I’m getting a little frustrated now. Lander draws these pictures and creates these anagrams when he’s working out something in his head, when he’s thinking things through . . . and I sense that of all the pictures this one will offer me the insight into his mind that I really need. I could do this later but now that I’m in the middle of it I want to finish working out this puzzle now. I feel like I’m on the brink of something here.

My mind runs through all the things I know about Lander. Which is a lot. Perhaps too much for it to be useful. I look at the woman again, at the man. I can’t see the face of either person, but the woman has her hair in a French braid down her back. Not very many women wear their hair like that anymore . . .

. . . but Lander’s mother did. I’ve seen pictures.

“But the people who live in places like this . . . They’re a little like royalty, aren’t they? They’re treated like kings and queens, princes and princesses,” I had said.

And he responded . . .

“Yes, my mother was treated like the dowager princess of Wales.”

I work with the letters and there it is: DOWAGER PRINCESS OF WALES. His mother the dowager princess. And the man . . . That must be his father.

It gives me pause. I’m going to have to think about what that means . . . research it. But now something else has caught my eye. Peeking out from under those insurance papers is the drawing of me.

I pull it out and study the picture with new eyes.

Why did he put me in period dress? And the dress is so . . . so specific.

Kind, Witty Heroine is the title.

I start to work with the words, writing out every possibility. NOWHERE—no, that doesn’t make sense. KID, but there’s no child in the picture.

One minute passes, then two, then three . . . I’m not making progress.