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considering”—behind her silver mask, she cast a disapproving glance at a grandfather clock near the stairway—“you’re an hour and a half late.”
    At the sight of the clock the tingling I’d been feeling worsened, raising the fine hair on my arms, making my skin bump over. This had to be the clock Delia had seen in her dream. Looking around, I was amazed to see just how many people had brown hair. From the Kirbys downstairs to my aunt Eulalie, who was swirling around the dance floor with Mr. Butterbaugh, to dozens more.
    Dylan dutifully kissed his mama’s cheek. “We’re here now,” he said lightly.
    “Yes, I see that.” She smiled lovingly at him and straightened his tie.
    He was an only child, and it had been just him and his mama for a long time now. As critical as she could be to me, she adored every hair on his head, and it showed in the love in her eyes when she looked at him.
    The only thing in her eyes when she looked at me was judgmental disdain. “Hello, Carly.”
    “Hello, Patricia.” Civil. Perfectly civil.
    “Your dress is lovely,” she said. “Wearing white after Labor Day is a bold choice.”
    No ruckus, no ruckus, I silently repeated.
    I declined to point out that my dress was ivory. “Thank you. So is yours. And is that a new hairdo?” I asked as innocently as I could. “It’s very becoming. Very Martha Stewart–ish, post prison sentence.”
    It wasn’t true, but that didn’t stop me in the least. In reality her blond pixie-style cut with wispy ends looked modern and glamorous.
    Patricia’s mouth tightened, as did Dylan’s hand around mine.
    Warnings, both.
    “Miz PJ!” Ainsley said, quickly sidestepping in front of me. “The house is amazing.”
    Ainsley had always been the protective sort, but I wasn’t sure who she was guarding in this situation—Patricia or me. After all, Ainsley was one of the few allowed to call Patricia by her endearing nickname, as her mama and Patricia were close friends.
    Patricia smiled a genuine smile, and it transformed her whole face from pinched prune to Southern beauty. She grasped Ainsley’s hands. “It definitely is.”
    Longingly, I glanced toward the ballroom. I didn’t want to stand here under Patricia’s scrutiny. I spotted my daddy standing in a corner, a cocktail gripped between his hands.
    He was a man after my own heart.
    I squeezed Dylan’s arm and glanced around the small group on the landing. “I’ll catch up with y’all later. I see my father.” And the bartender.
    The blessed bartender.
    “Lovely,” Patricia said snidely.
    Dylan sighed heavily. Or maybe that was me.
    I made cross-eyes at Ainsley and turned to go. I’d taken only two steps before I was jerked backward. I’d have fallen flat on my rear if not for Carter catching me, his strong hands grabbing hold of me just under my rib cage. He carefully set me to rights, and I glared at Patricia.
    Whose stiletto was firmly planted on the train of my gown.
    “Oh my! Look at that. I’m terribly sorry,” she trilled with a malicious gleam in her eye as she removed her foot from my dress. “What an unfortunate accident. I hope the dress isn’t torn.”
    I clutched my locket and clenched my jaw. Hard.
    “It’s okay,” Ainsley said, crouching down to inspect the dress. “No rips. You’re good to go.” She smoothed my hem and gave me a little push forward.
    Trying to get me to go before I said or did something I’d regret.
    I took a step, caught Dylan’s gaze, held it.
    He must have seen the about-to-snap look in my eye because he cupped my face in his hands, leaned in and whispered, “Love you, Care Bear,” just before kissing me.
    I heard Patricia suck in a breath and resisted the urge to turn around and stick my tongue out at her. Instead I headed through the wide entryway that housed a coatroom and a hallway that led to the restrooms, and straight across the dance floor to the bar. Buffet tables lined a long wall, and I noticed silver candlesticks of