“I understand,” said her mother. “You’re doing your best. I want her to feel good about herself, too. She’s at such a tough age.”

Camille nodded, her stomach tying in knots. When things weren’t right with her kid, things weren’t right at all. “I hope she has a better week. Honestly, she’s changed so much in the last six months. Not just her weight, but her attitude. She can’t stand school. Her friends don’t come around anymore. Sometimes I think she can’t stand me.”

“She’s a teenager. That’s her job. How about sending her over to the shop tomorrow after school? I’ll spend some time with her, and bring her to the house for dinner.”

“That sounds good, Mom. Thanks.” Camille was grateful, but that meant an empty night for her. “Every once in a while I think about what life will be like once Julie’s on her own. Who’ll keep me company then?”

“You don’t want to know my answer,” her mother reminded her. “Camille, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Drake, but—”

“I know. I know.” They’d had the discussion too many times to count. Camille’s independence had become a sort of isolation. “Okay, maybe I’ll get a dog. Or wait, a cat. Less of a commitment.”

“Maybe you could quit waiting for the perfect guy to come along and stop holing up in your darkroom,” her mother suggested.

“I like holing up in my darkroom.”

“And I like the idea of all my daughters having wonderful, fulfilling relationships.” Her mother brushed Camille’s hair back, the way she had ever since Camille was a little girl. “Sorry, I’ll lay off. Isn’t that Stan Fenwick?” Cherisse shaded her eyes and faced the picnic area. There was a family of five gathered around a table, enjoying a picnic in the sunshine. The sound of their laughter and chatter drifted on the breeze.

“It is. Gosh, look how big his kids are now.” Stan was the first guy Camille had gone out with, a year after Jace’s death. Stan had been great—kind and respectful, really hoping for a relationship. He’d wanted to marry her, be a father to Julie, and raise a family together. Camille had not been ready. She had not been close to ready. Now she looked at Stan, and felt a pang of envy for the vibrant life he’d found with someone else. Envy . . . but not regret.

Her phone buzzed, and she checked the screen. “Oh boy.” Her chest felt suddenly tight, and then, just as suddenly, it was full of weird flutters.

“What?” asked her mother.

“Professor Finnemore wants to see me.”

Seven

Finn didn’t know what to expect, based on Camille Adams’s cryptic message. She wanted to see him about some photos she’d developed from film found in an old camera. The pictures had been taken in postwar France, which had immediately piqued his interest. When she got out of the taxi in front of the Georgetown restaurant, he caught his breath. Damn. She made him feel like the Big Bad Wolf.