“Yes, I’m Helen. I so appreciate you letting me in like this.”
Helen followed Mary Ann inside, watched her flip on the lights and shuffle over to the desk. All the plastic totes and cardboard boxes that had covered every surface on her last visit were gone. The place looked neat and tidy. The bulky, antiquated computer Riley had used was on a table in a back corner. A sleek new computer rested on the main desk.
“So, you’re interested in the Breckenridge family?”
“Yes, that’s right. Last time I was here, Riley showed me a painting of Hattie. I was hoping I could get another look at it.”
She didn’t expect the painting to yield any new clues, but she longed to see it, to be held in Hattie’s gaze once more. She thought it would be a good way to start her research—would bring her luck if Hattie was actually watching over her.
“Of course,” Mary Ann said, turning to go back to the cabinets. She opened drawers, pulled paintings in and out.
“Well, that’s odd,” she muttered.
“What is it?”
“It doesn’t seem to be here,” Mary Ann said. “At least, it’s not where it should be. When something’s loaned out, there’s a pink sticker that goes where the painting should be. But there’s no painting and no sticker.” She turned back to the desk, picked up a big three-ring binder and flipped through it. “When we loan paintings out, we have a form that we use. And we have a logbook when anything gets borrowed. But there’s nothing here.”
“So do you think the painting could have been stolen?”
Mary Ann laughed. “Stolen? Oh dear, no. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to steal a painting of Hattie Breckenridge! Not when we have other, much more valuable things here—silver, old coins, jewelry even.”
“So what do you think happened to it?”
“Well, maybe it just got put away someplace unusual. Or someone might have borrowed it and not done the proper paperwork. Or we misplaced the paperwork. I can’t imagine, really. We have several volunteers. I think the first step will be checking in with each of them.”
She looked at the wooden cabinet, at the blank spot in the pulled-out drawer where Hattie’s painting had been.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you with the painting—what else are you looking for?” Mary Ann asked.
“When I was here with Riley, we found a couple of photographs of Hattie—an old school picture and a couple taken at a town picnic when she was a young woman. Do you know if there might be any others?”
Mary Ann nodded. “We have the final picture taken of Hattie,” she said.
“Final picture?”
“Of the hanging,” Mary Ann said. “Surely Riley showed it to you.”
Jesus. A photograph of the hanging? It didn’t seem possible.
“Um, no. We missed that one somehow.”
“Ah,” Mary Ann said, standing, going over to a tall black file cabinet. “It’s in our special collection. Maybe Riley hasn’t seen it herself.” She opened a drawer, started looking through files. “Let’s just hope that hasn’t gone missing, too.” Mary Ann chortled a bit.
Helen secretly wished it had.
“Oh, here we are,” Mary Ann said, sounding almost giddy as she slipped a file folder out of the cabinet. She opened it up. Inside, it was lined with two sheets of paper. Between the sheets of paper, an old black-and-white photograph.
Helen cringed, had to force herself not to look away.
“Who would take a picture like this?” she asked.
“We’re not sure who the photographer was,” Mary Ann said.
Helen moved closer, studying the photograph. It was centered on a large old tree full of thick, heavy branches.
She looked at the picture, thought of how there was a piece of that very tree in her house.
Beneath the tree in the old photo, probably three dozen people were gathered, all turned toward the camera, posing. Some were smiling. Some looked down at the ground. It looked like it could have been a picture taken at a town dance or country fair—Hartsboro’s finest gathered in celebration. Some wore dusty work clothes and looked as though they’d come straight from plowing the fields or shoveling coal into a steam engine. Others were in suit and tie, the women in dresses with their hair neatly fastened.
