The Last Sister (Columbia River)(78)

Madison placed it facedown on the viewed stack.

“Ohhh!” Emily picked up the next photo.

Four young women stood on the steps of the mansion, their arms hooked together, laughter on their faces. The simple dresses had wide knee-length skirts, the waists were tiny, and the women wore short white gloves. A holiday, perhaps Easter, judging by the daffodils and tulips.

Eagerly studying the faces, Madison recognized each of her great-aunts and her grandmother.

So young.

“She’s pregnant.” Emily indicated their grandmother.

Sure enough, one of the waists wasn’t that tiny. “Do you think she was pregnant with Mom or Uncle Rod?”

“This looks like the late 1950s. I’ll guess Uncle Rod.”

Madison held the photo closer, searching her grandmother’s face for a hint of herself but not finding it. Her grandmother had died when her mother was young. Madison had never known her.

“All girls,” Emily commented.

“The Barton curse,” Madison joked sadly. Male children had been few and far between in a century of the Barton line. Their ancestors typically had many girls and a single boy.

“Look at what’s on Grandmother’s wrist.” Emily pointed. “Do you remember that bracelet?”

Madison did. “The button bracelet. I didn’t realize it was that old.”

All three girls had played with the bracelet in the photo. It was wide, made of a diverse assortment of dozens of brass buttons with a few colored ones mixed in. “Grandmother must have given it to Mom. Remember how we fought over who got to wear it?”

“I’d spend hours looking at each button.” A dreamy expression covered Emily’s face. “I really loved it.”

Madison had too. One more thing lost in the fire.

“All four of the sisters are so beautiful,” Emily said. “Why did only Grandmother marry?”

Madison didn’t know the answer. Each of her great-aunts had brushed off the question in the past. She moved on to the next photo and immediately spotted her father, a big grin on his face.

“Where is this?”

Emily studied the photo of seven men with their fishing gear in front of a small tavern. “Isn’t that the bead store now? But why is this picture in the Barton file? Dad was a Mills.”

“Uncle Rod is in it.” He stood next to their father, an arm slung around his neck.

“I didn’t recognize him.” Emily squinted. “Look . . . isn’t that Sheriff Greer?” She giggled. “And Harlan Trapp—with hair.”

“Simon Rhoads too.” They looked like a rowdy group, ready to cause havoc for some fish.

“I think we could use this picture to blackmail Harlan or the sheriff,” Madison said. “I don’t think this is the image they’re currently trying to project.” She sifted through two more pictures of the same group of men in juvenile muscle poses. “Idiots.”

Emily elbowed her, fighting back laughter. “They were young. And probably drunk.”

A photo of a couple on a lookout high above the ocean made her stop. “Mom and Dad,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen this one.” Their mother was in profile, looking up at her husband, bliss on her face as he laughed at the camera. This was the loving couple her aunts had always described to Madison and her sisters.

A sad, confused wife.

Anita’s sentence echoed in her mind. Aunt Dory had said something similar two days ago. The words didn’t describe the woman in the picture.

Did Anita and Dory not tell me the truth?

“That’s the spot I nearly died at. Jeez, I was a stupid kid,” Emily said.

“Yes, you were.”

“You could have just as easily gone over the edge.”

Her father’s pocket watch popped into Madison’s thoughts—the shooting had wiped it from her mind. She glanced at Emily, her nose close to the photo of their parents, a hungry look in her eyes. Now or never.

“Em . . . I found Dad’s pocket watch in your room.”

Emily set down the photo and turned to Madison, dismay on her face. “You were in my room?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry, but why did you have it? Have you hidden it all these years?” Her sister’s expression was blank, but Madison knew anger simmered under the surface. “Mom searched high and low for that watch.”

“I know.”

Madison crossed her arms and tipped her head, waiting.

“I found it at Lindsay’s . . . that morning.”

Her heart stumbled. “What?”

“It was in the backyard. I stepped on it.”

“How . . .” Madison’s brain shut down. “Why . . .”

“I don’t know.” A shadow passed across Emily’s eyes. “Trust me, I’m still as confused as you are now. I told the FBI agents, and Agent McLane and I were driving to get it when . . . the accident happened.” Her throat moved as she swallowed hard.

“What d-does it mean?” Madison’s tongue stuttered over the words.

“I wish I knew.”

The memory of Emily picking up something in the yard the night their father was murdered suddenly rushed over her. “I saw you outside the night that Dad—I saw you pick up something from the grass. When I found the watch, I assumed that’s what you picked up.”