“I’ll say.”
By the curious looks on the faces around her, Westie could tell the guests wished they could hear what was being said. The band had become the runner-up in entertainment. Westie looked toward the kitchen. While everyone was distracted by the argument, Bena slipped out of the kitchen into the great room, prowling like a cat without anyone noticing.
Westie held her breath as Bena slid her hand into Lavina’s handbag. There was no going back now.
She glanced back as Alistair put his hands down and stalked out of the room. When she looked toward Bena again, she was gone. Westie’s breath burst from her lungs.
After the meal, the dancing resumed. Ignoring the sneering crowd, Westie danced with the Wintu men. They didn’t know any proper dances so they just made it up as they went, and Westie enjoyed trying to keep up with them. She also danced with James twice. Afterward she found the sheriff and was curious about what had happened with Nadia.
He was dancing with his wife when she approached. “May I have this dance?” she asked.
The sheriff muttered a curse. “Must I?”
His wife hit him in the arm. “Don’t be rude,” she scolded. It was clear who the authority was in the relationship.
The sheriff, with the face of a man caught in the rain, took Westie by the hand. As they danced, Westie said, “Have you found anything concerning Nadia’s attacker?”
He looked away from her, toward the crowd. “Not yet.”
“I know you won’t believe me, but there are still cannibals out there, and I think Nadia was attacked by one.”
The sheriff made an exaggerated noise of annoyance. “Not this again.”
Westie held a hand up, trying to sound reasonable instead of nettlesome. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me. Back when I accused that man of being a cannibal, I wasn’t in my right mind. But I’m sober now. You don’t have to believe me, but can you please just keep an eye out?”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll look further into Nadia’s case as long as you stay out of it.”
“Deal!” Westie kissed his cheek, hardly able to contain her excitement. Perhaps if he pushed Nadia further, she might remember details that would lead the sheriff to Lavina. It was more than she’d expected to get. With a grumble he went back to his wife.
On her way back to the table, Nigel approached her with a man she didn’t recognize.
“Westie,” Nigel said, “I’d like to introduce you to my banker from Sacramento, Amos Little.”
The man had a white slick of hair on his head, a matching mustache, and a stature befitting his name.
“How do you do?” Westie said, still glowing from her conversation with the sheriff.
“Oh, fine,” he said, all smiles until the mayor walked by. The two of them stared each other down like two dogs with their ears pinned back. Westie’s curiosity was piqued when she saw the exchange. “I just wanted to meet the debutante before I head back to the inn.” Amos’s posture eased when the mayor disappeared in the crowd.
“You’re leaving already?” Westie said, hoping he’d stay long enough for her to learn what the cold look between Amos and the mayor was all about. “The night is young.”
Amos put a hand on his belly. “Afraid I must. This blasted ulcer is acting up again.”
“I’ve given him a treatment and a sedative to help him through the night,” Nigel said, patting him on the back with a sympathetic frown.
“Unless you feel like dragging my body around the dance floor with your machine after I’ve passed out, I best be off,” Amos said.
Westie winked at him. “Wouldn’t you know, that’s how I get all the men to dance with me.”
Chuckling, Amos said, “I doubt that very much,” and shuffled off toward the exit.
“What was that between the banker and the mayor?” Westie asked Nigel after Amos was gone.
Nigel pursed his lips. “I haven’t the faintest idea, but I’m sure two of the most powerful men in the valley are bound to butt heads at some point.”
Though curious, Westie let it go for the time being and took Nigel up on his offer to dance. She thought it was a fluke that he’d stomped all over Myrtle Grey’s toes, but alas, it was not.
While Nigel spun her around the room, Westie watched Olive Fairfield dance on her father’s feet. The love she saw in Hubbard’s eyes as he twirled his child around reminded her of her own father. She inwardly reprimanded herself, furious that she’d even let Hubbard near her father, even if it was in her head.
Olive spun and laughed while her cornflower-blue dress floated around her and her golden locks danced about her little round cheeks, pink with merriment. The father and daughter looked so utterly normal, almost sweet.