Page 22 of Road Trip
“I get it,” Wyllona said. “You want to believe your family story, but this happens all the time. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there is zero chance your painting is real.”
“Just take a look at it, please?” Therese pleaded. “Maybe you remember my mom? Mary Helen Dunagin, from Dunagin’s Pharmacy? Back in the day, all the girls from school stopped in and had Cokes at the soda fountain. She ran the store for my uncle Keith. If you came in wearing a St. Mary’s uniform, she usually gave you an extra scoop of ice cream or double sprinkles, because she and my aunts were St. Mary’s girls too. She just died last week, after a long illness.”
“I do remember your mom.” Wyllona’s tone softened. “I’m sorry for your loss. She was always very sweet to me and my friends.”
“I’ve got the painting in my car. Please? It wouldn’t take but a minute, and it would mean so much to me and my sister Maeve.”
“What the hell,” Wyllona said finally. “My brother’s kids are driving me up the wall, and I wouldn’t mind getting out of this house for an hour or so. Tell you what. I’ll meet you in the parking lot at Target. On Victory Drive. Can you make it there in thirty minutes?”
“Definitely,” Therese said. “Whatever you say. I’m driving my mom’s car, and you can’t miss it. It’s a big ol’ maroon 1988 Chrysler LeBaron.”
“See you then,” Wyllona said.
She spotted Wyllonapacing back and forth in front of the Target. She was dressed in white jeans and a black scoop-necked tank top, and she looked New York chic. Therese tooted the Beast’s horn andwaved, and the other woman followed her to a parking spot a few yards away from the store entrance.
“Hey,” Therese said, hopping out from the driver’s side of the car.
Wyllona looked her up and down as though she were appraising a work of art, and Therese instantly saw herself through the other woman’s eyes. Not a pretty picture.
She was still wearing the clothes she’d slept in the night before. Her hair was a mess and what was left of her makeup was smudged.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” Therese said, hurrying around to the trunk of the car where she’d stashed Lady Geraldine. She popped the trunk open and pointed. “There she is.”
Wyllona propped the painting against the spare tire and leaned in to get a better look.
“Not the original frame,” she mused. She ran a fingertip over the surface of the portrait. “Condition is fair. Craquelure is about what you’d expect for a painting this age.”
“Huh?”
“The surface paint is crackled from age.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not necessarily. It can be a sign of authenticity.”
Wyllona picked the painting up and held it at arm’s length, tilting the portrait back and forth in the harsh afternoon sunlight, studying it from every angle. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and brought out what looked like a small jeweler’s loupe and examined the signature in the bottom right-hand corner of the portrait.
Therese realized she was holding her breath, waiting for the woman to comment, to tell her the painting was crap. A forgery. Worthless.
Instead, Wyllona turned the painting over and examined the back of the canvas. After a moment she handed Lady Geraldine back.
“Here. For God’s sake, at least put her inside the car. What if someone had rear-ended you on your way over here?”
Obediently, Therese opened the passenger-side door of the car and gingerly set the painting down on the seat.
“Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”
Wyllona tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s just barely possible you might actually have something here.”
“I knew it,” Therese squealed. “I knew this was the real deal.”
“Not necessarily,” Wyllona cautioned. “DeJongh’s work has been copied frequently. He was known to take on assistants who became adept at copying his style, as a quick way to make a buck. In order to begin authenticating the painting, it would need to be analyzed in a lab, to make sure the canvas and paint are the right age.”
“Can that be done here in Savannah? Like, maybe at SCAD?”
Wyllona pursed her lips. “Doubtful. Anyway, the real issue with this painting is the fact that another Lady Geraldine has just sold at auction. At Sotheby’s. Their experts would have authenticated it. How do you explain your painting?”
“I don’t know,” Therese said. “All I know is it’s been in my family all these years. Isn’t it possible this DeJongh painted two portraits?”
