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“Well enough, you say?” Ira gives Jo an appraising look. “Well enough to trust you with her secrets?”

Grace doesn’t answer.

“There’s no need for this,” Jo says and angles herself in front of Grace.

Ira looks down at the stack of letters. “What’s in the box, Grace?”

“Money. A bit of jewelry.” Grace opens the box and turns it toward Ira. “It’s Sally’s.”

Ira shoots another quick glance at the box and nods. “Keep it. Sally was your friend. You could’ve just asked for it, you know. All that silliness, the charade that the two of you put together at Ada’s wasn’t necessary.” He sounds relaxed, even amused. “Finn would’ve gotten it for you.”

Finn, who stands behind them, murmurs something under his breath in agreement.

Ira looks at Jo and smiles. “You’re full of surprises, Josephine. I sensed there was something about you. Something dark.” Jo’s throat thickens as he takes the letters and flips through the stack slowly. “The other day, while you were sleeping and I was waiting for you to wake up, I walked around the studio, around your darkroom. And I stumbled upon these letters. What an interesting read they were.” He chuckles and plucks a small photograph from one of the envelopes. “Grace, come and look at this. You’ve been taking photography lessons. Tell me what you think about this picture. Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

Grace approaches Ira and takes a small, postcard-size print from his hand. “It was done professionally. In a studio. The colors are faded, so it must be an old photograph.” Her fingers brush lightly over the glossy finish. “The paper ain’t cheap.”

“Tell me about the woman in the picture.”

Grace stares wordlessly at the photo in her hand.

“Well.” There’s a hint of annoyance in Ira’s voice. “Does the woman in this picture look like our Josephine?”

Grace’s posture stiffens as she looks at Jo and then back at the picture.

Ira pinches his lips. “Grace.” A curt nod. “Tell us if you think the woman who’s standing in front of us is the exact same person as in the photo. For heaven’s sake, she hasn’t aged that much, after all.”

His words, every one of them, pile on Jo’s chest like bricks, pressing her down. Down. Down. The air leaves the room. There’s nothing else left—no thoughts, no fear, just a void.

“She’s young. Dressed well,” Grace says in a strained, unfamiliar voice. She hands the photograph to Ira. “It’s Jo when she was in her early twenties. Maybe even younger.”

“What makes you say so?”

A small shrug. “Same facial features. Same hair. Same eyes and lips.”

“Is that so, Grace?” Ira focuses on Jo. “I’m not a photographer, but I can see that their chins are different. Jo’s nose is sharper, and the woman in the picture has a little bump on the bridge of her nose. What happened to that bump, Josephine? Did August grind it down?”

“What’s this all about, Ira?” Finn says. “I thought I was to take Grace home. Why are we looking at photos?” He walks past Jo, slowly, and her body tenses, like she’s bracing for him to turn to her and point his gun. Finn takes the picture from Ira, examines it for a moment, and does a double take at Jo. He whistles. “There’s some resemblance,” he says. “But it ain’t Jo.”

“What does it matter?” Grace says sharply. “What does it matter who she is if she’s the best of us?”

Ira throws his head back and laughs. “Ask her.” Ira waves his hand at Jo. “Grace, ask her.”

Grace lifts her chin defiantly.

“Is this really necessary?” Finn steps forward.

“It’s all right, Grace, go ahead and ask,” Jo says softly.

Grace looks up at Jo. “It’s not you, is it? In the picture.”

“You’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking ‘Who are you, Jo?’ instead.” Ira flips through the letters slowly and then slaps the stack on his knee. “What happened to the real Josephine Lambert, a teacher from Millville? Have you heard of Millville, Finn?”

“No.”

“It’s a very small town, my boy. But it harbors a deadly secret. And the secret has everything to do with our photographer here. What happened to the teacher, Jo? The one who wanted to get out of Millville and come to a big city and live a big city life? Who desired to marry August. He promised her a stable house and a warm welcome. She couldn’t resist.” Ira pulls a small snuff box out of his jacket pocket, lights a cigarette, and lets it dangle from the corner of his mouth. “Did August know?” He squints at Jo through the smoke. “Did he know he married an impostor? He must’ve known.”

“We never talked about it,” Jo says. She’s utterly exhausted. She wants to sit down and pour herself a glass of whiskey, and maybe have a cigarette too. And so she looks down the hallway, past Finn. “Can we go to the kitchen?” She gestures in the direction of the hallway. “Maybe have a drink. It’s been a very long day.”