CHAPTER SEVEN: THE PAINTER WHO REMEMBERED
Before returning to the park, Daniel and Carol stopped at the home of Lorna Beck, a retired art teacher who had painted the first Lantern Maze.
Lorna lived above a florist on Oak Street, surrounded by canvases of bright imaginary cities.
She opened the door wearing an apron marked with purple paint.
When Carol showed her the brass case, Lorna’s welcoming smile disappeared.
“Where did you find Victor’s little guardian?”
“In the trash,” Daniel said.
Lorna looked at Carol, who seemed embarrassed.
“And why was it in the trash?”
Daniel explained the recreation center clearance and his failure to recognize the selector.
Lorna took the case without touching the steel strip.
She turned the blue disc once and stopped at a notch shaped like a small window.
“Victor hated the word impossible,” she said.
“He designed puzzles so even the youngest child could finish with enough patience.”
Daniel asked how she had helped build the original maze.
Lorna pulled an old painted board from behind a shelf.
It showed a crescent moon over a narrow blue door.
“I painted this for the northern exit,” she said.
“It was a real exit because you could recognize it from every direction.”
Carol asked where the board had gone.
“A contractor picked it up with the old scenery,” Lorna replied.
“He said they were restoring it.”
Daniel recalled the plain wall and artificial silver lights near the mirror room.
The blue door was nowhere to be seen.
“What did the contractor look like?”
Lorna described a tall man with a red baseball cap and a bent measuring tape clipped to his belt.
He had offered her money to repaint the old symbols in a more mysterious style.
She refused when he asked her to remove the blue exit markers.
“He told me modern audiences wanted uncertainty,” she said.
“I told him children deserve to know when they are safe.”
Carol looked at Daniel.
“I warned the committee about the missing markers.”
“How did they answer?”
“They told me the artist had approved everything.”
Lorna laughed without humor.
“Nobody asked me to approve anything.”
She walked to a cabinet and returned with a paint-splattered notebook.
It contained sketches for a dozen maze scenes, including the central chamber.
Beside each door, Lorna had written the color of a small square intended to help volunteers guide lost children.
Those markings were visible even when the overhead lanterns were off.
Daniel compared the drawings with the modified maze on his phone.
The contractor had painted over every square.
“That’s not an accident,” he said.
Lorna asked whether anyone had inspected the maze after the modifications.
Iris had tried, Daniel replied, but nobody had granted her access to the new route until that morning.
Lorna picked up her coat.
“Then I’ll tell the committee what I know.”
Carol shook her head.
“They haven’t listened to either of us.”
“Maybe they’ll listen when we stand together.”
Lorna turned toward Daniel.
“And maybe they’ll listen to the man who can show them the hardware.”
Daniel felt the weight of the case in his pocket.
He had entered the day thinking he was dealing with an unreasonable neighbor and a bag of rubbish.
Now he had a retired artist, a frightened safety coordinator, and a missing device that had once protected children.
He called Iris before leaving.
“Lorna painted the exit markers, and she says nobody approved removing them.”
Iris asked him to bring the notebook.
“The sponsor just submitted another diagram,” she added.
“This one doesn’t even show the service ramp.”
Daniel hung up and looked at the women.
“We have to move.”
Lorna closed her notebook.
“I know a shortcut through the park.”
