“That … is … awesome,” he said, loudly enough for me to hear with my earbuds in. “What do you think?”

I pulled out my earbuds. “I think I need to find a massage place,” I said with a laugh.

“You deserve it,” he said. “Seriously, great work today. Have you found any flaking paint?”

“I found something much more interesting than flaking paint.”

I moved the ladder aside to give him a clear view of the lumberjack’s ax blade, and I watched Oliver’s smile fade.

“Is that…?” He set down his briefcase and moved closer to the mural, studying the drops of blood. He turned to look at me. “What the hell?” he asked.

“I know. I thought it was tree sap or something when I first saw it, but once I cleaned it off, I realized what it was.”

“This makes no sense at all,” he said, hands on his hips as he stared at the painting. He was close enough that I was suddenly aware of his scent. Leather? Although the only leather in the entire foyer was in his briefcase yards away from us. It was a good scent—a delicious, heady scent, actually—and for a moment I had trouble remembering what we were talking about as I breathed him in. “Blood and a motorcycle,” he said, bringing my attention back to the mural.

“This must have to do with why Jesse told Lisa the artist went crazy,” I said.

Oliver nodded. “Well, it explains why they never installed it in the post office, that’s for sure.” He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and checked the time. “I just stopped in to see how you’re doing before I head home with a night full of work.” He nodded toward the briefcase behind us. “You ready to call it quits for the day?”

“Not yet,” I said.

Heading toward the front door, he bent over to pick up his briefcase before looking back at me. “You’ll lock up when you leave?”

“I will.” Lisa had given me a key to the gallery that morning.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he said.

He left the gallery and I popped my earbuds back in, surprised by the sudden feeling of loneliness that slipped over me as I climbed the ladder again. Everyone was getting on with their lives this evening and I had no life to get on with. It would be worse if I went back to Lisa’s, though. I’d get on Instagram. I’d check out what Trey and my old friends were doing right now. I’d search for Emily Maxwell and stew in my guilt. Better to lose myself in the mural. I was curious to see if Anna Dale had left any other surprises for me to find.