The cluttered octagonal room had a curved ceiling. From where I stood, I could see that there were seven other doors, one in each of the other walls. No doubt these led off to the Duchess’s other secret passageways. Several worktables were covered with crumpled tubes of paint and worn-looking brushes, palettes clogged with dried paint, and rainbow-speckled washcloths. More unfinished canvases leaned against the walls.

Across from me, two easels stood side by side, each holding an enormous canvas. In the gap between them, I saw the Duchess perched on a motorized chair, the seat of which had been elevated so she could reach the top of the canvases.

I shuffled into her line of sight, waving awkwardly.

“Hi, Mrs. Strickland. Sorry for bursting in like this. I’m Nancy Drew.”

“Enter, and call me Duchess,” she said in her booming voice.

At that moment, Mr. Gatewood rushed into the room. “I tried to stop her,” he said in a rush. “She insisted on seeing you. I’m sorry, Duchess.”

“It’s quite all right, Mr. Gatewood,” the Duchess replied. “I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

“Of course, Duchess. Is there anything you require?”

“Bring fresh brushes, please,” the Duchess replied before returning her gaze to me. Mr. Gatewood nodded and left through another of the studio’s doors.

I made my way through the canvas graveyard to catch a glimpse of what she was working on. Each canvas was nearly a life-size portrait—one of a young man, the other a young woman—posed against a backdrop of vines, tropical flowers, and colorful birds. Were these the famous Shammas portraits?

I tiptoed around behind the Duchess’s chair. She wasn’t just looking at the Shammas portraits. As she reached for one canvas with her wrinkled hand, I saw that she was holding a long wooden paintbrush dipped in mauve paint. There was a tray attached to the arm of her chair that held a can of water, a selection of brushes, and a palette scattered with crumpled-up tubes of acrylic paint. With a few careful strokes, the Duchess adjusted the color of the young woman’s cheeks, making them extra rosy. If these were the Shammas portraits, why would the Duchess try to “fix” them?

I understood when I got a better look at the face of the young man. It was Zeke, painted in minute detail. The likeness was unmistakable, down to his mischievous grin and bright green cloak. I didn’t recognize the portrait of the young woman, but I knew it had to be Mona Pearl.

“Did you paint these?” I asked the Duchess in amazement.

She hummed to herself and kept painting. After a moment she said, “Five long years, and I still can’t get them quite right. These paintings are the most precious pieces in my collection. Do you know why?”

“I think so. They’re portraits of the two people you love the most—your grandchildren.”

“That’s right, Miss Drew. I need to make sure every last detail is perfect, because tonight I’m giving them to their rightful owners. This is the second set of portraits I’ve painted of my grandchildren, in fact. I painted them first as toddlers. You might say those portraits were the first originals I ever made.”