The man, who looked vaguely familiar, was handsome and confident looking. His expression was mildly smug. He sat on an antique chair, and next to him, with her hand on his shoulder, was a girl who looked about fourteen years old. On his other side, standing slightly back, was another girl, one who might have been about eleven or twelve.

The two girls weren’t identical, but they were clearly sisters. The older one had her hair in well-defined curls that fell just past her shoulders. She wore a white shirt with a small pleated ruffle around the neckline. Her blue eyes shone, and a faint, knowing smile played on her lips.

Lily?

The other girl was more serious. Her hair was in a pair of severe braids, her brown eyes steady and almost dull. The painter had depicted her looking at her father, and in her gaze was a sense of admiration—but also a kind of loneliness. The father and his older daughter seemed like a team. But this younger girl was on the outside.

She was unmistakably Laura.

Looking at it, I could actually understand why she would have taken it down. The little girl’s hurt shone right through. Her sense of not belonging.

Doubt suddenly washed over me. I shouldn’t be here, looking at this evidence of Laura’s sadness. She’d hidden this picture for a reason, and here I was, snooping around. It was easy enough to enjoy being nosy when it wasn’t your secrets being exposed.

I pushed the portrait back into the wardrobe, feeling ashamed of myself.

Then I began to pack up the black box. But just as I was setting the lid in place, I caught sight of a newspaper clipping sticking out from some of the papers. And I couldn’t resist.

It was Lily’s obituary:

LILY ANNE COPELAND, age 17, was called to heaven Friday, March 18, after a prolonged illness. She passed from the mortal world as she lived, surrounded by her loving and devoted family at home. Miss Copeland, the heiress apparent to the extensive Copeland properties and fortune, was a vivacious girl, well liked in the community and known among friends at Copeland School as an A student with a love of reading and cats. Preceded in death by her mother, Beverly (Turner) Copeland, she is survived by her father, James Barrett Copeland III, her younger sister and faithful companion, Laura, and her aunt, Rosetta Copeland Gilbert. Services will be held privately, for family only. Flowers may be sent to Copeland Hall.

A prolonged illness? Like Agatha’s?

No wonder Laura was so frozen, so rigid and emotionally warped. Her older sister had died as a teenager and now her daughter was seriously ill. Who wouldn’t be messed up by that kind of awful coincidence?