She followed his gaze to the mural. There, jutting out from between the skirts of the Tea Party ladies, was the red fender and black tire of Martin’s motorcycle. Anna gasped, her hand to her mouth. Why was she surprised? She’d painted it. She knew she had. Yet her memory of painting it was hazy and dreamlike.

“I’ll fix it,” Jesse said. “You rest.”

“I’ll only put it back,” she told him.

He frowned at her. “Why?” he asked. She heard panic in his voice. “You gotta forget what happened!”

She didn’t know why. All she knew was that the motorcycle had to be there.

But Jesse painted over it. Anna watched him add the ladies’ skirts back where they had been. He was a good artist, but he was only learning how to work in oil and Anna could see him struggle to imitate her style of painting. Anyone with even a slightly discerning eye would know she hadn’t painted those skirts. Yet she felt indifferent, watching him. She would come back later tonight, after he was gone. Even though the warehouse haunted her at night, she’d return. She needed to put that motorcycle back where it belonged.

Chapter 51. Morgan

Chapter 51

MORGAN

July 20, 2018

I thought about Mama Nelle as I sat in front of the library’s microfilm reader that evening, hunting for more articles about Anna. I wished I’d had the key to unlock Mama Nelle’s memory, and now it was too late. I felt saddened by her death. I hoped she’d died peacefully. Painlessly.

I’d just about mastered the microfilm reader now, yet it took forever to hunt for articles that mentioned Anna, especially since they were few and far between. But an article suddenly jumped out at me. An odd one. I noticed it only because of the word “artist” in the headline.

Local Portrait Artist Goes Missing

Anna? I wondered, though it seemed odd they’d call her a portrait artist.

I began to read.

Well-known Edenton portrait artist Martin Drapple disappeared sometime Friday, according to his wife. Friends reported that Mr. Drapple had been despondent over losing the government-sponsored post office mural competition to New Jersey artist Anna Dale. Mrs. Drapple stated that her husband had helped Miss Dale work on the mural and that “it was humiliating for him to lose out to a girl artist.” She said that his new motorcycle is also missing. Anyone with information to the whereabouts of Mr. Drapple is asked to contact the Edenton police department.

I sat back in the chair and frowned at the microfilm screen. Who the hell was Martin Drapple? He’d helped Anna? Was there some sort of love triangle going on with him, his wife, and Anna? Or with him, Anna, and Jesse?