Neil Olson - The Black Painting

An old-money East Coast family faces the suspicious death of its patriarch and the unsolved theft of a Goya painting rumored to be cursed

There are four cousins in the Morse family: perfect Kenny, the preppy West Coast lawyer; James, the shy but brilliant medical student; his seductive, hard-drinking sister Audrey; and Teresa, youngest and most fragile, haunted by the fear that she has inherited the madness that possessed her father.

Their grandfather summons them to his mansion at Owl’s Point. None of them have visited the family estate since they were children, when a prized painting disappeared: a self-portrait by Goya, rumored to cause madness or death upon viewing. Afterward, the family split apart amid the accusations and suspicions that followed its theft.

Any hope that their grandfather planned to make amends evaporates when Teresa arrives to find the old man dead, his horrified gaze pinned upon the spot where the painting once hung. As the family gathers and suspicions mount, Teresa hopes to find the reasons behind her grandfather’s death and the painting’s loss. But to do so she must uncover ugly family secrets and confront those who would keep them hidden.

A masterful, deftly plotted novel, The Black Painting explores the profound power that art, and the past, hold over our lives.

NEIL OLSON is the author of The Icon, a novel of art theft and family intrigue, and the play Dealers. He lives in New York City with his wife and works in the publishing industry.

Also by Neil Olson

The Icon

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Neil Olson 2016

Neil Olson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9781474070584

Advance praise for

The Black Painting

“The volatility of memory, the treacherous crucible of family lore, and the myths and mysteries of Goya’s Black Paintings all come hypnotically together in Neil Olson’s outstanding novel. With taut, confident prose and breathless plotting, Olson leads us through a dark and dazzling kaleidoscope of a story. Here is a writer to watch.”

—Paula McLain, author of The Paris Wife and Circling the Sun

“You’ll need extra coffee in the morning because The Black Painting is going to keep you up reading way too late! A well-crafted psychological thriller with an intricate plot and first-rate characters, this deluxe suspense literally bursts with surprises.”

—M.J. Rose, author of The Reincarnationist

“Neil Olson’s The Black Painting is an expertly confected, delicious mystery/thriller, and also a deeper study of the family romance, with echoes of Cheever’s ‘Goodbye, My Brother.’”

—Madison Smartt Bell, author of Behind the Moon and National Book Award finalist for All Souls’ Rising

For my mother, Rose

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Also by Neil Olson

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Acknowledgments

1

Last night she dreamed of the house on Owl’s Point. Waning sunlight bathed the old brick face, and waves pounded the rocks below. Her cousins were there. James, whom she loved, and his sister Audrey, whom she despised. James tried to warn her of some threat hidden in the pines, but his sister only laughed. Audrey was grown-up, looking as she had at her wedding. Disheveled and slightly mad. James was the child he always was in her dreams, never older than eleven. As if his life had stopped there. Though the dream disturbed Teresa, there was nothing odd in the fact of it. At her grandfather’s request she was returning to Owl’s Point for the first time in fifteen years.

The train car swayed gently. Connecticut coast swept past the window. Rocky woods gave way to broad swaths of gray water and the dark smudge of Long Island. Streams ran through acres of marsh grass, and an egret took flight, white wings pumping. Sometimes it felt like Teresa had spent her life on this train. Going back and forth to school. Later to visit friends and professors still in New Haven. Before that, long before, were the trips to her grandparents in Langford. The house and grounds were a vast and beguiling world where she and her cousins burned countless hours, outside the normal flow of time. They built a tree fort in the big oak. They explored the inlet by the bridge in their canoes. They played epic games of hide-and-seek. There was no beach, but Audrey—against all warnings—would leap from the black rocks into the surf. Just as she would climb the tallest trees, or slip out an attic window to crawl around on the slate roof of the mansion. No punishment or injury deterred her, and that recklessness continued into adulthood.

It was Teresa and James who discovered the indoor secrets. The dumbwaiter that ran from the cold cellar to the master bedroom—by way of the kitchen, where you could fling open the door and scare Jenny, the cook. The hidden closet under the stairs, where they fell asleep one afternoon and threw the house into a panic. The unfinished room in the attic, the crawl space in the wine cellar, more places that she had since forgotten. Only Grandpa’s study was off-limits. Teresa looked forward to the trips to Owl’s Point for weeks beforehand. They were the highlight of summer, or any season. Until they abruptly stopped.

No one else left the train at Langford. The platform was short and broken. Only eight cars were in the lot, none of them her grandfather’s green Jaguar. Teresa remembered that he no longer drove, so she looked for Ilsa. Had they forgotten she was coming? That seemed unlikely, but ten minutes passed without any sign of a ride. She reached for her phone, then stopped. If she had ever known the Owl’s Point number, it was lost to memory. She could call her mother, of course, but she would rather drink paint thinner. It was two miles to the house, more or less. On a narrow and twisty lane. Teresa sighed. Then she slung her bag, walked past the coffee shop, bank, jewelers, and up the slope of Long Hill Road.