A wedding dress—it had to be a wedding dress. Autumn scrunched her nose as she took in the sight of Iris draped in layers of white satin and lace. Iris’s face was alight with a triumphant smile, basking in the extravagance of her gown. She looked entirely out of place, like a misplaced bride, but that didn’t matter to her. She was getting exactly what she wanted: attention. Still, did she have to demand that kind of attention—at Alexander Fraser’s funeral, of all places?

Everyone else wore black in solemn respect for the late Alexander Fraser, but Iris stood there in a cloud of white, aware of the stares drilling...