Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,11
to have her restore the mural. The work will be done in the gallery itself. At no time will the mural leave Edenton, so Lisa will make arrangements for Ms. Christopher to live in town while she works. I will leave a sum of fifty thousand dollars as compensation for the work, along with another ten thousand for any supplies and expert advice Ms. Christopher might need.’” Lisa looked up from the page. “He goes on to say how the mural should be displayed, the lighting, et cetera.” She began reading again. “He says, ‘To the best of my memory, there are no tears in the mural nor is there adhesive on the back that will need to be removed, since it never made it to the post office wall. I am confident, therefore, that despite Morgan Christopher’s lack of restoration experience, she will complete this project in time for the gallery opening on August 5, 2018. That opening date, with the fully restored mural in place, is firm, and my other bequests are contingent on the restored mural being in the gallery on that date.’”
Upon reading that last sentence, Lisa shook her head with what looked like a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance. “Unbelievable,” she said, more to herself than to me.
“Wow,” I said, overwhelmed. “What does he mean by the other bequests?”
Lisa waved the question away. “They have nothing to do with you.” Her phone rang and she checked the screen, rolled her eyes, and hit a button to stop the ringing. “Follow me,” she said, setting the papers back on the island.
I followed her out of the kitchen and through the lavender dining room and into a large, brightly lit sunroom. A full-size bed was at one end of the room, a recliner and dresser at the other.
“My father had this sunroom converted into his bedroom so he wouldn’t have to use the stairs, and I haven’t gotten around to converting it back, so it’ll be your room while you’re here. His things have been cleared out and I got rid of the hospital bed and had this full-sized brought in.”
The space was so sun-filled, so unlike what I’d experienced in the last year that I felt my throat tighten with gratitude at the thought of making this room my own.
“The upstairs is mine,” Lisa said, “so off-limits to you. We’ll share the kitchen, but I don’t expect either of us to be here much except to sleep. You’re going to be practically living in the gallery, and I have more than enough work to keep me busy. We’ll take care of our own meals. The housekeeper comes on Wednesdays and she’s here most of the day.” She gave me a stern look. “Absolutely no drugs in this house,” she said. “I know you had a problem and I—”
“Not with drugs.” I felt defensive. “I never—”
“I keep wine in the kitchen,” Lisa interrupted me. “Is that going to be an issue for you?”
“No. I don’t drink. Not anymore. And I never drank wine, anyway. Only beer.”
Lisa gave a laugh that sank my spirits. “Hard to drink in prison, I suppose,” she said.
“I’m done,” I insisted. I would never drink again. Not ever.
Lisa looked at me as though unsure whether to believe me or not. “Fine,” she said finally. “If it becomes a problem for you, let me know and I’ll keep the wine in my room. I can move a minifridge in—”
“It won’t be a problem.” I felt my cheeks burning. I wished she’d stop talking about it.
“No smoking in the house.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“All right, then.” Lisa gestured toward the hall. “The bathroom’s right down the hall by the kitchen. Freshen up and let’s go see your mural.”
Chapter 4
ANNA
December 5, 1939
Anna wondered if it was rude to write in her journal while eating breakfast in the big hotel restaurant but decided not to worry about it. The hotel guests were not the people she needed to impress. So, in between bites of soft-boiled eggs and sausage—which came in a flat patty instead of the links she was accustomed to—she jotted down her thoughts. Grits were also on the menu. She’d heard of them but had no idea what they were, and after seeing them on another diner’s plate, she decided to pass. The accents flowed around her like syrup, easy and affable and unfamiliar. She supposed she would sound just as strange to her fellow diners.
Most of the people in the restaurant were men, and she felt