I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.

I said a silent prayer that after what Camilla suffered, she had found just that paradise.

The police finished searching for evidence at her house. Camilla’s sister had been permitted to move in from the hotel. She planned to remain in Himmarshee to follow the details of the murder investigation. She also had to handle all the arrangements that follow any sort of death. Planning a funeral. Sorting out finances. Deciding what to do with the possessions left behind by a loved one.

I didn’t envy Prudence those tasks, even as she mourned her sister. I didn’t want to bring on added pain, but given the information I finally dragged from D’Vora, I had to find out more about Camilla. If I also happened to discover something about Camilla’s mysterious twin, that would be all the better.

I’d taken a seat on a sofa in the living room. A shrill whistle sounded from the kitchen. Prudence poked out her head. “I’m sorry there’s nothing to eat. I had to throw out some spoiled food. Will you have a cup of tea with me?’’

I thought about the kinds of questions I wanted to ask about her dead sister. It was almost lunch time. I weighed my need for fortification against her judging me to be a pre-noon lush.

“Have you got anything stronger than tea?’’

I saw the tiniest frown of disapproval before she banished it. “I’ll take a look. I never touch alcohol myself, but Camilla may have kept something in the house.’’

I recalled Prudence polishing off those brimming glasses at Mama’s house. Maybe the English didn’t consider sweet pink wine to be “alcohol.’’

She opened a closet door in a small hallway. She felt around on the top shelf, and then held up a dusty bottle of bourbon. “Will this do?’’

I gestured with thumb and forefinger to indicate a small amount. “Just a swallow or two. I’m driving.’’

She put the bourbon on the coffee table in front of me, and then went to retrieve her tea. She returned, carrying a small tray. On it was a delicate porcelain tea cup, a miniature pitcher of water, an empty juice glass, and a second glass filled with ice. The glassware looked like expensive crystal.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d drink it.’’ Her smile was apologetic as she eased into a chair facing the sofa.

“Undiluted,’’ I said, tipping the bourbon into the empty glass. I knocked back a generous swallow. It burned my throat. She sipped daintily. Light glowed through the rose-covered teacup, so fine it was nearly translucent.

“Thank you for coming by,’’ she said. “Your family has been very kind.’’

“It seems like other people have, too. You and the bartender at the golf course looked pretty close. Was she comforting you’’

The tea cup paused at her mouth. She looked at me over the rim, waited a beat. “Yes, exactly that. She apparently cared a great deal about Camilla.’’ She sipped. “Her name is Angela, I believe.’’

“And then there was that cowboy at Gladys’ diner. It looked like he was also being … kind.’’

The room was silent. We stared at each other. Prudence finally sighed. “Your family was spot-on when they described you as an amateur detective. You don’t miss much, do you?’’

I shrugged.

“Yes, well, one must take comfort where one can. If that happens to be with a bit of harmless flirting with a handsome American cowboy …’’ She raised her palms as if to surrender.

Knowing I was about to besmirch the reputation of her dead sister, I cut her some slack. Then I steeled myself with another hit of booze.

“I’m really uncomfortable asking you this,’’ I began.

She cocked her head at me.

“It’s about Camilla,’’ I said.

Her blue eyes clouded with suffering. I felt like I was crushing the life out of a baby bird.

“Would your sister have messed around with a married man?’’

Prudence carefully placed her cup on the saucer. “I think I told you Camilla and I had become estranged.’’

I nodded.

“Frankly, I didn’t know what she was up to in the last couple of years. She had certain … ‘tastes.’ We didn’t speak much about her love life, because she knew I didn’t approve.’’ She dabbed at a drop of tea on the tray. “I wouldn’t rule out adultery, or much of anything else, for that matter.’’

“So you don’t know who she was seeing before she was killed?’’

Prudence shook her head. “The police had the same question. Why do you ask?’’

I didn’t know how much to tell her. I didn’t want to give anything away about Kenny. I didn’t want to believe Maddie’s husband was involved in Camilla’s murder. But I knew he’d be a suspect if what D’Vora told me was accurate.

I’d begged the young stylist not to say anything to anyone else until I had the chance to talk to Kenny. Carlos would be angry, but I couldn’t think about that. I was more concerned with protecting my sister and her family than I was with my fiancé’s murder inquiry.

I shrugged. “I guess I just can’t break the habit of sticking my nose into investigations. The more that’s known about your sister’s comings and goings, the more likely the police can find links to her killer. Jealousy, love, lust … those are strong emotions. Strong emotions can become motives for murder.’’

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s dangerous, poking into the investigation? Suppose you ask the wrong question of the wrong person? You could be hurt.’’

“Nobody’s managed to murder me yet.’’

Prudence recoiled as if I’d hit her. I felt like slapping my own face.

“I’m so sorry. That was a stupid, insensitive thing to say.’’

She gave a small nod, silently letting me off the hook. The room was so quiet, I could hear her breathing. When she finally lifted the teacup again, it clattered against the saucer.

“This has all been so hard for me.’’ Unshed tears thickened her voice.

I fished in my jeans for a package of tissues. I offered her one, but she waved it away.

“I’m fine. Really.’’

Eyes welling, lower lip trembling, she didn’t look fine.

“It’s just so bloody awful to think that in some way, my sister might have brought this killing on herself.’’

She rose from her chair and walked to a bookcase. From the bottom shelf, she extracted a photo album, bound in rich leather. She sat beside me, placing the book across our knees, and opened it to the first page. “This was us in grade school. We were inseparable.’’

Two dark-haired girls in matching outfits sat astride a pony.

“Which one are you?’’

“I’m behind Camilla. She was always the leader.’’ Prudence traced her sister’s hair in the photo, a wistful look on her face.

She turned a few more pages. “Here’s another.’’ The sisters were teenagers, crammed into a photo-booth with two boys. Eyes closed, one of the girls was entwined in a make-out session. I pointed: “Camilla?’’

Prudence laughed. “How’d you guess? It was a double-date. We were each supposed to kiss our lad as the camera snapped. I lost my nerve.’’

On the opposite page, the girls were older. In a grassy field, they posed holding over and under shotguns. “I didn’t think the English believed in firearms,’’ I said.

“We’re not the wimps you Yanks imagine us to be.’’ She smiled. “Our dad was quite active in the British Association for Shooting and Conservation. Of course, Camilla always won our competitions.’’

She paged through several photos, and then stopped. Flanked by a well-dressed man and woman, the twins leaned against a Mercedes. One of the sisters scowled at the camera, arms folded. “Camilla was cross with our parents. They’d punished her for sneaking out at night.’’

She closed the album. “That’s the last picture of the four of us. Our mum and dad were killed within the month in a crash on the M1 motorway.’’

My heart went out to her; first her parents, now her sister. “I’m sorry,’’ I said, knowing the words were inadequate.