There was a candle on every table in a green glass holder, but that provided little light, barely enough to read the menu or the list of special drinks in a Plexiglas sleeve that leaned up against it. Except for the spotlights on the stage and the soft lights behind the bar, the room was deep with shadows.

Hannah glanced around, noting the wooden rafters that loomed above them. And that’s when she saw something that made her gasp.

“What’s the matter?” Norman asked her.

“It’s that moose head hanging over our table. I swear it moved.”

The other three looked up at the moose head. It was huge, with a magnificent rack, and Hannah guessed the animal’s weight when it was alive would have been close to a half-ton.

“I saw it move,” Michelle said, shrinking back slightly. “There! It did it again!”

Norman glanced up at the moose head and down at the table. “I think it’s the candle,” he said. “Whenever it flickers, it makes the moose head appear to move.”

“Let’s test out your theory,” Hannah suggested, pulling the candle toward her and blowing it out. “There. Now let’s see if the moose head moves.”

They watched the wall for at least a minute, but absolutely nothing happened. The moose head remained stationary.

“You’re right,” Hannah told him. “Do you want to light the candle again?”

“I’ll do it.” The voice came from above, and they looked up to see a waitress standing by the table. She picked up the candle, drew the kind of lighter used to ignite a barbecue from her apron pocket, and lit the candle. “Was the moose head moving for you?”

“Yes,” Andrea said. “We thought maybe it was animated or something.”

“Oh, it’s animated, all right. Some people say it dances to the music if you have enough drinks.” The waitress gave a little laugh. “What’ll it be, folks?”

The waitress turned to Norman first, and Hannah thought that perhaps it was because she assumed her tip would come from him. “How about you?”

“I’ll have a ginger ale. I’m the designated driver.” Norman gave his order. “What would you like, Hannah?”

Hannah thought about it for a split second. If she had a glass of wine, she’d probably fall asleep at the table. There was another reason not to imbibe, and that had to do with her diet. A glass of dry white wine had about eighty calories. “I’ll have a diet drink. Coke, ginger ale, anything is fine.”

“The same for me,” Andrea said.

“I’ll have an ice-cream drink,” Michelle said, glancing down at the list of fancy drinks that had been propped up next to the candle. “You make your Brandy Alexanders with chocolate ice cream, don’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll have one of those, but leave out the brandy, please.”