“He lived to be ninety-nine,” Finn said. “That’s a lot of joie.”

She smiled and stepped outside the stone cottage, surveying the winding streets, with their ancient doors and arcades. It was late afternoon, a time photographers called the golden hour, when the light was drenched in deep color, carving out shapes with razor-edged clarity. An elderly couple walked past an arch in the stone that was decked in twining hollyhocks. At that moment, a butterfly flitted past. The old man gestured at it with his finger just as the light touched it. And without even thinking about it, Camille lifted the camera to her eye and took the shot.

Back at the university, they met up with Vivi and Roz, who were cataloging more items from Sauveterre. “Sometimes you find out things you’d rather not know,” Roz said, holding up a picture of a woman whose head had been shaved to punish her for being a Nazi’s mistress. “We can stop if you like.”

“No,” Camille said, wincing at the woman’s shamed expression. “Let’s keep going. I want to know everything about that day.”

“It’s still in living memory for a few locals. One of my students prepared a list of them, with their contact information,” Finn said.

She nodded. “I hope my father’s cousin Petra is willing to share. Where was Lisette that day? Who was she with?”

“You might find some answers here,” Vivi said, coming into the room and setting an old tin tobacco box on the table. “I found this on a high shelf in the attic at Sauveterre.”

“I thought we cleared the attic out,” said Roz.

“There was a high shelf in a corner, and I remembered something my father used to say—if you want to hide something, put it up high.”

“Because when people are searching, they tend to look down,” Camille said. “That makes sense.”

“What’s in the box?” asked Finn.

With a flourish, Vivi removed the lid to reveal the contents.

“Film rolls! Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you found these.” Camille’s heart skipped a beat.

“Of course I found them,” Vivi said. “I can find anything. And look. They’re labeled and dated. Your mysterious grandmother was wonderfully organized.”

“It’s a shame about the film, though,” Roz said. “Likely ruined, wouldn’t you say?”

“Not if I can help it,” Camille said.

“She’s the world’s leading expert at rescuing old film,” Finn said.

“Slight overstatement, especially coming from you.” She still felt terrible about ruining his father’s last roll. “But if we can find a lab . . .”

“How about we try finding one at the largest university in France?” said Finn.

The darkroom at the university in Aix was old but well equipped and stocked with fresh, good-quality chemicals. There were no detectable light leaks. Camille took a deep breath, like a swimmer about to dive from a high place, and stepped inside.

Finn followed, brushing up against her in the small space.

“There’s not much room in here,” she said. Awareness shot through him, and she felt a surge of desire.