Oliver ducked the questions by getting two more chairs for us, and we sat in a semicircle in the middle of the foyer, all of us gazing at the mural.

“I’m Oliver Jones, the curator for the gallery.” Oliver finally introduced himself. He nodded in my direction. “And Morgan here is the person who restored the mural.”

Judith looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Jesse had it?” she asked.

“Yes.” I looked directly at her. “An artist named Anna Dale painted it.” Almost without thinking, I reached over. Rested my hand on top of hers. Took a deep breath. “Judith…” I glanced at Oliver and he nodded. “We believe that you are Anna.”

“What?” Gloria looked annoyed. “Who the hell is Anna?”

Judith didn’t look at me, but to my surprise … and relief … a smile began to light her face. “I haven’t heard that name in a very long time,” she said.

“Are you Anna?” Oliver asked. The gentleness in his voice touched me.

Judith nodded. “I suppose there’s no harm in saying that now,” she said. “I doubt anyone’s going to lock up an old woman after eighty years.”

“What are you talking about?” Gloria asked.

“Oh, hush,” Judith said to her. “I’ll explain it all later.” She looked at Oliver, then me. “How did you know? Did Jesse say something?”

“I never met Jesse,” I said, “but in his will he asked that I be the one to restore the mural, and I—”

“Ah,” she interrupted. “You were one of his projects?”

I smiled. “Apparently, though I have no idea how he even knew I existed,” I said. “Anyway, Jesse kept the mural in his studio for many years, and—”

“Here? In Edenton?” Judith looked stunned, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” I said.

“All those times I visited him here, and he never told me he still had it.” She looked bewildered. “I knew he…” She seemed to catch herself, then continued. “I just didn’t know he still had it,” she said.

“It was in terrible shape when I started working on it,” I said. “But I gradually discovered some strange things about it. A lot of … disturbing images, and—”

“Yes, yes.” She nodded. “I was going through a … a rough patch when I worked on it. It was a difficult time for me.”

“What are you talking about?” Gloria asked again.

“I understand that now,” I said. “I understand it because I read your journal.” Across from me, I could almost feel Oliver tense. We were heading into delicate territory.

Judith frowned, the paper-thin skin of her face suddenly full of new lines and her eyes cloudy with confusion behind her sparkly glasses. “My journal?” she asked.

“Do you remember keeping a leather-bound journal?” I asked. “Your mother gave it to you?”

She looked into the distance, then slowly nodded. “What did I do with it?” she asked. “How did you find it?”