“What is it?” she asked as she opened the door.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

Solange’s stomach tightened. An investigator? So far, not a single question had been asked of her regarding the young woman who threw herself into the sea. But surely someone would look into that death.

“Who is it?”

“Someone named Brianna Dare.”

Blood drained from her head, making her dizzy. “What?”

“I know, it’s late,” Gabby said, obviously misinterpreting Solange’s shock. “But she’s a nice girl, and she’s come all the way from Florida just to see you.”

“To see me?” This wasn’t good. This couldn’t be good at all.

“She said it has something to do with a genealogy project she’s working on about the Bettencourt family, and she’s sorry it’s late, but she just got to the island.” Gabby made a solicitous face. “Why don’t you talk to her for a minute?”

Why? Because Brianna Dare was the last person on earth she wanted to talk to-except maybe Jaeger.

“Tell her I’ll be right down.” She dismissed her with a wave, then locked the door, taking a deep breath to think.

She thought better with a drink. Under the sink in her bathroom, she pulled out the bottle of Jameson, poured a healthy amount into a glass, and knocked it back. Then she rinsed with mouthwash and stared at her pale eyes, and the circles beneath them.

The scepter sat for one hundred and fifty years under a stone stair, and no one knew about it. Then Malcolm Dare found out about it, and she’d handled that. Ana saw it, and she’d handled that, too.

Now one of Malcolm’s daughters was in on the secret? She hadn’t counted on that. Would she have to handle this like she’d handled the others?

This time, she hoped she could do so with a little more finesse.

She opened her wardrobe to choose something that would let this woman know exactly what she was dealing with. Chanel. She dressed, and then, as though she still ruled from a ten-thousand-square-foot penthouse overlooking Manhattan, instead of a three-hundred-year-old converted barn in the Azores, Solange swept across her room and carefully navigated the crooked steps down.

In the parlor-if you could even call the tiny room that-a young woman popped up when Solange entered.

“Mrs. Bettencourt,” she said, a wide smile across her pretty features. “Thank you so much for seeing me. I know it’s late, but I had a hard time getting here. This place is really out there, isn’t it?”

Solange just looked at her, and gave her a withering smile. “What was your name again?”

“Oh, sorry.” She held out her hand. “I’m Brianna Dare. And, honestly, I would have come here in the morning at a more reasonable time, but did you know there’s no hotel on this whole island?”

“I know.”

“So anyway…”

Solange didn’t make it easier with small talk. With luck, an icy attitude would scare the girl off. Unfortunately, she looked spunky and curious and not easily scared.

“The reason I’m here,” the girl continued, “is that I’m working on a family project involving the genealogy of the Bettencourt family here in the Azores.”

“Mmmm.”

“You are a Bettencourt, right?”

“By marriage.”

“But still, a Bettencourt.” The girl tucked her hands into her tight jeans and gave her another winsome smile. “Well, I’m a Dare.”

Solange didn’t react.

“That name doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

“Not at all.” Solange launched a brow north. “What exactly are you looking for, Ms. Dare?”

“Some answers to a really old mystery. Evidently my great-great-great-plus-more grandfather and your… probably about the same grandfather-in-law had a business arrangement that might have never been… completed.”

Oh, this girl knew far too much. Far, far too much. Who had she told?

Finding out might require her to be a little friendlier. “How interesting,” Solange said, finally indicating the settee under the window. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me all about it.”

Brianna beamed at the sudden change. “Thank you, I’d love to.”

“Something to drink? Some tea or something stronger, perhaps?”

“No, that’s not necessary.”

Solange settled in a chair, sizing up her opponent. Small, but wiry. Guileless, too. Clearly not expecting… danger. “So, tell me, however did you find me?”

“A genealogist in Lisbon helped me. She’d been helping my father, who started this project.”

“Oh, did he come with you?”

“No. He passed away a few months ago.”

Solange gave a solemn nod. “So sorry.” There was probably a special place in hell for people who offered sympathy for a death they caused. But she wasn’t worried about hell; it couldn’t be much worse than this. “So you came all alone? You traveled here without anyone else?”

“Oh, yes,” she said brightly. “But I’ll pay for it when my sister finds out.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“She’s very protective, and I thought it was better not to let her know I was taking this adventure. But I don’t need to waste your time telling you about my family. It’s yours I’m most interested in.”

No one knew she was here. “How exactly can I help you?”

“Well, since this home and this property have been in the Bettencourt family for so many generations, I was hoping that you might have some old documents, maybe some paperwork that would detail a business transaction that took place between my ancestor, Aramis Dare, and yours, a man named Carlos Bettencourt, back in the 1860s.”

“What kind of documents?”

“I won’t really know until I see them. Aramis, I believe, purchased some items in Cuba and brought them by ship to Carlos, here in the Azores. I’m trying to find proof that Aramis was paid for the items.”

She smiled. “I would think that whether he did or didn’t, a transaction that old would be forgiven and forgotten.”

“Oh, I’m not looking for money, Mrs. Bettencourt. I’m just trying to iron out some ancient history. I want to clear my ancestor’s name. It’s been kind of sullied by this.”

“That’s it?” She didn’t believe it, not for one minute. “You’re worried about the reputation of someone who lived a hundred and fifty years ago?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Brianna said, relaxing a little and leaning back. “You see, my father was a marine archaeologist, and he was very close to uncovering some artifacts involved in the business arrangement.”

Artifacts-plural. “What kind of artifacts?”

She hesitated, taking a breath. “Some very valuable ones.”

“Whom did they belong to?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“This sounds like it might be more involved than just some documents. Is this something you’re working on all by yourself, Ms. Dare?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, my sister is working a salvage dive right now, where the artifacts are believed to be buried undersea.”

“Really. Are you in touch with her?”

“Daily.”

She tamped down the fury inside. No one should be in touch with anyone on that ship. “This is utterly fascinating. I’d love to know more.”

“Then you’ll help me? Can you search the house, the town, any historical archives for paperwork?”

“I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes raised, only to be dashed. The chances of anything surviving all those years is very small, don’t you agree?” What had she been told by her own expert? “Paper doesn’t survive that long.” Unless it’s buried in a cold, stone cave. “But I must admit, I’m absolutely captivated by your story.”

She hadn’t spent nineteen years married to the shrewdest man in America and not learned anything. Keep your enemies close. Very close. And then destroy them without leaving a shred of evidence.

“Why don’t you stay here with me for a while so we can search together?” Solange suggested. “As you said, there is no hotel in Corvo, so you are at the mercy…” She smiled benevolently. “Or the kindness of strangers.”