“Listen,” I said, lowering my voice, “I need to know what you know about my house.”

“You know,” came Charlotte’s voice from my left, “if you have an issue, you should really go through the website.”

I frowned at her. She bit into her apple at me.

I quirked a brow at Lucas. His eyes, widening, darted between me and Charlotte.

“Website?”

“Yeah, website.” Charlotte said, “As in a dot com address on the World Wide Web? There’s a form you’re supposed to fill out on our contact page if you want help. That way we can schedule accordingly. And keep our cases straight.”

“Helps us weed out basket cases, too,” said Wes, making Patrick snicker.

Okay. So I hadn’t exactly endeared myself to this group. I wasn’t trying to be invasive. But it had been Lucas I’d wanted to speak to. Apparently, a lunchtime conversation with him was a package deal.

Lucas hadn’t been in the library that morning, and after our last interaction, I somehow doubted I’d find him milling around my locker again after final bell. I needed to talk to someone, though. Because Erik’s name showing up on that grave after the dream-visit? It couldn’t just be happenstance. Not only did all the moving parts defy coincidence and leap officially into the realm of the outright bizarre, they involved Charlie.

“Cases?” I asked Lucas. “What kind of cases?”

“We’re paranormal investigators,” explained Wes, his tone suggesting that this information was public knowledge.

“You mean like ghost hunters?” I asked Lucas, whose face went as crimson as it had on Friday. Either he was embarrassed by this revelation or felt he would be as soon as his friends discovered how he and I had already met.

“You are currently sitting with the entire SPOoKy team,” said Patrick.

No kidding, I wanted to say, but managed to keep the comment in check.

“Which is an acronym for the Scientific Paranormal Organization of Kentucky,” Wes clarified, plucking a pudding cup from the table. He gestured to me with it as if lifting a brandy snifter. “Though I feel you should know that I offered the single declining vote for adopting that particular moniker.”

“Oh,” I said. Because “wow” seemed too snarky, and I was already in the red with these guys.

“Yes,” Wes replied, “I much preferred Southern Masters of Otherworldly and Troubling Hauntings or, if you like, SMoOTH.”

I nodded at that. Because what else could I do?

At least now Lucas’s comment in the library about collecting “data” made more sense. And this news about his being a paranormal investigator supported his claim that his interest in me had, in fact, been about Moldavia.

While all this made me feel better—about Lucas and my sort of having a crush on him—he seemed squirmier now than ever.

“Yeah.” Lucas cleared his throat. “I should have told you that when we, uh, discussed things on Friday. Like I said, I just didn’t want to . . . weird you out.”