Where had that come from? Of course she wasn’t Laura Beaumont’s daughter. Why had she even thought such a thing?

Just because of her earlier reaction to yellow curtains and the groaning weather vane? Just because she couldn’t shake the sense of dread and fear?

Or because of the obvious? She’d inherited the property from a woman she’d never heard of and a woman her parents had never mentioned to her.

Dulcie recalled Renada’s reaction when she’d told her. She cleared her throat. “How old did you say this child was?”

“Four or five, I think. I’m not sure anyone knew for sure.”

Four or five would make the child about twenty-eight or twenty-nine now. Dulcie had just turned twenty-eight.

“What was the daughter’s name?”

“Angel.”

Angel. Dulcie felt a surge of relief that lasted only an instant. Of course the girl’s name would have been changed if she was adopted.

Dulcie couldn’t believe what she was thinking, but the kids at school and even their parents used to ask her if she was adopted because her parents were so much older than the other parents.

But if she’d been adopted, her parents would have told her. They wouldn’t have kept something like that from her.

Like the way they kept the property in Montana from her?

Her heart began to pound as she thought of her elderly parents, her mother’s years of trying to conceive without any luck, her mother finally getting Dulcie so late in life. Miracle? Or lie?

Everything could be a lie, including her real name.

“What happened to the daughter?” Dulcie had to ask.

Arlene sighed. “She was found drowned a couple weeks after her mother’s murder.”

The shock reverberated through her.

“They found her under some brush in the creek. She’s buried at the cemetery at Old Town Whitehorse next to her mother.”

Dulcie was so stunned it took her a moment to speak. “She’s dead?” She couldn’t be Angel Beaumont. She thought of the little girl and felt horrible for the moment of relief she’d experienced.

Arlene nodded solemnly. “It was a horrible tragedy, both mother and daughter.”

“Do they think the killer—”

“No,” Arlene said quickly. “The sheriff said she had fallen and hit her head and drowned. The creek wasn’t very deep that spring. It had been very hot and dry.”

Dulcie felt shaken. The mother murdered, the daughter killed in a freak accident. It still didn’t explain how Dulcie had inherited the property. Or why she’d reacted the way she had when she’d seen the yellow curtains in that second-floor window and heard the tortured sound of the weather vane.

She downed the cold drink in her hand, suddenly exhausted. “Thank you for the lemonade. It was delicious.”

“So will you buy the property?” Arlene asked as Dulcie rose to leave.