I was stunned by her sudden show of empathy. “Then … why are you killing yourself to get everything done by some arbitrary date?” I asked. “Why don’t you just change the date of the gallery opening? It’s a pretty simple solution.”

Lisa looked away then let out a long, frustrated-sounding breath. She was not at all the woman I’d come to know over the last few days. She took a swallow of her wine, and her hand trembled when she set the glass down again. “I can’t,” she said simply.

“What is so magical about August fifth?” I asked. “If it’s causing you this much … agony, why not just say, hey, we need to move it to September fifth. Or October, even. I could really use the extra time, believe me.”

Lisa looked across the table at me. “My father put several conditions in his will.” She held up a hand as if to prevent an argument. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “He was a kind man. A very loving man. I always felt his love. Always. But he was also very controlling. And I guess his will was his final attempt to control me.”

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“He had the idea for the gallery for years and years—it was his dream—but when he neared the end … well, he thought if he left it in my hands, it would fizzle out. And he was probably right. I’m not an artist.” She shrugged. “I’m not even particularly interested in art, except for my father’s, which I love. But the gallery is not my dream. It was his. I guess he figured he had to come up with a way to force my hand. To make the gallery happen. So he tied my inheritance—specifically, this house—to the opening date of the gallery. Andrea Fuller—remember her? The attorney who came with me to the prison?”

I nodded.

“Andrea’s his executrix. If the gallery isn’t open by August fifth—with the mural restored and hanging in the foyer—the house will be donated to some indigent-artist fund or whatever.” Lisa waved a dismissive hand through the air. Then she swallowed hard, studying the wine in her glass. When she looked up at me again, tears brimmed in her eyes. “I can’t lose this house, Morgan.”

I frowned. “You can put something like that in a will?” I asked.