“Hannah, did you see a stranger come by this morning to deliver some mail?”

“No, why?”

“We just got these fancy invitations,” I explained, and handed over the one addressed to her.

After she’d opened the envelope and read the invitation, I asked her, “Do you know anything about this Duchess person?”

“All I know is that she’s very wealthy and was a big patron of the arts before her husband died. Your father will probably know more.” She paused, then added, “If I met the Duchess, I might say something silly and make her faint dead away!”

I laughed. Hannah was one of my favorite people to talk to. She was always so warm and down-to-earth. I couldn’t imagine anyone not getting along with her.

“I’d better get started on this French toast,” she said. “It will be my greatest masterpiece yet! Meanwhile, would you take this to your father for me?”

Without waiting for my answer, Hannah handed me a tray with our silver coffee service. I propped the golden envelope against the mug where my dad would be sure to see it. This would be the perfect opportunity to learn more about the Duchess of River Heights.

Entering my dad’s study, I sang, “Good morning!” in my cheeriest voice. That wasn’t my normal greeting, but Bess’s enthusiasm was infectious. I, too, was imagining the perfect party dress. I couldn’t wait to meet artists and visitors from the big city, eat canapés, gaze at paintings, and talk about lofty ideas. And I assumed there’d be dancing.

“Morning, Nancy,” Dad mumbled, hardly looking up from his paperwork. I filled his mug and handed it to him. He sipped greedily, closing his eyes. I’ll never understand his obsession with black coffee. I poured myself a mug, added plenty of cream, and took a sip. Much better.

“Dad, something came in the mail for you. Don’t you want to open it?”

“What’s that? Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know where my mind is this morning. Intellectual property law is a real rat’s nest. I hate to say it, but I may be in over my head with this case. It’s so difficult to prove an idea is original or who thought of it first. Promise me you’ll always make sure you get the credit you’re due for your hard detective work. Don’t let anyone undersell your talents.”

“Don’t worry. There’s no one in River Heights who could solve a mystery as creatively as your daughter.”

“Don’t I know it.” Dad chuckled and slit the golden envelope with an antique letter opener. “Anyway, I could use a break from these papers. … Let’s see what we have here. An invitation to the Strickland house! Well. I haven’t been invited there in years, not since I was a young man, even before I met your mother. I still remember two exquisite paintings the Stricklands had hanging by the staircase—portraits of two children smiling, but their eyes looked sad. All during dinner, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. Who were those kids? What had upset them? Who was the painter? I was too shy to ask. Hey, maybe you can find out for me, my darling sleuth.”