With Taco safe inside her crate in the kitchen, I head up the stairs, turn toward the bedrooms. The first one on my right is Robyn’s. The door is slightly ajar, so I slowly open it, as though half expecting her to be resting comfortably on the mattress, her feet up, reading glasses covering her eyes, a paperback novel gripped in her hands.
But I find nothing of the sort. Instead, I find a bed that’s been slept in, but not made up after she arose earlier this morning. Leaving a bed unmade and a bedroom not picked up is entirely unlike the fastidious Robyn that I’ve known ever since art school.
“Rob,” I find myself whispering. “Rob. Where have you gone?”
I take a step backward, in the direction of the open bedroom door, my eyes still focused on the bed. That’s when I see something on th
