Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,52
of the mayor harming his wife and having an affair. She added with a smile, “Even though he doesn’t approve of me having the Tea Party front and center in the mural.” The mayor had grimaced when she told him her plan. “I hope you’ll reconsider,” he’d said.
“Ah well, that’s why he’s a mayor and not an artist, right?” Mr. Drapple smiled up at her.
Would you have put the Tea Party in the mural? she wanted to ask, but of course, she didn’t. What had his sketch been like? What had he painted to represent Edenton? She wished she could know.
“I saw the Life Magazine spread of the sketches,” he said. “Your Bordentown design was quite nice. You have a lovely style.”
His wife certainly hadn’t thought so, and Anna wondered if he was teasing her. She felt young and inexperienced—and also a bit as if she were on stage, up there on the porch while he stood below. She thought he sounded sincere, though. She would treat the compliment as such.
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked as though he wanted to say more, but then tipped his hat again. “Good day, then,” he said. “My phone number is 47, if you change your mind.” Anna watched him turn and walk toward the street before she stepped inside to warm up. She stood inside the front door, her back against it, thinking about what had just happened. She was touched by Martin Drapple’s generosity and warmth. She hoped she would have been as kind as he was if their fortunes had been reversed.
Chapter 21
MORGAN
June 19, 2018
I was alone in the foyer of the gallery, balancing on the ladder as I cleaned the top square of the fourth row. After my conversation with Lisa, I started timing myself. The twelve-by-six-foot mural was divided by twine into seventy-two squares and it was taking me about forty-five minutes to clean one square. I had to work slowly, nearly holding my breath each time I set the cotton-tipped dowel to the surface of the painting, afraid of missing a speck of flaking paint and scraping it off by accident. To clean the entire mural should take me approximately fifty-four hours. I could only do so many hours at a time, though, before my shoulders and back began to seize up on me. I figured it would take me ten days to do the cleaning alone. Lisa would not be happy about that.
I gave myself a fifteen-minute break between each square, so I was sitting on the bottom rung of the ladder drinking a bottle of water and listening to Post Malone sing “Congratulations” when Oliver walked into the foyer. His mouth moved but I had no idea what he was saying.
I pulled out my earbuds and gave him an apologetic smile. “What did you say?” I asked.
“The conservation paints and other supplies I ordered for you are here,” he said. His own earbuds hung around his neck.
“Oh, cool.” I pointed up at the mural. “It’ll be a while before I need them, though.”
“Well, you’re making progress. It’s looking good.” He stood away from the mural to study it, hands on his hips.
“How well do you know Lisa?” I asked.
“Lisa?” He looked surprised by the question. “Not well at all. I’d been to Jesse’s house a few times over the years, and I knew she lived with him and was his primary caretaker toward the end, but I never actually saw her there. She was—and I guess still is—a workaholic real estate agent. She called me when he died and said he wanted me to curate the gallery, which wasn’t a surprise. He’d told me as much. And I know she’s in a time crunch to get this place up and running.”
I looked down at the bottle in my hand, remembering back to the night before when I’d caught Lisa in tears. I didn’t think I should share that with Oliver.
“I think she’s a challenge, Morgan,” Oliver continued, “but she also gets things done, so hang in there. I just do what she tells me to do unless I think she’s completely off the wall. She’s leaving the placement of art entirely up to me—with the exception of having the mural in the foyer, which was Jesse’s wish.” He nodded toward the mural. “I think between the gallery and her job, she’s extremely stressed.”
“Do you know anything about the will?” I asked.
“The will?”
“If the gallery doesn’t open by August fifth, she loses her house. Jesse’s house.”