The lack of any such communication put Penny’s driving privileges in jeopardy. The house rule was to always ask permission before taking the car, and to give a destination and return time. Grace assumed Penny, who had the car keys and her license, had taken it.
Out of habit Grace had checked the garage to find the burgundy Chevy Caprice, still registered to Penny’s deceased father, was also missing. Since she was a teenager, it was no great surprise her daughter had left the house without a text or a note to say where she was going. Not more than two hours ago, she had returned home from a run to find her sixteen-year-old daughter, Penny, gone. A quick check out the window revealed two cars parked in her driveway, one a sedan, a single twirling red light mounted to its dashboard, and the other a black-and-white from the Lynn Police Department, lights also flashing. At thirty minutes past eight o’clock, red and blue strobe lights lit up the sky outside Grace Francone’s modest Cape house with the frenzy of a fireworks display.
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