Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,60

hair didn’t have the body hers did.

Next to Anna, a young black man held a long roll of paper—probably the used cartoon. On the opposite side of the canvas, a towheaded boy stood with his hands in his pockets. Both the man’s and the boy’s gazes were riveted on whatever Anna was illustrating on the canvas. There was just one line beneath the picture: Artist Anna Dale discusses the drawing for the mural, which will reside in the Edenton Post Office.

Anna was in command in this photograph, I thought, and I was surprised to feel a strong wave of caring for her. She looked healthy. Smiling. Engaged. This wasn’t a mentally ill woman. But then I remembered the blood dripping from the ax blade. Something must have gone terribly wrong for her, or with her. I wondered for the first time if whatever mental illness had brought Anna down might have also taken her life. Was that why no other information existed about her? She’d been a talented artist. Talented artists didn’t just disappear. If she died—or killed herself—that would explain why no one had ever heard of her again.

It was nearly closing time in the library. I found the librarian, who helped me get a copy of the photograph from the obstinate microfilm reader, then gathered up my things and headed to an AA meeting, where the main topic was making amends for however we screwed up while drinking. I found my palms sweating during the discussion. If I could manage to track down Emily Maxwell, would I ever have the courage to actually speak to her? The thought absolutely terrified me. I wanted to know how she was. I wanted to find her through the impersonal vehicle of my computer. But communicate with her? I didn’t think I had the guts.

She was still on my mind when I crawled into bed that night. I stared at the dark ceiling, wondering if Emily might be awake as well, and if she was, was she in terrible pain? Was she cursing my name?

I was free, my biggest physical complaint my aching shoulders from my fifty-thousand-dollar job. I doubted that Emily Maxwell would ever again know such physical freedom.

I curled up in a ball on my bed, remembering how I’d gotten into my car with Trey. We’d been laughing hard, at what, I couldn’t remember. I’d been so drunk I’d caught my scarf in the door and had trouble remembering how to open the door to free it. I didn’t deserve to be out of prison. I didn’t deserve fifty thousand dollars. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forgive myself for what we’d done to that innocent girl.

Chapter 24

ANNA

January 10, 1940

Anna arrived alone and nervous at the warehouse that morning. She hadn’t been there since her initial visit with Mayor Sykes a month ago, and she was stunned by what she found. The floor—concrete—had been swept clean and sun gleamed through the tall, sparkling windows. Two space heaters sat in front of one of the closed garage doors along with two tall floor lamps, two stepladders, and several extension cords. The three long tables and four wooden chairs were still in place, and a few of the crates remained, piled up beneath one of the windows on the side wall. She truly owed the mayor for his help. Or, at least, she owed Benny, his custodian. She would have to bake them something.

She carried the rolls of cartoon paper into the warehouse along with a big metal bucket filled with most of the tools she’d need for the creation of the cartoon. She wouldn’t be able to do much with her supplies until her helpers arrived from Edenton High School that afternoon, but she felt a sense of satisfaction as she began to fill her new workspace. She was wearing her beloved slacks once again, and the freedom of them felt wonderful, although Miss Myrtle had gasped when she saw Anna in them that morning.

“You can’t go out of the house in those!” she’d said, pointing to the slacks.

“Well, I can’t wear a dress in the warehouse,” Anna’d responded. “Impossible to work in.”

Miss Myrtle had shaken her head, a look of worry on her face. “Well, don’t go anywhere else in them,” she’d said. It had sounded like a warning. Anna thought she and Miss Myrtle saw eye to eye on most things in life, but every once in a while, it was clear they were a hefty generation