Chapter 1 

“You’re quite devious, aren’t you,” McDonald said. 

Dodds replied, “Devious? Well, I’m just trying to help, ma’am.” 

I munched the last pita chip as the episode of McDonald & Dodds ended. “Did you guess whodunnit?” I asked Raven. We were in the kitchen of Westcott Manor. 

She closed her tablet as the credits rolled. “I guessed it. They always give you clues.”

“Great show,” I said. 

Raven pulled a charger out of her bag and spotted an outlet near the refrigerator. “I love it.”  

A gray tabby used her paws to pry open the screen door and squeeze in. She strolled to the refrigerator and yowled. 

Raven looked down. “Hey, Taysha,” she said. She bent over, scooped up the cat, and rubbed her neck. “We should have saved her some chicken salad.” 

“Mayonnaise isn’t good for cats.” I pulled a pouch of moist kibble from my lunch bag. “I thought Kitty might stop by, so I came prepared.” 

Raven set the cat on the floor and examined the pouch. “Tender chicken dinner,” she read. “Nice.” 

I poured the kibble into a bowl and set it near the cat who began scarfing up the food. “When did you name her Taysha? I like it.”

“Yesterday. It’s a Caddo word, meaning friend,” she said. “The Spanish changed it to Tejas.” 

I nodded. “Which became Texas.” 

Raven nodded. 

“It’s fascinating that your mom is a member of the Oklahoma Caddo Nation,” I said. 

She smiled. “I’m doing my thesis on the Caddo tribes.” Raven was a graduate student spending the summer in our small town, Grace, Texas. We were both volunteers at the historical society.  

I heard the click of footsteps against the hardwood floor in the hall. A moment later, Lizzie, the director of our society, appeared.  

“What are you two doing?” She said, her forehead wrinkled.   

“We just took a lunch break,” I said in a low, calm voice. Sometimes that worked.

“We watched one of those British mystery shows,” Raven said. “Do you like…”

Lizzie interrupted. “Well, it must be nice to sit back and binge Mid-Winter Murderers like you’ve got all the time in the world.” Lizzie tossed her hands in the air and began to pace. Her hard soled shoes clicked on the tile. “It’s not like we have to get ready for the dinner to honor Dorothy Westcott.” Her voice rose in pitch with each word.  

“It’s McDonald and Dodds,” Raven said. "Not Midsomer Murders.” 

I thought Lizzie might hyperventilate. “Our volunteers will be here soon, plus the Brown family. The lighting is out in the parlor. I’ve called a repairman.” Lizzie stopped. “Do you have those costumes ready?” 

“We’ve sorted them by size. We need to lay out the accessories.” I tried to sound capable and confident, without much success.

“Well, get busy.” Lizzie jerked her thumb toward the study. “I’ve got to set out the artifacts Mr. Brown graciously donated to the Historical Society.”   

“Isn’t Dorothy Westcott’s scrapbook on display in the parlor?” Raven asked. She wasn’t bothered by Lizzie’s nervous energy. 

“Yes, the scrapbook is there.” Lizzie pursed her lips. “I’ve still got framed pictures of the Westcotts, some special jewelry pieces, and family heirlooms. It will all go on the credenza for  cocktail hour viewing.” She sighed, “I made a slideshow to play while dessert is served.”

Lizzie glanced at the remains of our lunch. “Clean up this mess. The caterer will be here soon.”

Taysha chose that moment to jump onto the kitchen table and strut right by with her tail in the air.  

Lizzie shrieked. “Who let that cat in here?” 

“She let herself in,” I said. “It’s amazing what cats can do.”

“Get rid of it.” The words squeezed between Lizzie’s clenched teeth.  

“I thought catering was already here,” Raven said.

Lizzie sighed. “That was the florist. She did a flower arrangement for the parlor. Really, Raven, your Indian instincts are misfiring today.”

“I’m not Indian.” Annoyed, Raven added, “I’m one-half Caddo.”

Lizzie clapped her hands as she spoke. “Okay then, American Native Indian, whatever. Let’s all get to work.” With that she stalked out.  

“Hey.” I tried to make light of the situation. “That’s Lizzie, in a tizzy. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

Raven nodded. “You’re right, let’s get going.”

I shooed Taysha out the screen door and latched the hook in hopes she couldn’t get back in. 

We retreated into the study across the hallway from the parlor and the dining room. The pocket doors to the parlor were closed. 

Raven went to the rack of 1920s style dresses. “The thing about these shift dresses is, they’re so shapeless and loose fitting, it’s basically one-size-fits-all.” 

“That’s a good thing,” I said. “Some of us could use a little extra fabric.” I began to lay out the accessories on a nearby table. There were feather boas, colorful hats, and long strands of beads. 

“How historically accurate are these outfits? They look like Halloween costumes.” 

“It’s all for fun,” I said. “Dorothy Westcott was young in the 1920s, so everyone wants to be a flapper.” 

“Is it true, Dorothy never got married?” 

“She never married though she had many suitors.” I found a blue dress with a tiered skirt and held it under my chin. “What do you think?”

Raven regarded me thoughtfully. “You should save that one for yourself.” She perused the hats. “With this cloche hat and your blonde bob, you’re a natural.” She plonked the hat on my head. “See, it has a bow that matches the dress.”   

I giggled and admired myself in the full-length mirror. “Thanks. Now, let’s find one for you.” 

We were interrupted by a knock at the front door. I pulled off the hat as I rushed into the hall. Lizzie beat me and said, “Christi, I will get the door. Please, stay on task.” She clapped her hands together after each word, for emphasis.

As I trudged back to the study, I heard Lizzie say, “I’m glad someone came back. The last person didn’t have the floral centerpieces, and she left without a word.”

There were mumbles and shuffles. Raven and I continued to sort the costumes.

A short while later we could hear a banging noise coming from the kitchen. “Hello,” someone called out. “Is anyone there?” 

“Oh no, I latched the door.” I poked my head into the hall. Lizzie was already on the move toward the kitchen. She gave me a stern look.

I got back to work. I could hear Lizzie let the caterer in through the kitchen door, along with some commotion as they brought in the food for tonight’s dinner. 

A moment later, Taysha darted into the study and began to rub against my leg. I bent to pet her. “Oh, Sweetie, you came back.” She jumped onto the sofa and curled up for a nap.

There was another banging at the front door. This time I ignored it. I heard the click clack of Lizzie’s shoes, followed by a huff as she went past. I couldn’t help it. I peeked into the hall. This time it was the electrician. Lizzie showed him into the parlor where the scrapbook and artifacts were displayed. Lizzie had made it clear that no one was to touch the scrapbook directly. She would stand behind a podium and turn the pages to showcase various photos and items. 

Raven and I were almost done with the costumes when Lizzie popped in to check. “Are you two finished?” she asked. 

“Yep, just packing up the rejects.” Raven tossed a stained hat into a plastic bin. “Some of these vintage clothes haven’t fared well over the years.” 

I threw a moth-eaten scarf into the bin as well. 

Lizzie shrieked. “That cat! I told you to get rid of her!”

Lizzie moved toward the cat. Taysha hissed and ran out of the room.

“Great! Just perfect,” Lizzie said. “We can’t have a cat running around when the Browns arrive.” 

“I’ll find her.” Raven rushed off in search of Taysha. 

I tried to distract Lizzie. “So, how are the Browns related to the Westcotts?” 

Lizzie clapped her hands. “Let’s see. Andrew Brown’s mother was a great-niece of Dorothy Westcott, I believe.” 

I started to say something when, suddenly, we heard a man’s voice crying out from the parlor. This was followed by a crash and the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.  

Chapter 2 

Lizzie and I rushed in to find the room in disarray. The florist stood near the credenza. Historical pieces were strewn about along with a broken vase of flowers. The electrician’s ladder had fallen, and he was on the floor, on his side, motionless. 

“Is he…?” I asked. 

The man moaned and twisted. I breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Are you okay?” Raven ran in from the dining room. She knelt by the injured man. 

He sat up and groaned. “I think I’m all right,” he said, moving his arms. “It hurts though.”  

“What happened?” I asked. 

The florist said, “A cat ran through here and toppled the ladder. I don’t see her now.” 

The caterer poked her head into the room. “Should we call an ambulance?”

The man stretched. “I’ll be okay. It’s not the first time I’ve fallen off a ladder.” I saw Mark stitched onto his Westcott Petroleum coveralls.  

Lizzie focused on the mess. “Everything is ruined!” She knelt to pick up the broken vase. Flowers were scattered over the floor. “Fern, I’m sorry. Your flowers are destroyed.” 

“Those aren’t my flowers,” Fern said. She lifted a large vase with a lovely spring flower arrangement out of a box on the floor. “This is the arrangement I brought.”

“Well, then, what is this?” Lizzie pointed to the broken vase. 

“I was going to ask you,” Fern said. 

Lizzie threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t know. It’s broken now, so I’m glad you brought another one.”

Raven pushed the ladder back up just as the lights flickered and went out. 

“There they go again,” Lizzie said, near tears. 

Mark gripped the ladder. “I’ll take another look.” He took one step and winced. 

“No,” Raven said. “You’re not getting back up there. Take a seat.” 

“We’ll use lamps, it will be just like in the 1920s.” I hoped this might lift Lizzie’s spirits.  

Mark sat on the sofa. “Let me get you a glass of water.” Raven went off to the kitchen. 

“So, you work at Westcott?” I asked.  

He looked down at his chest. “Oh, I used to, before I started my own business. This is an old pair of coveralls.” 

“Andrew Brown was your boss?” You know, he’s the one who donated these historical pieces.”

Mark nodded. 

Lizzie sighed. “Christi, are you going to help me or not?”

“Yes, of course,” I said..

Raven returned with water for Mark, then she and I helped with the clean-up. 

The caterer asked, “Should I finish setting the table?” 

“Yes, please,” Lizzie said. “We won’t cancel because of one light fixture.” 

“That’s the spirit,” I said. 

The three of us set about putting the room to rights. I went to find a broom. 

When I returned, Lizzie and Raven were behind the credenza setting out the artifacts. I began to sweep up broken glass while Lizzie put the podium back into place. She knelt. “I hope the scrapbook isn’t damaged,” she said. 

Fern went into the dining room to set out her floral centerpieces.  

Finished, I carried the broom to the kitchen where the caterer rolled dough for mini-tartlets.  

“Hi, I’m Christi,” I said. “I can’t wait to try those.” 

“I’m Carrie.” She slammed a ball of dough down on the cutting board, her mouth a tight line.   

“Is something wrong?”  

She shook her head. “I wish I had known this job was a dinner for the Brown family. I would have turned it down.”   

I was taken aback. “But why?”

“Lizzie said it was a charity dinner at Westcott Manor. The job pays well so of course I said yes.” 

“You don’t like Mr. Brown?”  

“Let’s just say, I’m glad I got paid up front this time,” the woman said. 

“Okay. I’ll get out of your way,” I said. The bag of food on the table said Carrie’s Culinary Delights. I stashed the broom in the closet and made my way back toward the parlor.

On the way I heard Lizzie shriek. “It’s not here!”  

I ran to see what had Lizzie in a tizzy this time. Everything was in place on the credenza. “What’s not here?” I asked. 

Lizzie looked around the room in dismay. “The scrapbook! It’s gone!” 

“Are you sure?” I asked. 

“We’ve looked everywhere.” Raven shook her head. “It’s definitely missing.” 

Fern and Mark stared at the three of us with puzzled looks. 

Lizzie pointed from me to Raven. “You two, in the hall, now!” She stalked out the door and we followed. Once in the hallway, Lizzie leaned in and whispered, “You two watch a lot of crime shows, right?”

We both nodded. 

“Well, here’s your chance to play detective. Find that scrapbook before the Browns arrive!”

Raven gave me an excited look and, in a British accent she said, “Inspector, there has been a theft at Westcott Manor. You are needed.”  

I smiled and replied. “Come along, Watson, the game is afoot.”  

Chapter 3

In the study, we packed up the rest of the rejected clothing while we brainstormed. 

Using my best impression of Sergeant Dodds I said, “Well Detective Chief Inspector, I think we should investigate the scene.” 

Raven’s mouth fell open. “Oh no, you’re not Dodds. I’m Dodds.” 

“No, you’re younger. I’m middle-aged and reserved.” 

“So, you think you’re the shy, quiet, genius and I’m the tough go-getter?” 

I shrugged.

“We’ll figure that out later,” she said as she pushed the plastic bins into the corner. Then, she did her own impression of Sergeant Dodds. “Let’s check out the crime scene, ma’am.” 

We went into the parlor. Mark was sitting on the divan, his leg up. “I think I twisted my knee.” He winced in pain. 

Fern, on the sofa, scrolled through her phone. She glanced up. “Do you want me to take you to urgent care?”

Raven began to scan the room.  

I took a seat next to Fern. “Were you in the room when the ladder fell?”

Fern nodded. 

“Did either of you notice anything?” 

Mark shook his head. 

“It was the cat’s fault,” Fern said. “She tore through here like crazy. She ran under the ladder and jumped onto the table. The ladder almost hit her before she ran away.” 

“Did either of you notice the big, antique scrapbook on that podium earlier? It’s missing.”

They both shook their heads. “I didn’t pay attention to what was on the table there,” Mark said. 

“Me neither,” Fern said. “What did it look like?” 

“It was a large, leather-bound scrapbook. It was about this big.” I held my hands apart by about a foot.

“I didn’t see anything like that,” Fern said. “Maybe someone stole it. I’ve seen antique scrapbooks on eBay for like five hundred dollars.” 

Raven came over to the seating area. “Who would buy someone else’s scrapbook?”

“You would be surprised. People will buy anything,” Fern said.  

“What’s that?” I pointed to a photo Raven was holding. 

Raven handed it to me. “I found this under the credenza. It may have slipped out of the scrapbook.” 

It was a group of young women in the shapeless 1920s style shift dresses, posed in front of a white building with columns. The photo was fuzzy, but one of the young women looked like Dorothy Westcott. 

“I think it did,” I said, excitement in my voice. “Look, that’s Dorothy right there.” 

Raven gave the photo another look. “Okay, I see it now. This must have been some girl’s boarding school she went to.”  

Mark shifted his leg and winced again. “Maybe I should go to urgent care after all,” he said. “I need my phone to call my son.” 

“You stay here. I’ll get it,” I said. 

“Thank you. It’s over there in my tool bag.” He pointed to a black bag slumped over by the wall. 

I rifled through it. There was an envelope from Westcott Petroleum. I stared at it for a moment. I glanced up. No one was looking my way so, I stuffed the envelope into the waistband of my jeans and covered it with my cardigan. Then, I grabbed the phone. 

“Here you go.” I handed him the phone and stood nearby, holding my cardigan closed. After a moment I said, “Well, I’d better go help Lizzie.” I turned and walked out of the room and into the study. 

Raven followed me. “Why are you acting so strange?” she asked in a loud whisper. 

“Get in here,” I said as I pulled her inside and closed the door. “I have evidence!” 

Raven’s eyes got wide. “What?” 

I pulled the envelope from my waistband and showed her. “I found this letter from Westcott Petroleum in Mark’s tool bag. He said he used to work there.”

“Good job, Sergeant.” Raven took the envelope and read the letter. “It’s a termination notice. Mark was fired from the company six months ago.” 

I skimmed the letter myself. The reason for termination was simply, failure to comply with company policy. My mouth fell open. “That’s motive,” I said. “He has a grudge against the Westcott family. He may have taken the scrapbook to get back at Mr. Brown for firing him.” 

“You think he wanted revenge?” 

“Could be, although the caterer doesn’t seem to like Mr. Brown either.” 

“How do you figure?” 

I told Raven about the brief conversation in the kitchen with Carrie. 

“I wonder what her beef is,” Raven said.   

“She did say she was glad she got paid up front this time,” I said. 

“So, we have two possible suspects,” Raven said. 

“Three, I think,” I said. 

Raven nodded. “The florist also had access. They were all in there for a while, unsupervised.” 

“Fern did say she could get five hundred dollars for an old scrapbook on eBay,” I said. 

“None of them had time to take the scrapbook off the property though.” Raven was deep in thought. “Did any of them go outside to their vehicles?”

“I don’t know. Should we do a little more questioning?” 

“I’m going to talk to the caterer. See if you can find out more from the other two in the parlor.” With that, she was off. 

I poked my head out into the hallway and saw Fern and a younger man helping Mark out the front door. “Oh, are you leaving?” 

“We’re helping him to the car,” Fern said. “Then I’m heading out. Have a nice event.”

The younger man said, “I’ll be back for the ladder and my father’s tool bag. I’m sorry we couldn’t fix the lights. We’ll call later.” 

“Okay.” As soon as they were out the door, I ran to the parlor and returned the severance letter to the bag. 

Back in the study, I peered at the photo. Was it my imagination, or did some of the young ladies look a bit thick in the middle? It was hard to tell but I could swear some of them looked pregnant. I tried to make out the sign in front of the building. The first part of it was, Trinity Redemption Home for Er… . Was it a religious school? I pulled out my phone and googled Trinity Redemption Home. There it was; a photo of the same building. It said Trinity Redemption Home for Errant Girls, a home for unwed mothers near Nacogdoches. I peered closely at the woman who looked like Dorothy. She was holding her hand over her midsection. She was pregnant!

At that moment, Lizzie hustled into the room. “Christi, have you found the scrapbook?” 

“Not yet,” I said. 

“What’s that?” 

“Raven found this under the credenza. We think it slipped out of the scrapbook.” 

She shook her head and sighed. “One photo isn’t going to cut it.” 

“About your slideshow,” I said. “Did you scan any of the scrapbook pages to show as slides?” 

“Some of them,” she said. “This photo is in my slides. I couldn’t do the whole book or it would have gone on for hours.” 

“Could I take a look?” 

Lizzie sighed. “If you think it will help.”

I followed Lizzie to her desk near the stairs. She punched keys on her laptop and brought up the slide showing the Trinity Home. The photo was at the top of the page above a small lock of brown hair, tied with a pink ribbon.  

“Whose hair is that?”   

“I assumed it was Dorothy’s.” 

I clicked on the next slide. There was a portrait of a baby girl, about two weeks old. Under the photo was written the name Florine. “Who is this baby?” 

Lizzie shrugged. “Maybe one of Dorothy’s nieces. She had so many nieces and nephews.”  

I nodded. I started to put two and two together. 

Lizzie looked dejected. “Christi, how does this help us find the scrapbook?” 

Before I could answer, Raven arrived, wide-eyed. She leaned in and whispered, “I think it was the caterer.” 

Chapter 4 

Raven thrust her phone at me. “Look at this.”  

On the screen was a one-star Yelp review for Carrie’s Culinary Delights. I read aloud, “Carrie catered our daughter’s wedding. What a nightmare! They were late, rude, the chicken was undercooked, everything was terrible. I wouldn't hire Carrie to feed my dog!”

Lizzie’s mouth fell open. “Oh no, I didn’t read the reviews before I hired her.”

“It’s signed M. Brown,” I said. 

Raven nodded, wide eyed. “M for Marlene Brown, Andrew Brown’s wife. Carrie says they refused to pay. She was out thousands of dollars. She hates them.” 

Lizzie’s eyebrows went up. “She must have swiped the scrapbook to get back at them!”  

We heard a knock at the front door. Through the front window we saw it was Mr. Brown with an elderly woman.  

“Oh no.” Lizzie was in a panic. She slid the parlor door closed and turned to us. “You two, distract them. I’ll search the catering truck.” Lizzie ran to the kitchen and left us to deal with Mr. Brown.  

When we opened the door, we were all smiles. The woman was thin and looked to be in her seventies. 

Mr. Brown shook our hands. “I’m Andrew Brown and this is my mother, Julianna.” 

We shook hands with Julianna as well. “My maiden name is Westcott. I spent a lot of time with my Great Aunt Dorothy when I was young,”  

“I wanted to show Mom the scrapbook before tonight. Maybe she remembers some of the people,” Andrew said. 

I racked my brain for a way to keep them out of the parlor. It hit me. “Julianna, maybe you can help us.” I led them to the desk by the stairs. 

Mr. Brown pointed to the parlor. “Isn’t the scrapbook in here?” 

“Oh yes, of course,” Raven said, nervously. “We’re still cleaning the room though. It's not ready.”  

“Our Director made a slideshow. Here,” I jiggled the mouse, and the baby photo appeared. “Do you know who this baby is? The name says Florine.” 

Julianna stooped to see the picture, her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know. I don’t think she’s related to the Westcotts.” She turned to me. “Did you take shots of all the scrapbook pages?” Her voice cracked a bit. 

“Not all of them,” I said. I clicked on the previous slide. “What about this photo and lock of hair?” 

The old lady looked dismayed. “Let me see.” She pulled a pair of glasses out of her purse. She had a firm grip on the edge of the desk as she leaned forward. Julianna cried out, stumbled, and swept the laptop off the desk as she fell awkwardly onto the desk chair. “Woopsy,” she said. 

We all stared at the woman in surprise.  

“Mom, are you okay?”   

“Oh dear, did I break it?” She asked, looking at the laptop on the floor. 

“Don’t worry.” Raven stooped to pick up the laptop. She placed it on the desk and replaced the plug. “Look, everything’s fine.” 

“Okay?” Julianna was breathing heavily. 

Andrew put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine,” she said. “Maybe we should skip the slides.” She peered at the keyboard. “Where’s the delete button?"

Things started to click into place. She didn’t want those photos made public.

“Let’s go into the parlor and look at the scrapbook. My mother needs to sit down.” 

A frazzled Lizzie came out of the kitchen. “The caterer doesn’t have it.” She saw Andrew and his mother and composed herself. “Hello Mr. Brown. You’re early.” 

Andrew turned to greet Lizzie. “I’d like to introduce my mother, Julianna Brown.” 

Julianna held her hand in front of her face and looked down. “Hello,” she mumbled. 

Recognition swept across Lizzie’s face. “Oh, you were here earlier. Now I remember, you brought the silk flowers.” Lizzie laughed. “I’m sorry, I thought you were the florist.” 

Julianna looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must be thinking of someone else.” 

Lizzie looked puzzled. “I’m sure it was you. I let you in, we went to the parlor, then my phone rang so I stepped away. When I came back you were gone.” 

The old lady looked frantic and had tears in her eyes. “No, no, it wasn’t me who brought that vase of flowers.”

Andrew held out a hand. “Mom, come sit in the parlor. Let’s get you a glass of water. This is all too distressing.” 

“I’ll get it.” Raven scooted off to the kitchen. 

Julianna let her son help her up and lead her toward the parlor. She muttered, “It shouldn’t be like this.” 

Lizzie rushed ahead and stood in front of the door. “The room isn’t ready. Why don’t we go to the study?” 

“It will be fine,” Andrew said adamantly. “My mother needs to rest a bit.”

Lizzie hung her head and let them into the room.   

Andrew helped Julianna settle onto the sofa. Raven brought her a water glass. 

Andrew turned to the credenza. “Now, where is that scrapbook?” 

“Well, um, we have it…,” Lizzie stammered. 

“You know where it is don’t you, Julianna?” I said. Everyone turned to look at me in stunned silence. I continued. “You were here earlier weren’t you? You took the scrapbook. Am I right?” 

The lady stared at me, her mouth trembling. I felt bad but the truth had to come out. 

She locked eyes with me, then looked at her son dejectedly. “Yes, I took it," she admitted. With a shaky hand, she set her glass onto a coaster. “Those pictures never should have seen the light of day.” She took a deep breath. “I want to preserve Great Aunt Dorothy’s reputation.” 

“Her reputation?” Andrew asked. “Mom, what are you talking about?” 

She looked up and shook her head. “When I was almost thirteen, Great Aunt Dorothy showed me the scrapbook. She told me that she had a baby at the age of nineteen. They sent her away to that home in Nacogdoches for unwed mothers.” Tears ran down Julianna's face. 

I handed her a tissue and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” I said.

Julianna clutched the tissue and sniffed. “She gave the baby up for adoption and no one here in Grace ever found out. She didn’t want to bring scandal onto the family. She always wondered what happened to her baby, though.” 

“How sad.” Raven sat and put an arm around Julianna. 

Julianna looked at her son. “You weren’t supposed to find the scrapbook. I was keeping it in the attic to remember Great Aunt Dorothy by.” 

Andrew sat opposite her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” 

“Well, what do we do now?” Lizzie said “We’ve got the volunteers coming in less than an hour. I don’t want to call off the dinner.” 

“We still want to honor Dorothy,” I said. “How about we don’t show those pages? We can cover them with archival paper.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Lizzie said. "Most of my presentation is about her charitable and philanthropic work.” 

Julianna perked up. “I guess that would be alright. I just want to keep her secret. It's not anybody else's business.” 

I patted her on the shoulder. “Dorothy Westcott’s secret is safe with us. Where is the scrapbook now?"

At that, Julianna’s face broke into a sly smile. “It was too big for me to smuggle it out of the house. I put it under the hearth rug over there.” She pointed to the fireplace. 

There was Taysha, sitting on top of a scrapbook-sized lump in the rug. She blinked at us and yawned. We all got a laugh out of that. 

THE END