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place. It’s like straight out of Gone with the Wind ,” Becca says. “The porch reminds me of the very beginning, you know, where Scarlett flirted with those red-haired boys?” She waves a hand at her face, like she’s Scarlett O’Hara fanning herself.
    â€œUm, I’ve never seen Gone with the Wind ,” Vi says.
    â€œYou what !? Okay, just trust me on this. That place is so Gone with the Wind ,” Becca says.
    â€œYeah, I think it actually looks more like a haunted house,” I say.
    â€œHaunted by the ghosts of Southern belles past, you mean,” Becca says.
    â€œMurdered Southern belles. I swear those windows look like dark, empty eyes.” I actually kind of hate going by there at night, but I keep that to myself. I know ghosts can’t really exist. It’s not logical. But still . . . the ground lights they use make the house look all tall and twisted. And there are all these vines and Spanish moss. It’s super creepy. As long as we have the party on the porch during the day, I think I’ll be okay. Logical or not, I refuse to go inside. Period.
    â€œLauren, I can’t believe you’re not writing all this down.” Sadie picks the notebook and pen back up.
    â€œIf I wasn’tcompletely freaked out by the idea of Civil War ghosts crashing a birthday party, then maybe I’d be taking notes.” I shiver, even though it’s still hot and stuffy inside the Purple People Eater , despite the open windows.
    Sadie writes something and then lays the notebook down on the yacht floor next to the flashlights.
    Vi leans forward to read, and her ponytail swings over her shoulder. “Tea, Southern belles, and murdered ghosts. Ooo- kay .”
    â€œThe murdered ghosts thing wasn’t an actual idea. More like a reason I’m glad we’re doing this during the day.” I reach for my pen to cross out the ghosts, but Sadie pulls it away.
    â€œWait,” she says. “This could work.”
    We all just look at her.
    â€œNo, really!” Sadie’s got her planning face on—the one that’s smiles and concentration at the same time. “See, tea and pretty dresses go great together, but that’s going to entertain nine-year-olds for what, like five minutes? But . . . if we turn it into a murder-mystery party . . .”
    â€œOhhh!” Vi says. “Like those games you can buy,where someone’s a ‘murderer’ and everyone has to put the clues together and figure out who it is?”
    â€œExactly! And if we can act out the murder scene, they’ll love it even more.” Sadie’s already scribbling more notes.
    â€œWait, what do you mean by ‘we’?” I say. “There’s no way I’m acting anything out. No, nada, uh-uh.”
    Becca leaps up. “I call the part of the murdered person!” Becca mimes pulling a knife out of her stomach, rolls her eyes back, and collapses into a heap next to the warm water bottles. Then she sits straight up. “All I need is a cute someone who could catch me as I die and weep over my dead body.”
    â€œBecca, you’re definitely the most dramatic one here, that’s for sure. Don’t worry. We’ll have a part for you,” Sadie says. Her brain is obviously in mega-organizer mode.
    I cross my arms. “I am not acting anything. Y’all act. I’ll be the narrator or whatever.”
    â€œWe’ll figure that out later,” Sadie says. “Is everyone okay with a Southern murder-mystery tea party?”
    We all nod, and Becca offers to call Mrs. Campbell to run it by her. Then Sadie makes a list of things to do and we split it up.
    Becca’sphone buzzes just as Sadie checks off the last to-do assignment. “It’s Daddy,” Becca says. “I guess he’s all done tending to his sheep.”
    Sadie looks at her sideways.
    â€œAll the business owners in the chamber