0451416325 by Heather Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

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.
    “What do you mean?” I picked up the thread of his anxiety and clutched my locket. My defenses were already being tested.
    “With my mother. She’s on edge.”
    I lifted an eyebrow.
    “Edgier than usual,” he clarified. “Also, look at the other Harpies. They’re all . . . nervous.”
    I glanced around, picking out the Harpies in the crowd. I couldn’t locate Haywood or Patricia, but Mayor Ramelle, Hyacinth Foster, and Idella Kirby definitely appeared tense, with stiff shoulders and phony smiles. Odd. “You’re right, they are. Hey,” I teased, “you’re pretty good at this deduction stuff.”
    Rolling his eyes, he said, “I’m starting to get a bad feeling.”
    Starting? I’d been harboring the bad feeling since hearing the details of Delia’s dream.
    “I should go find my mother,” he said, “keep an eye on—”
    His words were cut off by a high-pitched scream.
    This time it clearly wasn’t an owl, as the screaming came from the entryway, and reached a bloodcurdling level before suddenly going deathly quiet.
    Dylan broke into a sprint.
    I set my drink on the windowsill, grabbed up my dress, and followed him.
    On the landing, we fought through a gathering crowd to find Patricia bent over Haywood Dodd’s body, a bloody silver candlestick in her hand. I didn’t see any wounds on Haywood, but his skin was eerily pale, and I didn’t think he was breathing. Dylan dropped down to search for a pulse.
    I threw a look at the grandfather clock and gasped. It displayed nine thirty, just like it had in Delia’s dream. Why hadn’t I noticed earlier that it was running fast? I might have been able to prevent this.
    “Someone call for help,” Dylan barked as he started CPR on Haywood.
    Patricia’s voice cracked as she asked Dylan, “Is he . . . going to be okay?”
    Dylan paused to look for signs of life, then resumed chest compressions. “The ambulance will be here soon.”
    “That’s not what I asked,” his mother said. “Is he going to survive?”
    Dylan didn’t answer.
    “Dylan Harris Jackson,” Patricia snapped.
    I looked toward her and gasped when I saw the man floating behind her. His startled gaze landed on mine, and he blinked rapidly when he realized I was staring back.
    My stomach dropped clear to my toes, and I instantly felt a headache so bad that I nearly doubled over in pain.
    “I don’t know,” Dylan said simply as he continued to try to bring Haywood back from the dead.
    I could have let him know that his actions were futile, but I was in a bit of shock.
    Ghosts did that to me.
    When Haywood’s ghostly silhouette came toward me, I panicked. Without thinking twice, I picked up my hem, skirted the crowd, dashed down the steps and out the door into the dark cold night, unable to escape the feeling that a ghost was chasing me as I ran all the way home.

Chapter Five
    I made for a lousy Cinderella.
    I’d lost both shoes on the way home, kicking them off somewhere near the Ring, the picturesque center of town lined with restaurants, offices, and shops, including my own. My