I didn’t want to dwell on Clare’s ending. I was more interested in the days leading up to her death. “You know she liked to take pictures, too?”

“Really? Brit didn’t mention that.”

“She wasn’t as into it as me, but she liked it. Who knows if she would have stuck with it, but I remember her always snapping pictures with her point-and-shoot camera. Dad gave us matching ones for our last birthday together.”

“Do you have any of her pictures?” David asked.

“She never got any developed. All her important pictures were on her camera.”

“What happened to the camera? Do you have it?”

“I think my father threw it out with all her things.”

His expression looked pained. “He threw her belongings away?”

“While I was at boarding school. He thought the memories would upset me.” What had deeply troubled me was coming home to the too-clean room. Her sketchbooks, clothes, books, and makeup had vanished. The twin beds were gone, and in their place sat a double. Room for one.

“That’s a shame for you.”

“Yes.”

He pushed the creamer and sugar bowl toward me. “I’ll let you dress it,” he said as he raised his cup to his lips.

I splashed a generous amount of creamer in my cup and then followed with two heaping teaspoons of sugar. My spoon clinked against the inside of the mug as I stirred. He watched me as I raised the cup to my lips. I hesitated, pretended it was too hot. “Need to let it cool off.”

“Your sister likes it hot.” He actually blushed. “The coffee, I mean.”

“Just her style.” I set the mug on the counter.

He cradled his cup, took a sip. “Where do you envision taking our engagement pictures? I went on your website, and your portfolio is impressive. Pictures are unique, unforgettable.”

“Thank you. Do you and Brit have a favorite place?”

He set his cup down next to mine. His DNA now rimmed the mug’s lip, but was it enough? How much would Richards need?

“You’ll have to ask Brit. I want her to be happy with the pictures. I’m afraid I disappointed her with the engagement ring.” Below the utter calmness churned something.

“Why do you say that?”

“She doesn’t hide her emotions well.” He sipped his coffee again. “From me anyway.”

“Brit’s usually a straight shooter. She’d tell you if she didn’t like it.” That wasn’t exactly true. My sister could circumvent anything to get what she wanted. She’d drug or poison her younger sisters for peace and harmony in the house. Jesus, who did that to their children or sisters? Monsters.

“She’s like you in many ways,” David said.

The surprise comparison didn’t sit well. “How so?”

“You’re not a good liar,” he said. “You might think you can hide your feelings, but you can’t from me.”