David nearly yanked his hand away, but forced himself not to make any sudden moves. He kept his voice steady as he explained where the unmarked road was, how to find the turn-off between two large oak trees, and how to follow the dirt path for half a mile until the cabins came into view.
As he pulled away, their eyes met and held.
David felt like he was being drawn in, pulled toward something he’d been running from for twenty-eight years.
Connection. Warmth. The possibility of something other than loneliness and regret.
“Aunt Eve, come look what we found!” Lila’s voice shattered the moment.
She stood at the doorway to the portrait room, her eyes wide with excitement.
“Sorry, I’d better go,” Eve said with a nervous laugh. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yes, of course.” David nodded, stepping back to give her space.
He watched her walk away, catching the lowered conversation as she joined Lila.
“You have to see the portrait,” Lila was saying, her voice hushed but urgent. “You’re not going to believe it.”
David’s sixth sense kicked in immediately.
That tone. That urgency. The way Lila’s eyes had been bright with discovery rather than simple interest.
They’d found something. Which meant they were looking for something. David tried to shake it off. They were in a historical society. It was probably something about the island. He was being paranoid. But David found himself quietly walking to the doorway, staying just out of sight, and positioned himself where he could see into the room.
Lila took Eve to stand in front of a tall, painted portrait hanging on the far wall.
David heard the soft gasp that escaped Eve’s lips, saw the excitement flash in her eyes. The kind of look that said,‘We’ve found something important.’
He stepped a little closer but stayed hidden in the shadows of the hallway.
“You’re not going to believe who she is,” Brian told Eve, his voice low.
“I can guess,” Eve said, glancing back at the portrait. “It must be...”
David couldn’t hear the whispered words.
“No,” Brian and Lila said in unison.
Eve looked at them and frowned. “Then who is she?”
Lila tilted her head close to Eve’s ear and whispered something that made Eve’s eyes widen in shock.
Her head shot back around to the picture. “No way,” she spluttered, her eyes now glued to the painting.
Even more curious now, David took another small step to get a better angle.
His blood went cold.
It was the portrait William had donated to the society many years ago. A formal oil painting of his grandmother, Isabella Lillian Moore, that was painted sometime in the 1940s. She stood in an elegant dress, her dark hair swept up, her intelligent eyes looking directly at the viewer with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who you were.
David knew that portrait well. Everyone in St. Augustine knew that painting.
“Are you sure?” Eve was saying, her voice confused. “Because if this is true then...”
“What we thought back at the development was true,” Lila said softly. “Which means...”
“William can’t be trusted!” Eve stated flatly.
