I was mortified by the overwrought display, but Bettina applauded rapturously. Pia looked like she’d eaten a lemon.

“Ladies. Another dramatic event.” Maggie approached through the once-again-mingling crowd. She still had her stupid notebook, pen poised. “Raising a lot of money?”

“We always do,” I said coolly.

“Nice dance,” she said to Bettina, then turned to me again. “And I’m hoping you’ll agree to a quick interview on camera.” She smiled. “Surely you aren’t afraid this time.”

“I never was.”

“Good.” Maggie tapped her cheek with her finger. “I’ve got a very interesting source for my story, you know.”

Something caught my eye coming out of the woods behind Maggie. A girl, all white, walking slowly. “Ghost Girl,” someone gasped, and someone else giggled. Then the light caught Ellen Hendricks’s face. She was dressed in a ridiculous lace wedding gown, veil on her head.

“Hang on a minute,” I said to Maggie, and I saw her motion to her cameraman to start filming.

Ellen had something cradled in her hands. She asked a random person for their candle and lit the object, a paper boat. I followed her over to the lake’s shore as she kneeled, set the boat down and pushed it out into the water. The rest of the crowd went back to their conversations.

“I’m sending her spirit out into the universe,” she told me as she straightened.

I could hear Maggie breathing behind me, but I ignored her.

Ellen lowered the veil over her face. “Let’s just hope she takes the offering and doesn’t come back to haunt the ones who wronged her,” she said. The hem of her dress floated on the lake’s surface.

“Kendra?”

“What?” I whirled, ready to yell at Maggie to back off, but it was just Theresa. She jumped. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“That was great,” Theresa said as Bettina strolled up beside me. “I can’t believe you guys never told me any of this. I had no idea. What a sad story.”

Someone lit a sparkler nearby, handed it to a young boy. He squealed as it sizzled, twirling it in the air in wild, wide circles. Hopefully he wouldn’t set himself on fire.

“It is sad,” Bettina said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But you wouldn’t think that the way Maggie Lewis is walking around, shoving her microphone in people’s faces.”

“If she tries to talk to you, don’t do it. We are not encouraging her,” I said to Theresa.

She zipped and unzipped her jacket. “Oh?” she asked, looking from me to Bettina.

“Have you met her?” I asked. “Maggie Lewis? From Channel 7?”

“But I thought you guys wanted media coverage?” She tugged on her ponytail. “I thought you’d...like that?”

“Not from her,” Bettina said.