Saylor didn’t give any indication she’d heard Mary Beth. I’m pretty sure if she had, we would have seen Magnolia House’s first murder. Instead, she clasped her hands in front of her and turned her gaze on me. “For example, Miss Price. What kind of woman do you want to be?”

The question threw me, and I suddenly realized that this was a test. Apparently, walking away from Paladin-dom wasn’t going to be that easy.

I knew the things I wanted to do—make my school better, go to college, become the second female governor of the state of Alabama—but I had a feeling that wasn’t what Saylor was looking for. “I . . . I want to be a good woman,” I said finally. “One who does the right thing, not only for her community, but for herself. Who follows her heart even if it’s not the most popular thing to do.”

There were a few giggles behind me. I knew how lame that answer had sounded, but it was true. Doing the right thing didn’t seem like all that much, but look at Leigh-Anne. Look at what doing one wrong thing had cost her. Lame or no, that was my answer. And I hoped Saylor heard what I was really saying.

Across the room, I caught a little glare of light. I realized David had lowered his book, and was watching me, his lips pressed in a thin line. I wondered if he thought I was talking about him.

“That was a lovely answer, Miss Price,” Saylor said. Her voice sounded . . . different. A little lower, and without those clipped tones she usually used. Then she gave a little shake of her head and clapped again.

“All right, now we’re going to practice descending the staircase accompanied. On the actual night, your escort will lead you down these stairs. There is a trick to walking gracefully on the arm of a man, and luckily, my nephew, David, has graciously volunteered to assist us.”

“If by ‘graciously volunteered,’ you mean ‘was threatened and coerced,’ then yes, I did,” David said, unfolding himself from that tiny chair.

A muscle twitched in Saylor’s jaw, but she let the remark pass. “Go ahead and line up at the top of the staircase,” she said, pulling that little blue pot of lip balm out of her pocket. “Oh, and Mary Beth, if you could come down here for a moment.”

“Ugh, what now?” Mary Beth sighed, but she went.

“Remember, girls,” Saylor called as David loped up the stairs, passing Mary Beth. “You are to lay your hand gently on the forearm, not loop your arm through his. This is Cotillion, not a square dance.”