“And she might not be Anna, Morgan,” Oliver said. “Let’s not get our hopes up too high.” He nodded toward Daisy Chain again. “We may just be seeing what we want to see.”

Chapter 63

Chapter 63

From the wall text next to Judith Shipley’s painting Daisy Chain:

Daisy Chain (mid-80s) oil

Judith Shipley

June 7, 1922–

Little is known about Judith Shipley’s early life or formal art education. Her birthplace is also unknown. Although she spent her early adulthood in New York City, Shipley was never part of the New York school of experimental artists, preferring the dramatic realism of other New York painters of the era such as that of her contemporary, Jesse Jameson Williams. Shipley found her own acclaim in the late fifties to the late eighties, and many of her vibrant paintings from that period are displayed in museums and galleries around the world. Her work can be a puzzle for the curious viewer, as she always hides an iris somewhere in her paintings in honor of her late mother, Iris.

Daisy Chain was a gift from the artist to Jesse Jameson Williams in 1988.

Private life: In 1952, Shipley married her agent Max Enterhoff (1921–1999). They had one daughter, Debra, who died in 2014. Shipley lives in New York City, where she and her granddaughter maintain an atelier, training new artists.

Chapter 64

Chapter 64

“First of all,” Lisa said from her seat at Oliver’s folding table. “No one utters a word about this possible link between the two artists outside this room until we have more information from the … authenticator guy from the museum. We don’t want to look like idiots.”

“Right,” I said. I sat on the floor in front of the mural, facing her and Oliver, who stood, arms folded, by the end of the table. We’d called Lisa to come back to the gallery as soon as she could, and while she was intrigued by the similarities between the paintings, she remained unconvinced. Oliver had been able to reach the authenticator from the Greenville museum, but he couldn’t come to Edenton until late next week. We’d have to keep the secret of the mural to ourselves for now.

“Look,” Lisa added. “I met Judith Shipley on numerous occasions. Like so many other artists, she floated in and out of our house over the years. She—”

“What was she like?” I interrupted.

Lisa shrugged. “You must know by now that art was my father’s world, not mine. He always had his fellow artists around. I paid no attention. I just know she stayed with us a few times. I couldn’t even describe what she looked like.”

I pictured the short black bob, but remembered Anna had let her hair grow long before leaving Edenton. And all of that had been so long ago.

“What did she—Judith Shipley—say about the invitation to the gallery opening?” Oliver asked. “Is it certain she’s not coming?”