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build. But where Auggie always had the light of amusement in his eyes, March was stern and cold, like their father. September’s older sister, July, favored both her brothers’ looks, whereas May, the sister closest in age to September—whose death when September was just fifteen shattered them all anew a few short years after Kathryn’s death—also looked the closest to September: the same athletic build, high cheekbones, auburn hair, and, of course, the Rafferty blue eyes.
    Now, it appeared they were about to have a new member of the family.
    As if reading her mind, March glanced at Rosamund’s rounded figure and frowned. He’d married a woman while in his twenties, but the union hadn’t made it five years; Jenny, his ex, had liked the money and lifestyle, but had liked her Pilates instructor more.
    March and Jenny had one child together: ten-year-old Evie, who lived with him half the time, Jenny the other half. Evie was downright beautiful with long, dark hair and eyes so blue they looked violet, but she was as unsmiling and uncompromising as her father. At least that’s how September remembered her, and that’s certainly how Evie had appeared two months earlier at July’s birthday party at The Willows. But then Evie had been the only child at the outdoor picnic, so maybe that accounted for her attitude. September hated to think that, like March, who was as demanding, inflexible, and humorless as Braden, Evie had inherited those same Rafferty traits.
    “Have you seen July?” he asked September and Rosamund both.
    “She’s not at The Willows?” September responded, as her sister ran the winery for her father.
    “I just called there and they said she hadn’t shown up today.” He sounded irked.
    Rosamund shrugged and said, “I’m not her keeper.”
    “I haven’t seen her since her . . . birthday,” September admitted, acutely aware that, though she’d gone to the picnic for July, she had merely called March on his birthday and had ignored her father’s altogether.
    If March noticed, he gave no sign of it, saying impatiently to Rosamund, “When you see her, tell her I need to talk to her.”
    “Text her. You’ll probably talk to her first anyway,” Rosamund replied, running a hand through her hair, looking bored.
    “How’s Evie?” September asked.
    “Fine,” he said brusquely. He mumbled something about papers in Braden’s den, then strode on past them.
    Rosamund watched him go and said to September, “He works with Braden. They’re always bringing papers and folders and briefcases into the den.”
    “I didn’t think March had much to do with July and the winery. Does he see her that often?”
    “Oh, sure . . . we all do now.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Rosamund gave an unladylike snort. “She’s been living here the past month. Just moved in without even asking me! I told Braden she has to leave before the baby’s born, but no one seems to want to listen to me.”
    September couldn’t credit it. Though she hadn’t kept up with most of her family, she was surprised her older sister had moved back in with their father. March had his own place, and he and her father practically lived in each other’s skin. July had always, as long as September was aware, kept her own apartment or condo.
    Rosamund was looking at her, waiting, and September thought about storming past her to the attic, then decided it just wasn’t worth it. Even if she found her grade school treasures, she doubted there was anything earth-shattering amongst them that would give her a new lead in the investigation.
    “Tell Dad I’ll be by tomorrow,” she said, then headed back outside into the still warm evening.
    She felt depressed. Without Auggie, she had no one to relate to within the Rafferty clan. Her mother and May, the women she’d been closest to, had been taken from her before she was an adult. July had always been on her own path and September had been too young to ever really relate to her. Maybe it was