In Gray’s room there was an old, ornately framed photograph on the bedside table. Gray was easy to recognize, but Luke and Caroline looked like they were only five or six years old. The older man must be their father, for he and Gray shared the same confident, chiseled jaw.

She carried the photograph to the window to study it in better light. Their father was the only person seated, and the children stood before Gray, who rested a possessive hand on each of their shoulders. Mr. Delacroix stared boldly at the camera, but Gray watched Caroline, his face glowing with pride. He had once told Annabelle he felt more like a parent than a brother to Caroline and Luke, and that was obvious in this photograph.

She gazed out the window as daydreams carried her away. Gray would be a good father. She could see that in the loving way he looked after his siblings, even though they sometimes frustrated him. He’d surely be a good husband too. Even thinking about him in such a light made her a little breathless.

From up here, the lawns looked manicured and healthy . . . all except the raccoon-infested shed where Gray had stayed with his father after the main house burned down. It was almost completely obscured by an overgrowth of shrubs, and she had entirely forgotten about it. It was the only place she hadn’t inspected.

It was surely nothing, but she set the photograph down to go outside for a better look.

Up close, the shed looked even worse than from afar. She had to bat away some shrubbery to peer through the grimy window, but it was covered from the inside. There was a padlock on the door, so she couldn’t get in.

Her mouth went dry. If this was a moldy old shed like Gray said, why would there be a padlock on the door? The beginning of a headache began to pound. There was surely nothing of value inside, for it truly looked like a wreck of a building, but a troubling sense of anxiety gnawed at her. A quick glimpse inside would surely put it to rest.

She found Lester repairing a fence along the back edge of the property and asked him to unlock the shed.

He straightened and wiped his brow. “I ain’t got the key for that one.”

“What’s inside?”

“Never asked.”

Her mouth went dry, and her heartbeat sped up. “Who would have a key?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” he said with a shrug, then returned to repairing the fence rail. It was maddening, but Lester showed no interest or curiosity about the oddity of that shed. He was entirely absorbed in getting that rail perfectly aligned back onto the fence.

Which meant that perhaps she could break into the shed without his notice.