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By nine o’clock, An’gel and Dickce were finished at the body shop. Dickce drove them to Athena College in the rental car the insurance agent had arranged for them and parked near the antebellum home that served as the offices of the library’s director as well as the home of the rare book collection and college archives.

They stopped to chat briefly with Melba Gilley, the director’s administrative assistant, before continuing upstairs to the archive. An’gel had called Charlie Harris from the body shop to make sure he would be available and that he would have time to help them find the pictures they sought.

An’gel knocked on the open door, and Charlie Harris looked up from his desk. His face broke into a wide smile as he rose and came around the desk to greet them. Right behind him came Diesel, his Maine Coon. Diesel was Charlie’s constant companion, and An’gel and Dickce were as fond of the cat as they were the man.

“Miss An’gel, Miss Dickce, this is such a pleasant surprise,” Charlie said. “It seems like ages since we’ve seen you. You’re both looking well.”

He had two chairs already arranged for them, and in his usual courtly fashion, he made sure they were seated comfortably. Diesel had to warble for each of them in turn and have his head scratched. His greetings completed, he stretched out on the floor between their chairs.

“It has been ages, Charlie,” An’gel said. “You’re looking well, and Diesel looks as handsome and spoiled as ever.”

Charlie laughed. “We’re doing fine, and we’re both glad to see you. What can we do for you this morning? You said you needed to look at some pictures you gave to the archive back in Miss Eulalie’s time, I believe.”

“Yes, they’re pictures from a fund-raiser at Riverhill that we held for the library’s benefit. Eulalie asked for the pictures fifteen years ago, though the party actually took place four decades ago.”

“I see,” Charlie said. “I’ve been looking through our records, and I’m pretty sure I know where the photographs are. Miss Eulalie kept excellent track of everything. If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll go next door and retrieve the box.”

“We don’t mind waiting at all,” An’gel said. “I’m sure Diesel will be happy to keep us company.”

At the sound of his name the cat chirped and meowed, and An’gel and Dickce smiled.

“I’ll be right back.” Charlie strode from the room.

The sisters took turns rubbing Diesel’s head and back while they waited.

“I hope we’re not misremembering about those pictures,” An’gel said. “Surely there’s one of Coriander among them.”

“Bound to be,” Dickce said.

Charlie returned a couple of minutes later with an archival box. He set it on his desk and removed the lid. From inside it he pulled out a smaller box of an appropriate size for photographs.

“There are four of these, each with about forty to fifty photographs,” he said. “They’re all pictures from that fund-raiser, according to Miss Eulalie’s notes.”

“That sounds about right,” Dickce said. “The photographer was snapping pictures constantly.”

“Why don’t you let each of us have a box to go through,” An’gel said. “Shouldn’t take us long to find what we’re after.”

Charlie gave them cotton gloves to put on. The gloves would protect the photographs from any oil or other residue on their fingers.

An’gel settled her box in her lap and cautiously began to go through the photographs. At first the process was awkward, but she quickly got used to the gloves. She had to resist the temptation to linger over certain pictures, especially those that brought back particular memories. She forced herself to focus.

Moments later, Dickce said, “I’ve found her.” She brandished a photograph. “Here’s Coriander Simpson.”

CHAPTER 29

“Let me see.” An’gel held out her hand for the photograph.

Dickce held on to it a moment longer, staring at the image, before yielding it to her sister.

An’gel let it lie flat on her palm as she examined it. The setting was the kitchen at Riverhill, and the subjects were two women, their housekeeper Clementine and another young woman whom An’gel recognized as Coriander Simpson. They stood together near the stove, smiling into the camera. Both women wore red in honor of the season, and Coriander stood a couple of inches shorter than Clementine.

“She was a lovely girl,” An’gel said. “She looks about twenty-five here.”

“I found another one,” Dickce said. “Here she is with Callie. Now that’s interesting.”

“What do you mean?” An’gel asked.

Dickce thrust the picture at her, and An’gel took it and laid it over the first one. Callie Partridge and Coriander Simpson stood together in conversation near the staircase at Riverhill. Each was in profile as she faced the other. What struck An’gel immediately was that they appeared to be the same height. Then, as she continued to examine the picture, she noticed that their hairstyles were similar. Callie was about the same age as Coriander, and they were both beautiful young women.