Maggie’s mind began to whirl. For an instant, her eyes locked on Lieutenant Reiker’s as he stood on the sidelines, watching. Why here, she asked herself as she was snatched up and spun again. Why would he come here? Perhaps he was watching her—but why? Protecting her—from what?

Then she was in Cliff’s arms again, grateful that her feet could follow the mindless repetition of the dance while her thoughts raced in dozens of directions. Hadn’t Cliff said people came from all over to this all-night festival? Maybe Reiker was a country-dance enthusiast. More likely, she thought grimly, he’d wanted to see all the townspeople together, observe, dissect. She shuddered. It was his job, she reminded herself. He was only doing his job. But how she wished he’d go away.

There was Louella, seeming to float through the dance. Rather than verve, she had a restrained dignity in her movements that was both lovely and uncomfortable to watch. Lovely, Maggie realized, because Louella had the grace of a natural dancer. Uncomfortable—though she wasn’t able to put her finger on it, Maggie sensed there was something beneath the restraint that struggled for release.

Fanciful, she berated herself. She was being foolish and fanciful, imagining things that weren’t there. But the feeling of discomfort was persistent. She was being watched, she knew.

By Reiker? Stan Agee, Joyce, Louella? By everyone, Maggie thought. They all knew one another; they’d all known William Morgan. She was the outsider who’d uncovered what had been dead and buried for a decade. Logic indicated that at least one of them would resent her for that—perhaps all of them.

Suddenly, the music was too loud, the steps were too fast and the air was too full of scent.

Then she was caught up in Bog’s short, wiry arms and spun at a breathless pace. “You’re a good spinner, Miss Maggie,” he told her, grinning and showing several gaps instead of teeth. “One helluva spinner.”

Looking down into his homely, wrinkled face, she broke into a grin of her own. She was being ridiculous. No one resented her. Why should they? She wasn’t involved in a tragedy that was ten years old. It was time she stopped looking beneath the surface and accepted things as she saw them. “I love to spin!” she shouted to Bog, leaning back into it. “I could spin for hours.”

He gave a cackling laugh and released her for the next sequence. The music built, but it no longer seemed too loud. The tempo increased, but she could’ve danced faster and faster. When it was over, she had her hands linked around Cliff’s neck and was laughing.

There was no tension in her now, but there had been. He thought he understood the reason. Deliberately, he steered her away from the Agees and Louella. “I could use a beer.”