Scanning the crowd, I looked for anyone who seemed out of place, but these were almost all faces I recognized. There was no sign of Blythe, no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

“Harper?”

Miss Annemarie stood at the top of the stairs, an empty punch cup in her hands, a faint pinkish mustache on her upper lip.

“Miss Annemarie,” I said, straightening up. “What are you doing up here?”

She placed her cup on the little marble-topped table on the landing. Downstairs, I could hear the string quartet playing something stately and elegant. “Looking for the little girls’ room. The one downstairs has a line you wouldn’t believe.”

There was a small powder room off the main landing, and I walked toward it. “It’s right here,” I told her, opening the door.

“Oh, goody,” Miss Annemarie said. And then with a shove way harder than any octogenarian should be able to give, she pushed me inside.

Chapter 39

I STUMBLED over the hem of my dress, and tripped, smacking my head painfully against the low sink. Stars exploded in my vision, and I heard the door slam behind me. Other than a thin crack of light around the doorframe, it was totally black, and only Miss Annemarie’s heavy breathing told me she was right behind me. I heard the whisper of something swinging at me and flopped onto my back, kicking out blindly.

There was a clink of metal and a soft grunt of pain, and then the bathroom light blazed on. Miss Annemarie stood over me, searching the floor for the knife she’d dropped. “Dear me,” she said softly in the same tone of voice she used when she spilled tea.

“Miss Annemarie!” I gasped. “You? You’re the assassin?”

She glanced over at me, her eyes cloudy. “Have to kill Harper Price,” she said, almost conversationally. And then, spotting the knife wedged behind the toilet, “Ah!”

Her girth made it hard for her to bend down, and I crouched there against the far wall, watching her struggle. All my Paladin instincts were urging me to rush forward, pin her to the floor, and snap her neck. But . . . this was Miss Annemarie. She wasn’t a Paladin, she was just an old lady. An old lady who wanted to kill me, but still.

I got up slowly, sliding up along the wall, but as soon as I was on my feet, she reared back up, one meaty fist swinging for my head. I dodged it easily, grasping her hand in mine. “Miss Annemarie!” I said again, and it was like she couldn’t even hear me. The look on her face was dazed, dreamy. She looked like . . . she looked like Mom had this evening.

Mind control. A shudder ran through me. So that’s how Blythe was going to get rid of me. By sending the last person I’d expect to—