Previous chapters of the River Road story:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

How should the story continue? Voting is open on the current chapter!

Last time, Mia Duomo found herself blindfolded in the basement of the museum. Demanding that the blindfold be removed, she found herself face-to-face with Winston Chagall—the man she had argued with on the stairs. Winston and Mia had known each other for many years. Mia’s career as a model had been ruined by a book called Vanity Speaks. The book was all about Mia and told how impossible and unpleasant she had been as a model. Mia never knew that Winston had written the book (along with Mia’s daughter, Lily) until Winston’s life of crime was discovered. Mia had made Winston promise to never return to Vista Falls, but he didn’t keep the promise. After years of not seeing one another, Mia was furious with Winston Chagall for coming back to Vista Falls. She asked why he had taken her to the museum’s basement and he explained that he had been ordered to do so by some unnamed person—a painter—who wanted to paint Mia’s portrait! Meanwhile, Eben—at Mr. DeLorca’s request—was searching for Mia when he was interrupted by Margaret Pipkin who, uncharacteristically, apologized for her rude behavior earlier. Eben noticed that Margaret had white paint on her shoes just as her mother, Evelyn, had. Eben realized that Margaret was trying to trick him. What did he do? Here’s what you decided.

Chapter 11: Paint Chips
by Joseph Crisalli

“Paint.” Eben said.

“Excuse me?” Margaret asked.

“You have paint on your shoes.” Eben answered. “Your mother did, too. White paint.”

“Okay, let’s go talk about white paint.” Margaret smiled.

Eben didn’t answer. He could tell that Margaret was up to something and whatever it was, her mother was involved as well. Perhaps, Eben thought, Margaret and Evelyn Pipkin had been the ones to make Mia scream. He wondered if he should try to get some information out of Margaret—whose suspicious change of attitude worried him—or continue his search for Mia Duomo.

“No, Margaret,” Eben smiled, “I don’t really want to talk about white paint. You see, I’m right in the middle of something. Our friend, Mia Duomo, may be in trouble. My father asked me if I would look for her. Would you like to join me?”

“Of course.” Margaret said. Her lips curled back in a smile, but her eyes were angry and cold.

“Great.” Eben nodded. “Let’s go back here.”

“What’s back there?” Margaret asked as they continued walking.

“It’s the service hallways of the museum. You know—where they carry in the paintings and sculptures and get them ready to be exhibited.” Eben explained.

“We shouldn’t be back here.” Margaret said quickly. “It’s off-limits, I would think.”

“My mother is the curator of the museum,” Eben reminded Margaret, “I have permission to be anywhere I like.”

“Oh.” Margaret grumbled.

“I don’t see any evidence that Mia has been here.” Eben said as he squinted in the dark hallway.

“Mia Duomo would never come back here. It’s too dirty and dusty. She’d never want to risk messing up her hair or her outfit.” Margaret muttered.

“You know Mia?” Eben asked, raising his eyebrows. He knew he had been right—Margaret was up to something.

“No.” Margaret responded hurriedly. “I don’t know her. I know OF her. I mean, who doesn’t remember Mia Duomo? She was one of the first supermodels.”

“Yes, she was. Funny, but I had never really heard of her until we met here in Vista Falls. People in Londonderry were never too concerned about supermodels. I’m surprised you have heard of her.” Eben said.

“I haven’t been in Londonderry my whole life!” Margaret snapped. “Besides, when we were kids, I always thought maybe I’d like to be a model one day. So, I paid attention to who was popular.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a model.” Eben squinted.

“It’s not like we were friends when we were kids.” Margaret rolled her eyes.

“That’s very true.” Eben sighed. “So, did you ever model?”

“No, but I work with models.” Margaret answered.

“Oh, really?” Eben asked.

“Yes, I’m a…” Margaret stopped herself.

“A…?” Eben tilted his head to one side.

“I’m a photographer,” Margaret smiled her big, fake smile again.

“Earlier you said you weren’t a photographer.” Eben nodded.

“Well…” Margaret began, then she added, “Hey, where are we going?”

“The basement.” Eben answered. “The stairs are over there.”

“Basement?” Margaret laughed nervously. “Why would we want to go there? Mia Duomo wouldn’t be in a basement.”

“Not on her own.” Eben frowned, “Someone could have taken her there.”

Margaret looked upset. Then, she pointed further down the hallway, “What’s that?”

“What?” Eben asked.

“There!” Margaret screamed, pointing again.

At that very moment, on the floor above, Mr. and Mrs. DeLorca watched as the ambulance drivers carried Vera Molton off on a stretcher. Vera’s friends followed close behind.

“Thank you for all of your help,” Mr. Dinello said quickly.

“I say, think nothing of it.” Mr. DeLorca nodded. “We’re just doing what any good pelican…I mean, person would do.”

With that, Mr. Dinello hurried off.

“Mr. Jaquith said he would tell Sam and Jenny what happened,” Mrs. DeLorca sighed. “Poor Vera, I hope she’s all right. And, I can’t help but feel badly for Sam and Jenny. I hate to see their beautiful wedding day interrupted with this sadness.”

“Life goes on, my dear.” Mr. DeLorca nodded. “Even on our happiest days, we can’t block out reality.”

“True.” Mrs. DeLorca smiled, proud that Mr. DeLorca made a statement that didn’t involve the mention of food or large birds.

Mr. DeLorca continued, “It’s not as if we can arrange all of life’s moments as we would arrange the luncheon meats at a delicatessen counter. If so, we’d keep all of our sadness over with the smoked meats and we’d keep our joys nicely stacked up next to the large cheese logs. And, then, our best moments could be displayed by the dessert counter—yes, yes, all gleaming beautifully on cake stands…”

“Yes, dear, I understand.” Mrs. DeLorca put her hand on Mr. DeLorca’s shoulder.

“I say, I knew you would.” Mr. DeLorca smiled. “Now, I suppose we should help Eben look for Mia.”

“Yes, but first,” Mrs. DeLorca said, “I want to look at something. The painting of Vera that the teens found in the elevator—it was clearly painted by the same artist who created the painting of Sam and Jenny.”

“I would say so, and so forth.” Mr. DeLorca nodded.

“I just want to look at the paintings that Vivian Crane left here—the ones of hers that we will display. I can’t help but think that she has something to do with the two spooky paintings.” Mrs. DeLorca said.

Meanwhile, Vivian Crane was hurrying into the reception hall where the party for Sam and Jenny Colbert was continuing. She looked upset, and as she walked, she was muttering under her breath about something.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw Mrs. Conn sitting with the four kids.

Mrs. Conn spotted Vivian Crane immediately and quickly stood up.

“Rebecca?” Mrs. Conn said as she walked over to Vivian. “Rebecca Anderson? Is that you?”

“Stay back!” Vivian Crane shouted.

What should Mrs. Conn do?

Try to talk with Vivian?
Just walk away?
Go get Sam Colbert to ask Vivian to quiet down?

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