“How about we have a look around,” Finn said, “and then we’ll make a plan.”

Camille surveyed the attic from gable end to gable end of the house. “There’s just so much. We’ll never get through it all.”

“Sure we will,” Finn said. “This is like a box of fine chocolates to me. It’s what I came here for.”

Of course it was. Camille moved away from him, chiding herself for assuming otherwise. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“We just start.”

She picked up an old galvanized bucket, crusty with age and clogged with cobwebs. “Right.”

“And then we call Vivi.”

“Vivi?”

“Vivienne. My archivist.”

“You have an archivist?”

“I do. She’s like a research assistant, only smarter. Don’t tell my research assistant I said that.” He grinned.

“You have a research assistant also.” She remembered that from his e-mails.

“Roz. She’s fine, but does better in front of a computer screen.”

Henry had already started rummaging through the old crates and cartons, his brow knit in a frown. He lifted a canvas cloth from a framed painting, sneezing as the dust flew. It was a formal portrait of a man in uniform—upright and blond-haired, with piercing blue or gray eyes. A small brass plaque read DIDIER PALOMAR. MILICE FRANCAISE. 1943.

“Look at this,” Henry said. “Didier Palomar was vain as a peacock, eh?”

“Whoa. He was in the Milice?” Finn’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know what that is,” Camille said.

Madame shuddered. “They were Frenchmen who supported and defended the Vichy regime and the Nazis. Many people believe they were even more offensive than the Germans because they betrayed their own countrymen.”

“And Didier Palomar was one of them.” Camille shivered despite the heat. “Papa, I truly don’t think he could be your natural father.”

He kept looking at the portrait. “Much as I would like for that to be true, I fear it is just wishful thinking, my pet.” He dabbed at his face again. “It would change everything.”

Camille wondered what he meant by that. Everything? “A DNA test would solve it, but we need to find a sample.” She scanned the clutter. “What are the chances of finding something here?”

“You don’t need to find a sample,” Finn said. “Didn’t you just say there’s a cousin . . . Petra?”

“Your boyfriend is a good listener,” said Madame.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Camille.

“Not yet, anyway, but let’s focus,” Finn said.

Henry nodded. “My cousin Petra was about ten years older than I, and quite happy to torment me when I was a boy. I assume she is gone now.”

“And her children?” asked Finn.

“Your cousin never had children,” said Madame. “But she is still living. I thought you knew.”

“I had no idea,” said Henry. He replaced the canvas over the portrait and turned to her.

“She lives in Marseille,” said Madame.

“Your cousin is alive, Papa. This is huge,” Camille said. “We don’t need to worry about finding a sample of Didier’s DNA.”