The banging of cupboards drifted across the kitchen as he entered the hub of his home. Exposed Baltic pine beams stretched their way across the dining area to a series of white cupboards framed in gray. Their sheen caught the light from the full-length windows that opened onto their deck and the million-dollar view of the ocean. Kelly had stepped into this room and almost signed the contract on the spot. This kitchen could cater for three or three hundred.

Daniel composed himself as he pulled back a tall wicker chair from the counter and placed Gramps’s camera in front of him.

Kelly looked at him over the remaining shopping bags. “How did the camera go?”

Daniel ordered the words in his mind. Restraint fought with frustration. Frustration won.

“I should ask you.”

Confusion swept across Kelly’s face. “What do you mean?”

The anger started its rise. “I took a few photos.”

Kelly’s brow wrinkled. “Okay.”

Daniel clenched his hands, tired of the games. “But only a few because someone used the camera. Again.”

Kelly gasped. “Are you insinuating I used it? Because I didn’t.” She folded her arms. “And what do you mean again?”

Daniel scuffed his shoe against the chair leg. “You know that roll of film I thought was Gramps’s last photos? Well, it turns out someone at work used the camera instead.”

“And what did they take photos of?”

“The other staff, but they were strange photos.”

“How were they strange?”

Daniel handpicked his words with care. “Just not what you’d expect. People doing everyday things . . . although there was an upside. Whoever took the photos took one of Jade in tears. It turns out her father had just been told of his secondary cancer. So I could help.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, but why wouldn’t the person who took the photo help her instead of taking her photo?”

“That’s a question that’s bothered me ever since I saw it. I thought we had a caring team, so that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Who would do that?”

Daniel scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I asked around, but no one is owning up to it.”

“So did someone at work use it again?”

“No, the camera has been home all this time.” Practiced silence hung in the air to draw out an admission.

Kelly bristled. “I’ve told you I didn’t. Have we reached a point where you don’t believe me?”

“Well, it was either you or Milly.”

Kelly sighed hard as she closed her eyes. Words deserted them, and a call on her cell phone broke the heavy silence that had settled on their standoff. She flicked a glance to the screen. “It’s the school.”

“Kelly Whiteley.” She nodded in recognition. “Mrs. Kowalick. What can I do for you?”