“I didn’t think I was going to be able to finish the mural in time for the gallery opening and then I’d end up back in prison, but now I think maybe I can.”

Rebecca cocked her head to one side. “Why would you end up back in prison?”

“Because I didn’t finish on time.”

Rebecca took off her black-framed glasses. “Morgan, you are out,” she said. “Out on parole. You were released on parole with the understanding that you’ll work and pay restitution, but that has nothing to do with some arbitrary deadline.”

“No.” I frowned at her. “I have to finish the mural by the time the gallery opens or I go back to—”

“No.” Rebecca spoke firmly. “Who told you that?”

“Lisa and the lawyer, Andrea Fuller.” Had they ever actually said those words? I couldn’t remember. “Though maybe … maybe I just assumed from what they were saying…” My voice trailed off as I tried to piece together the long-ago conversation I’d had with the two women.

“I’m sorry you’ve misunderstood all this time,” Rebecca said. “You can relax. You know my requirements for you and none of them has to do with when you finish restoring that mural.”

I should have felt angry. I’d had the threat of prison hanging over my head all this time. Yet a strange indifference came over me. A strange peace. I was going to finish that mural on time, not because I had to but because I wanted to. I’d finish it for Lisa and her house. I’d finish it because that’s what Jesse’d wanted. I’d finish it for Anna.

Most of all, I thought, I’d finish it for myself.

Chapter 56. Anna

Chapter 56

ANNA

April 8, 1940

“The police found Martin’s motorcycle in the woods over by the Mill Village,” Miss Myrtle said over breakfast Monday morning.

“Oh?” Anna aimed for boredom in her voice as if the news were of no consequence. As if it had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

“Pauline said that Karl was actually the one who found it,” Miss Myrtle continued. “He was on a call over there about something or other and spotted the red fender tucked in some shrubbery.”

Anna tried to lift her coffee cup to her lips, but it shivered so violently in her hand that she quickly returned it to its saucer.

“I think you should know, dear,” Miss Myrtle said, “that Mrs. Drapple told Karl she thinks Jesse Williams killed him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Anna said. “Jesse wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Well, Mrs. Drapple thinks Martin might have been going to the warehouse to see you the night they suspect he got killed, and that Jesse was there and murdered him.”

Anna focused on cutting a piece of the sausage patty she wasn’t interested in eating, but she felt Miss Myrtle’s eyes boring into her face.