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now would be a good time to change the subject.

    “Aunt Dot—” I began.

    “What about in the winter, Aunt Dot?” Tink piped in. “Do fairies migrate like hummingbirds?”

    “Oh no, child. They live in underground tunnels and caves. On a warm winter’s day, they like to sun themselves.” Sheturned to Abby again. “That’s another thing Abigail needs in her garden—some nice flat rocks. The fairies—”

    “Oh, gee,” I said, rudely interrupting her. “I didn’t see Arthur. Is he here today, Abby? Did he—”

    I stopped abruptly, sensing a presence to my right. My eyes traveled up to see Sheriff Bill Wilson, bald head gleaming, standing at the corner of our table.

    Great. I wondered ifhe heard our discussion.

    “Hi, Bill,” I said in a cheery voice. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

    Instinctively, he made a motion to rub his bald head. Halfway there, however, his hand stopped, and I smiled. Bill liked to joke around and say he hadn’t started losing his hair until I started bungling his investigations. It was a lie—Bill had been bald ever since I’d known him. However, he hadn’t been kidding a couple of months ago when he threatened me with jail time if I didn’t stop my snooping.

    “Afternoon, ladies,” he said with a nod.

    After Abby had made introductions, Bill eyed me with speculation.

    “You haven’t been to Aiken recently, have you, Ophelia?” he asked, wiping his head.

    His question caught me off guard, and I stuttered, “N-N-No.”

    “Not planning on going there any time soon, are you?” He rubbed his head again.

    “No.” Perplexed, I frowned. “Why?”

    “No reason,” he replied, and turned his attention to Abby and Aunt Dot.

    Aunt Dot sat forward in her chair practically vibrating with excitement. She fixed bright eyes on Bill. “You’re the sheriff?”

    “Yes, ma’am, I am.” Bill smiled down benevolently at her.

    Ha, I thought. I bet he wouldn’t be smiling if he knew about Aunt Dot’s dreams of adventure.

    “And you arrest bad men?” she asked.

    Bill shifted his weight to one foot. “Yes, if I find any.”

    “Have you found any lately?” Aunt Dot asked, tilting her head and gazing up at him.

    Bill gave me a nervous glance before answering Aunt Dot. “Why no, ma’am, I haven’t.”

    “Do youneed any help finding some?”

    I was right—Bill quit smiling as tiny beads of sweat speckled his forehead. He quickly broke eye contact with Aunt Dot. The arrival of our lunch saved him from answering her question.

    He said a hasty good-bye, and as he walked away, scrubbing his head, I heard him mutter,“Must run in the family.”

    I’d been so interested in the exchange between Bill and Aunt Dot that I hadn’t noticed Tink fall silent. I observed her pale face.

    Concerned, I touched her arm gently. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

    “I’m just not hungry,” she replied in a small voice.

    “Not hungry?” Abby asked in disbelief. “Eating one of Arthur’s hamburgers was all you talked about this morning at the greenhouse.”

    “I know.” Tink pushed her plate away. “I changed my mind.”

    “Would you like something else?”

    Tink shook her head and, shoving her chair back, stood. “I’m going to the restroom.”

    Before any of us could respond, she left the table and headed toward the back.

    I followed.

    I found her standing at the sink, applying a wet paper towel to the back of her neck.

    “What is it, Tink?” I asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

    “I don’t know. I got an icky feeling when Sheriff Wilson was talking to Aunt Dot.”

    “What kind of an ‘icky’ feeling?”

    Tink took a deep breath. “Like the one I had when I saw that man at the airport with her.”

    “Mr. Buchanan, the funeral director?”

    She nodded. “Only this time the feeling was worse. My skin felt all prickly.”

    Resting a hip against the porcelain sink, I pondered what she’d said. “Well, Mr. Buchanan, as a funeral