“He came home last night about an hour after you and Twig left. Went straight to the study. I heard him slamming cabinets, opening drawers. He poured himself a scotch, drained it pretty fast, then hurled the glass against the wall.”
I peer at Rafe with fresh suspicion.
He’s desperate. That much, we know. Why else would he have dug up Ezra’s grave? The question is—whyis he desperate? What’s so special about these gemstones? Who would have planted fakes?And what does it have to do with the larger puzzle at play?
When the twelve of us are assembled, Miss Applewhite takes her place at the head of the ballroom, her posture arrow-straight. “The Waltz of the Hollow was first danced by lantern light during the Yuletide Ball of 1758.”
I think of young Ezra with Molly Ludwig. Jude must be thinking the same thing, because his eye catches mine.
“It was said to have bound the town’s founding families in rhythm and ritual. After the fire, when the Hunter’s Moon Masquerade Ball replaced the Yuletide Ball, the dance remained and was given its name. It’s designed for three couples. Which means we’ll have two sets of dancers: the older generation …” She gestures to the grown-ups. “And the younger generation.”
Great.
Our set includes Rafe.
Miss Applewhite gives her hands a sharp clap. “Two lines, please, facing your partner. Ladies on one side. Gentlemen on the other.”
We shuffle into place. And as she launches into a long-winded monologue about the historical significance of this particular dance, my eyes drift to the fireplace. It’s adorned with an impressive carving of a fallen angel—wings outstretched, one hand reaching skyward, the other dragging something unseen into shadow.
The exact spot where Twig’s EMF meter went particularly berserk.
Music plays from the bluetooth speaker on the ground by Miss Applewhite—graceful and lilting, in three-quarter time. She speaks over it, positioning Rafe and Lainey as the lead couple in our set. Jude and I are second. Sterling and Becca Lynn, third.
“Now, we bow and curtsy to begin.”
Across from me, Jude bows, a lock of hair falling over his brow, and everything else—Rafe, the gemstones, the rift, last night’s experiment—disappears.
“We begin the dance with a circle of six,” Miss Applewhite calls. “Three couples, hand over wrist, circling left—your other left, Mayor Ridley—and then right again. Think of it as a brief alliance. Don’t get attached.”
My skin crawls as Rafe’s hand circles my wrist. We turn clockwise for eight counts, then counterclockwise for the same.
“Return to your places now. Second and third couple, do try to look elegant while doing absolutely nothing. You’ll get your turn soon enough. Top couple, take hands.”
Rafe and Lainey come together, passing between me and Jude, Sterling and Becca Lynn—four steps in, four steps out.
“Now cast off and progress!” Miss Applewhite cries, modeling the move in dramatic fashion.
Jude and I become the new lead couple. I anticipate coming together, taking his hands.
But no.
Miss Applewhite tells us to move diagonally.
Becca Lynn gets Jude.
I have to take Sterling, whose palms are clammy, his lips moving as he mouths the steps in rhythm.
Miss Applewhite continues calling commands, leading us through the dance, and only once does she yank on my shoulders. “Posture, darling. You’re dancing, remember. Not hauling potatoes.”
Poor Sterling gets the brunt of her critique.
Mayor Ridley takes a close second.
She keeps pointing out Jude, and begrudgingly, Rafe, whose only mishap was intentional.
“The hand goes here, Mr. Vandenberg. Any lower and I’ll put you under etiquette review.”
Lainey bursts into laughter.
