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, Isaac was upset when Sarah interfered with his plans to eat more cake than he—or anyone else—should. The kids chatted with Eben about the importance of moderation, however, they were soon interrupted by Evelyn Pipkin who made some rude comments to Eben about Londonderry. Eben pointed out that Mrs. Pipkin had white paint on her designer shoes. Evelyn hurried off without explanation. Meanwhile, Mrs. DeLorca was rushing into the darkened gallery upstairs as she followed the sound of the footsteps. Capturing someone in the dark, Mrs. DeLorca dragged the person into the hallway where she found the person she had caught was Vivian Crane—the woman whose paintings were to be displayed in the museum. Miss Crane was not bothered by her “capture” and explained that she had just been trying to see where her exhibition was to be held. Mr. and Mrs. DeLorca invited Vivian to join them at the reception downstairs and Mia Duomo noticed that Vivian had paint on her Helga Warren shoes—the very same kind of shoes that had made the tracks around the mysterious painting. What happened next? Here’s what you decided.

Chapter 7: Portrait of the Artist
by Joseph Crisalli

“This part of the museum is closed for redecoration in order to get ready for your exhibition. I suppose the contractors shut off the main circuit in here though I can’t see why they would have.” Mrs. DeLorca explained.

“I see.” Vivian nodded. “I didn’t bother anyone because I saw that there was a wedding reception going on in the ballroom. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s for our friends.” Mrs. DeLorca said. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined us.”

“Thank you.” Vivian nodded.

“You may want to freshen up a bit.” Mia said pointedly. “I see you’ve gotten paint on your shoes. And, such lovely shoes, too. Aren’t they by Helga Warren?”

Mr. and Mrs. DeLorca looked at one another. Those were the same kind of shoes that had been worn by whoever left the strange painting.

“I say,” Mr. DeLorca raised his eyebrows. “As a painter, Miss Crane, you must know a great deal about art.” He looked at his wife. “Should we show Miss Crane the painting that Mia found earlier this evening?”

“Yes, I think we should.” Mrs. DeLorca nodded, understanding that her husband wanted to see how Vivian reacted to the painting. Perhaps they could tell if she had anything to do with it. She was, after all, a painter. And, did, after all, have paint on her shoes.

“I’m flattered that you would ask my opinion.” Vivian Crane smiled. “To think that the famous DeLorcas would want to know my thoughts about a painting…well, I really appreciate it. But, honestly, I only know what I like. While I am a painter, I am not an expert art historian like the two of you.”

“I say, one doesn’t have to be an expert art historian to look at a painting. That would be like saying that you would have to be a cake in order to eat a pie. And, frankly, that’s just a recipe for disaster. Ah! Recipe. I made a joke. But, still, it would be inappropriate and so on.” Mr. DeLorca chuckled.

“I’ve heard about you.” Vivian smiled, wide-eyed. “I’ve heard that you say things like that.”

“Oh, jolly good.” Mr. DeLorca nodded. Then he paused, “I say things like what?”

“You know, things about pastry that may or may not have anything to do with…” She, too, paused and looked at Mr. DeLorca who stared back at her—wide-eyed.

“Never mind.” Vivian shook her head.

“Very well.” Mr. DeLorca nodded. “I say, all this talk about man-eating cakes has made me terribly hungry.”

“All the more reason to look at that painting now.” Mrs. DeLorca spoke up, hoping to get everyone back on track.

“Yes, let’s.” Mia added. “I’m overdue for a reapplication of my make-up anyway. So, let’s look right now.”

“I’ll follow you.” Vivian Crane smiled.

“It’s just at the end of the hallway.” Mrs. DeLorca led the group.

“I don’t just like pies and cakes.” Mr. DeLorca smiled as they walked. “I also enjoy pancakes. I say, but I enjoy them quite a lot. And, they jolly well can’t be considered pastry. They’re a breakfast food in the griddle family. I also fancy a well-stuffed tomato or sandwich or a sandwich stuffed into a tomato which may or may not be a real thing. Though, I say, if it isn’t, I’ll have to invent one. Assuming of course, I haven’t already invented it. You see, I’m also an inventor. Did you know my shoes are made out of sweet potatoes? A lot of trouble, that. But, well worth it for both comfort and nourishment.”

“How interesting.” Vivian nodded politely.

“Here’s the painting we mentioned.” Mrs. DeLorca interrupted.

“Oh!” Vivian gasped.

The DeLorcas and Mia watched her closely.

“It’s awful.” Vivian continued.

“Isn’t it?” Mia asked.

“Dreadful.” Vivian said.

“Terrifying, even.” Mia suggested.

“Yes,” Vivian said, shrugging. “But, then, bad art is always terrifying. Oh well. I’d just move it out of the hallway and put it in storage. Especially since it’s just sitting here on the floor with all those white shoe prints around it.”

“That’s it?” Mia asked. “You think it’s just badly painted?”

“Yes.” Vivian nodded, smiling. “Well, it is. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes,” Mrs. DeLorca said. “But, isn’t also frightening?”

“I can see that, yes..” Vivian shrugged again.

“It’s supposed to be of our friends. The ones that were married today…” Mrs. DeLorca explained.

“Oh, dear.” Vivian gasped. “I’ve offended you. Did you paint it? Oh, I hope I haven’t said something insulting.”

“No.” Mrs. DeLorca squinted. “I didn’t paint it. We’re trying to figure out who did. You see, we think it’s meant to scare us. That sort of thing happens around here.”

“That’s odd. Who would do such a thing?” Vivian asked. “Whoever did it seems to have tracked white paint on the floor.”

“Yes.” Mia glared. “Just like the white paint on your shoes! The very same kind of shoes that left these footprints!”

“Excuse me?” Vivian raised her eyebrows. “Are you accusing me of painting this?”

“Yes!” Mia shouted.

“Mia…” Mrs. DeLorca cautioned her friend.

“So, let me get this straight. Not only are you implying that I’m some sort of art-bully who wants to frighten strangers at a wedding reception, but you’re also implying that I’m a bad painter?” Vivian growled angrily.

“I am.” Mia said defiantly, shaking her blonde hair.

What should Vivian do?

Storm off angrily saying she’s never been so insulted in her life?
Try to calmly talk with Mia?
Accuse Mia of painting the bizarre portrait?

Email your thoughts.

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