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J ulia drove with an eye on the rearview mirror, worried about being followed.

She kept track of the cars around her but didn’t see the white Fiat.

She felt edgy and preoccupied, trying to figure out why Rossi drove around at night.

The awful image of the underground cell kept coming back to her, and so did the spectral vision of Caterina.

Meanwhile the Ferrari drew admiring glances, making her wonder again if Rossi bought the car for a lure.

The thought disturbed her to her core. She’d imagined her biological family for so long, but never suspected they were insane, criminal, child abusers, or worse.

She’d gone from hoping Rossi was her grandmother to fearing Rossi was her grandmother.

The cityscape of Florence came into view, and Julia’s thoughts turned to her meeting with the family investigator. She planned to bring up the underground cell, but she didn’t know if she’d mention that Caterina showed it to her.

She was tired of people thinking she was crazy.

She was starting to believe she was anything but.

Poppy Whitcomb turned out to be tall, Black, and about fifty-something, with dark eyes, a longish nose, and a chicly glossy mouth.

Her hair was short and silvering at the temples, setting off hammered silver earrings.

She had on a beige linen pantsuit with a melon-hued camisole, and she welcomed Julia into a sunny, tasteful office, which had a cozy sitting area of upholstered chairs and a coffee table with a tissue box, like a therapist’s office.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Julia got comfy in the cushy chair. “It’s nice sitting here instead of the desk.”

“Thanks.” Poppy smiled. “I love my job, and doing genealogical searches for adoptees is as personal as it gets, so I prefer an informal office, too. Are you sure you wouldn’t like water or coffee?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”

“To begin, I’d like to get to tell you what I can and cannot do, then see if that matches your goals. This is a consultation, and there’s no charge for today.”

“Okay, great.” Julia liked her manner, which was warmly professional.

“All I know about you is that you are a United States citizen and were adopted in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you have a Pennsylvania birth certificate?”

“Yes, at home in the States.”

“And you’re just beginning your search for your biological parents?”

“Yes. My adoptive parents are dead, and I knew they didn’t want me to look for my biological parents, even though they never said so.”

Poppy nodded, her features softening. “You felt like it would have been disloyal? A betrayal?”

Bingo. “Yes.”

“I understand completely. I’m adopted, too.”

“Really?” Julia asked, surprised. “Funny, I never met another person who was adopted.”

Poppy smiled. “You might have, but you may not have known it. People don’t always share.”

“Right, I don’t.” Julia thought a minute. “It doesn’t come up in everyday conversation. It mostly comes up when they ask for medical history.”

“That’s my experience as well. I’m older than you, but I didn’t tell the other kids at school I was adopted. I had an older brother who wasn’t, so they assumed I was his little sister. When I was growing up, adoption had a stigma, even in my mind. We stigmatize ourselves.”

“I felt it, too.”

“Most of us tend to interpret our relinquishment as abandonment, when it may not have been. We take it on, at worst. Or we fill in the blanks with supposition, projection, and fantasy, because we want it to be so.” Poppy paused. “I always say, wishful thinking is wistful thinking.”

Julia felt it strike another chord. “I wondered why my birth parents gave me up. I still do.”

“Yes, even terms like give up carry negative connotations. In my view, the quest for identity isn’t limited to adoptees. It’s something every individual undertakes during his lifetime, more than once.”

“That’s true.” Julia thought it was an insight, and it felt good to be connecting with Poppy in a meaningful way, so quickly.

“My story is similar to yours, in the emotional bits. I had a good relationship with my adoptive parents, who were Londoners. I didn’t search for my birth parents until after my first son was born.

He has medical issues that made my history relevant.

” A frown flickered across her lovely features.

“I eventually found my birth father, though my birth mother had passed. He was unhappy when I tracked him down.” She paused.

“Reunions with birth families may not be as we hoped.”

Julia’s gut tensed. Rossi was far from the grandmother she’d hoped for.

Poppy cocked her head. “So what brings you here today?”

“It all began when I inherited a lot of money and a villa in Croce from a woman named Emilia Rossi, whom I never met. I think she may be my birth grandmother. There is a caretaker couple there and they say Rossi didn’t have any children, but I believe she lied.”

“That’s not uncommon.”

“Plus Rossi thought she was related to Caterina Sforza.”

“You mean Caterina Sforza, from the Renaissance?” Poppy asked, her British accent emphasizing the second syllable.

“Yes, I know it sounds unlikely, but I think Rossi could have been related to Caterina.”

Poppy frowned. “It’s my understanding that if you go back ten generations in your family, your genome gets a contribution from less than half of those people.

So, as a biological matter, the DNA of your biological grandmother and your DNA contain nothing of Caterina Sforza.

One would not expect to find similarities in appearance or temperament, which are inheritable. ”

“But I look at these pictures and I see some family similarity.”

“It’s possible, but it’s chance.”

“Can you trace lineage back that far, to Caterina Sforza’s era?”

“ I cannot.” Poppy held up a manicured index finger. “It’s a matter of research for a historian. They conduct such searches for clients who wish to track down their heraldic coat of arms, family crests, or the like.”

Julia felt stumped. “So how do I find out if Rossi was related to Caterina, and if I’m related to Rossi?”

“This is what I meant by clarifying your goals.” Poppy leaned forward on her slim knees. “I can help you with determining whether you’re related to Rossi. I would begin searching Rossi’s birth records in Florence and surrounding towns.”

“That would be wonderful,” Julia said, thrilled. “And I found out from a 23andMe kit that I have almost a hundred percent Italian ancestry, from the Tuscan region and Milan, too.”

“Good.” Poppy made a note on a small pad. “Did the results notify you of relatives in the area?”

“No, there were none who registered.”

“Okay, I can double-check other online registries. To return to topic, I’ll begin the search at the Registrar of Vital Statistics here, then widen geographically and keep going.

Unfortunately, Italy is balkanized in terms of provinces and local governments.

One can’t expect results for at least a month because bureaucrats are slow to return calls and emails.

Nothing in Italy happens quickly except pasta.

” Poppy smiled slyly. “How long are you in Croce for?”

“I’m not sure, it’s open-ended. Do you need me here to conduct the research?”

“No. We can communicate by email or Zoom. Very few of my clients are in the city or even in the country.” Poppy made another note. “Do you have any relevant records or documents aside from your birth certificate? I’m sure if you search the villa, you’ll find records, diaries—”

“No, it was all burned. Everything is gone.”

Poppy frowned, taken aback. “Was there a fire?”

“Yes, an intentional one. Rossi had everything burned except her car.”

Poppy recoiled. “So you have no documents or photos at all?”

“I do have some photos.” Julia went into her purse, retrieved the three photos of Rossi, and set them out on the coffee table. “The only one I’m sure is Rossi is on the left. The housekeeper gave it to me.”

Poppy eyed the photos, then looked up at Julia. “I do see the resemblance, for what it’s worth.”

“Right? I also have a watercolor self-portrait that may be my mother as a young girl, but I have no proof of that, and I don’t know for sure.” Julia scrolled her phone, found the photo, and showed it to Poppy.

“I see, and why do you think this is your mother?”

Julia hesitated. “Because of where I found it.”

“How so?”

“Honestly, it’s disturbing, and I think criminal. I already spoke with the police.”

Poppy blinked. “May I know the details? I’ve been doing this work for twenty years.

I’ve heard stories that would curl your hair.

Learning a biological family’s history may be unpleasant.

One embarks on this journey with joyful anticipation, but families hide what they’re ashamed of, for generations. ”

“I hear you.” Julia opened up to Poppy, telling her about the underground cell and that Rossi may have burned everything to destroy evidence.

Poppy listened, taking notes, and Julia ended up telling her about her nightmares, her feelings at Caterina’s castle at Forlì, and her vision of Caterina last night.

Julia finished, shaky. “So do you think I’m crazy? ”

Poppy met her gaze with a new gravity. “No, but you strike me as intuitive, and it gives us an avenue to explore.”

“One last thing, I brought the hair from the comb.” Julia went into her purse and retrieved the baggie, then realized something. “Funny, I don’t feel tingling. Maybe because it’s in the plastic?”

“Do you want to take it out and see if you feel a tingling?”

“No.” Julia didn’t want to reduce the tingling to a parlor trick. Or maybe she was afraid it wouldn’t work. Or would .

“I understand.” Poppy picked up the baggie. “I have an excellent lab I use for DNA testing.”

“Great. Am I correct that if we test the hair and my DNA, we can know for a fact if the little girl was my biological mother?”

“Yes, those tests will be dispositive. Unfortunately, the results take over a month.”

Arg. “Is there any way to hurry it, like pay a rush charge?”

“I’ll inquire but I don’t think so.” Poppy glanced at her watch. “Oh no. Sorry, I lost track of time. We didn’t get to discuss my fees. My rate is three hundred euros an hour, payable monthly, should you decide to engage me.”

“I would.”

“Brilliant.” Poppy smiled. “We’ll exchange contact information, and I’ll send you an agreement you can Docusign. Let me know if you decide to leave the country. I will schedule collecting your DNA samples with the lab.”

“Okay.” Julia felt a frisson of excitement.

“With your permission, I’ll touch base with Marshal Torti and ask him to keep me apprised of any developments.” Poppy rose, and Julia stood up, too, gathering her phone and the photos.

“Yes, thanks.”

“If I turn up anything, you’ll be the first to know.” Poppy walked Julia to the door, where she paused. “Before we conclude, I have another referral for you.”

“About the white Fiat’s license plate, or the historian for Caterina?”

“No, a different referral. It’s unconventional, but I recommend it in your case.”

“What?” Julia asked, intrigued.

“I know an excellent medium.”