded, her eyes wide. “I think Edwin Morris murdered that woman.”
“And painted where he did it. Or at least where he left her body.”
“Do you think that’s what the other notes mean? He had more victims?”
“I think that’s exactly what they mean.”
She adjusted her glasses. “I was not expecting this. Edwin Morris a murderer? What do we do?”
I tapped the steering wheel. “I think we try to find the pattern. Find the locations in those other paintings.”
“And see if we find a body?”
“Yeah.”
