A hand settled on my arm, tugging me to a stop. Haywood’s eyes blazed with fury. “I’ve got this, Carly.”
Before I could ask if Haywood knew who the woman was, he’d already surged across the room, but Patricia and the woman were no longer in sight. One of the Harpies must have already put an end to the spectacle.
The band started up again. Laughter soon filled the air, replacing the tension.
I looked around for my daddy and found him in my mama’s clutches. She had her hand wrapped tightly around his arm as she regaled Mayor Ramelle and her husband, Doug, with some sort of high-spirited anecdote.
My aunt Eulalie had somehow coerced Dylan into dancing with her, and he was twirling her round and round, taking full advantage of her hoop skirt to clear their path. If the pure look of joy on her face was any indication, Aunt Eulalie was loving every second of the spotlight.
Like Mama, Aunt Eulalie adored being the center of attention.
That trait must have skipped my generation.
Smiling, I glanced out the window, which faced the backyard. The cemetery was positioned to the far right side of the house, set in a copse of trees and barely visible from the house. For that I was grateful.
“See any ghosts out there, Miz Carly?” someone said close to my ear.
I nearly jumped straight out of my skin, and my drink would have surely splashed my dress had my glass not been empty. My heart pounded as I whipped around to find Mr. Butterbaugh frowning as he peered around me, out the window.
“G-ghosts?” I stuttered. No one but immediate friends and family knew I could see ghosts. Certainly not Mr. Butterbaugh.
Solemnly, he said, “Strange things been happening around here.” He handed me a drink and added, “Dylan asked that I deliver it to you right after Eulalie sweet-talked him into taking her for a spin around the floor.”
“Thank you.” I gratefully took the drink. “What kind of strange things?”
“Things that be givin’ me an ulcer. An ulcer, I tell you.” He adjusted his black tie, then tamped his wrinkled brow with a handkerchief. “My stomach aches somethin’ fierce. You got something for that at your shop?”
“I do.” I didn’t dare tap into his energy right here and now to see if he did in fact have an ulcer. One slipup like that, and the energies of everyone in this room would bombard me, coming at me from every angle, suffocating me with all their emotions. I broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it.
Fortunately I really didn’t need my abilities to read Mr. Butterbaugh anyway.
More than likely, he was just fine.
He was Hitching Post’s resident hypochondriac, and I had never dosed him with anything other than a placebo potion in all the years he’d been a customer of mine.
But I was curious about his comment. “What kind of strange things?”
His brown eyes widened and he swiped a hand through his graying hair, raising tufts. “Lord-a-mercy, the strangest. Bumps in the night, things out of place, but the most bizarre? Someone dug up one of the graves in that old cemetery out yonder.”
Horrified, I gasped. “You’re not serious.”
“Saw the fresh-turned earth with my own two eyes.”
“But why?”
“Beats the tar out of me,” he said. “Nothing out there but old bones.”
That was strange. “Did you tell the sheriff?”
“What was to tell? Nothing was missing that I could see. And I weren’t digging up that grave to double-check, Miss Carly.”
Couldn’t say I blamed him.
The song ended, and he perked up. “I’m going to catch another dance with Eulalie. I’ll drop by the shop in the morning, Miss Carly, for that ulcer potion.”
Nodding, I said, “Have fun tonight.” I waved as he shimmied into the crowd. I needed to be sure to tell my daddy Mr. Butterbaugh would be coming by in the morning so he could be prepared with a placebo potion.
I turned my attention back to the cemetery. I’d mention the digging to Dylan. If the grave had been robbed someone needed to look into it, as creepy as that investigation would be.
A moment later, Dylan was at my side, breathing hard. “Where does Eulalie get her energy?”
“She’s loving this party, isn’t she?”
Her laughter carried as she and Mr. Butterbaugh tried to waltz. It was nice to see someone having a good time, because all I wanted was to go home.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“A little after nine. I should probably find my mother.” He looked toward the entryway. “Do you think she was escorted off the premises?”
I smiled. “If so, I’d have paid to see that. Do you know who the woman was?”
“No. You?”
“Nope, but she looked familiar.”
Nodding, he said, “I thought so, too.”
Her identity was bound to be revealed by morning and the gossip would make its way round to me eventually, even while I was in hibernation. Hitching Post loved gossip.
“Something’s going on,” he said so quietly that I had to lean in to hear him. He surreptitiously scanned the room.