Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,30

to work by on sunny days. Not in the morning or evening, though.

“I’m afraid I’ll need more light,” she said.

“I’ll have some lamps brought over, along with those space heaters I promised,” Mayor Sykes said.

A mouse suddenly skittered past their feet and Anna let out an involuntary screech.

“You have some company,” Mayor Sykes laughed, taking her arm, as if protecting her. “That bother you?”

“Not at all,” she lied, gently extracting her arm from his grasp. “It just surprised me.” What else was living behind the old crates and concrete blocks in this building? There was no sign of people having used it as a place to sleep or squat. No cigarette wrappers or beer bottles. Nothing like that. Whatever was giving her the chills in the warehouse, it wasn’t human.

“I’ll have Benny, the custodian from my office, come sweep this out for you,” Mayor Sykes said. He was standing very close to her. Although they weren’t touching, she could feel the nearness of him, the heat of his body. She took a step away as if examining the grimy windows.

“Perhaps I can wash the windows,” she offered, “if I can get a ladder.”

“Oh, Benny’ll take care of that.”

“That would be wonderful,” she said. She couldn’t look this gift horse in the mouth. She knew the space could be made workable, as long as she could get over her discomfort about it. “Please have him—Benny—leave the tables and chairs,” she said. “And I’ll also need a stepladder. Where can I buy one?”

“Benny’ll have to bring one for washing the windows,” Mayor Sykes said, “and I’ll just tell him to leave it.”

They walked to the far end of the warehouse where they discovered a toilet and small sink tucked into an alcove. The mayor turned the squeaky faucet and brown water sputtered, then streamed into the sink and gradually turned clear. “Well, what do you know?” he said. “Water hasn’t been turned off. You’re in luck. Now we just need to get your electric back on and you’re in business.”

“Wonderful,” she said, forcing the word past the unease in her throat. She was beginning to see the good points in the space. The shorter wall nearest the entrance was a blank slate. No door. No window. She ran her hand over the wall; it was smooth and made of wood. “This will be the perfect place to hang the stretched canvas,” she said, more to herself than to Mr. Sykes.

“I would think so,” he agreed.

She looked over at him. “You’re very kind, thank you.” She smiled at him, but found she couldn’t hold his gaze for long. “I’m going to need some help,” she said, turning toward the blank wall again. “Perhaps I could hire some high school students to work with me after school?”

“Want me to speak to the art teacher at Edenton High for you?”

“That would be wonderful.” She was beginning to feel better about this man. He was so accommodating and generous. “Thank you for being so helpful,” she said.

“We want you to enjoy your stay here in Edenton, Miss Dale,” he said, and she wondered if the men she’d had lunch with had put their heads together and decided to quit talking about the artist they wished they had for the post office mural—Martin Drapple—and embrace the artist they were stuck with instead.

She was tired by the time she returned to Miss Myrtle’s. Freda silently gave her a coconut cookie and a smile, along with a note from Miss Myrtle, telling Anna she was at her garden club, which apparently met all year long. Anna went up to her spacious room with its pink bed and sachet-scented air to write in her journal.

Tomorrow, she wrote, Mr. Toby Fiering will take me on a tour of the cotton mill.

She tried to imagine what that would be like, but every time her mind drifted from her writing, she was back in that shadowy warehouse once again.

Chapter 11

MORGAN

June 15, 2018

My new laptop was delivered at eleven that morning. I felt nervous as I set it up on the dining room table and connected to my e-mail address. I scrolled through ancient e-mail until the pain was too much for me. That mail was from another time, another world, before everything had gone to hell. There was a glut of e-mail from my former classmates at UNC about assignments and parties. Not a lot of e-mail from Trey. He’d mostly texted and all my texts were long gone with my old phone