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cravat was clean and he didn’t eat too much rich food. She’d behave herself, bite her tongue, and come home with the painting. What could go wrong? With Miranda’s morbid imagination, she could think of thousands of horrifying outcomes, but she should have stopped Grandfather from selling the portrait in the first place. She had to do this. Her family needed her.

Chapter 3

    Pine Gap, Missouri
    Pine Gap. That was the name of the town, but all Miranda could picture were President Washington’s ill-fitting wooden dentures. Keeping her eyes glued to the window, she waited for the endless trees to thin and reveal their destination. According to the conductor they should arrive soon, but how could a town of any size exist in such an isolated area? Naked rocks jutted out on both sides of the train, where the railroad had blasted through the mountains—menacing, sharp overhangs that hadn’t healed from their recent injury. Had Mother known about the miles of wilderness they would cross, she never would’ve let Miranda go.
    Miranda had barely been able to pry herself out of Mother’s arms as it was. On second thought, she was giving herself too much credit. Father was the one who’d ultimately separated the two. Without his firm insistence, she would’ve climbed back into the hired hack and sulked home to where she’d feel safe and sound—until Cousin Cornelius called again.
    â€œI wonder if our auction house is close to the depot.” Grandfather rested both hands atop his cane. Since they’d left Boston,he’d been a fidgety bundle of excitement. Striking up conversations at random, exploring the shabby depots, anxiously rocking, as if his efforts could speed the train along the tracks. “Our first priority is to recover the LeBlanc portrait, but I don’t deny that I’m excited to see what other treasures our purchase has netted us.”
    Miranda studied the seams on her gloves. Once her father had located the auction house owner, her grandfather had taken over the correspondence. Thinking it not prudent to ask outright about the portrait, he merely expressed interest in the auction house itself, and before her father could stop him, he’d purchased the entire business—lock, stock, and barrel, as they said. Their weekly receipts weren’t much, but the number of items for sale and the number of bidders was impressive, leaving Miranda to suspect, and her grandfather convinced, that they’d stumbled upon a goldmine. Here was a place where antiques, furnishings, and jewelry went for pennies on the dollar. All they needed to do was to box up the inventory, ship it home, and they’d not only have the LeBlanc picture, but a tidy profit besides.
    â€œYou’re certain the owner hasn’t sold anything?” Miranda asked.
    â€œHe gave me his word. As of the twenty-eighth of May, he hasn’t sold a thing, but waits for us to arrive. That painting should be safe in his warehouse.”
    â€œI hope so,” Miranda said. “I hate to think of being away from home any longer. Grandmother always fretted if you weren’t home for dinner. I can only imagine what she’d think of this adventure.”
    He fidgeted before answering. “Your grandmother was a dear woman but a bit of a worrywart.”
    â€œHow could she help it, with your antics to trouble her?” Miranda tucked her hand beneath her grandfather’s arm. His eyes dimmed with memory. Grandmother’s passing had changed him. He used to be so open, so approachable, to even the lowliest laborer. Now he used a blustery whirlwind of activity to chase people away and perhaps to dispel thoughts of his own mortality.
    The steam whistle blew. The wheels screeched. Still nothing but trees outside the window. Miranda checked her fob watch, a souvenir her father had purchased from the first sale she’d cataloged. Just past noon. They should