He turned and pointed toward a cluster of tables at the far end of the room, where a group of women stood in solemn conversation. I squinted, trying to see if any of them matched Ben’s description, but none did. Their attire was typical for a somber occasion like this—black dresses, muted tones, certainly nothing sparkly.

Before I could question him further, Arthur appeared, his expression shifting between embarrassment and concern. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking between Ben and me.

“I’m not entirely sure,” I replied, glancing at my son. “Ben says he saw something strange under the tables.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, but before he could respond, a murmur rippled through the crowd. I followed the direction of the curious glances and gasps, my heart sinking. The attention was directed at the very spot Ben had pointed to moments before.