Bran New Death(39)

“I don’t care what happened to Rusty,” Hannah said, her fine-boned face holding a grim expression. “We’re trying to figure out who killed Tom, and why.”

“I know. I’m just trying to find my bearings. Could it all be tied up together?”

“I suppose.”

Shilo came back in to the library, a poorly hidden expression of excitement on her face.

“Shilo, this is Hannah,” I said. “Hannah, this is my best friend, Shilo.”

“Shilo . . . that means peaceful.”

“Bad name for me!” Shilo said with a laugh, plunking down in a chair by the librarian.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hannah said, gazing at her steadily. “You look how I always imagined Rebecca from Ivanhoe would look.” She reached out and touched Shilo’s long, dark hair. She fingered the curled locks with a wistful look. Her own hair was thin and mousy, lying flat on her narrow skull, parting around her ears like a stream around a rock.

“And you make me think of the pixies,” Shilo said, touching Hannah’s hand gently. “I believed in pixies when I was a kid. I played with them, out in the forest. Always my favorite faery folk.”

I could see they would be friends, each a little odd, each willing to say exactly what she thought. Hannah nodded, as if reading my mind.

“I saw Jack McGill,” Shilo said, her eyes sparkling, as she turned back to me.

“McGill?” Hannah said.

I whirled around and looked at Hannah. “You call him McGill, too?” I said.

“Sure,” Hannah replied. “Jack is too common a name for him.”

“I know. Even though he is a Jack-of-all-trades, in a sense. He’s filling in the holes that Tom dug.” That sobered me, bringing me back to Tom’s death. I could see it had affected Hannah similarly. “How did you happen across him, Shi? What did McGill have to say for himself?”

“Well, he was showing an empty storefront to a prospective tenant. The tenant was Dinah Hooper.”

“Dinah Hooper?” Once you hear a name, I thought, you just keep hearing it! “Rusty Turner’s girlfriend. Why would she be renting out a storefront?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Shilo said. “But it’s interesting, right?”

I chewed my lip. It was certainly interesting.

There was probably more I could have asked Hannah, but a local library patron came in, an odd woman, heavyset and with a determined frown; she wore a red hat and purple dress, and pushed a rolling walker along the shelves, but didn’t seem to depend upon it for support. She grabbed books as she went, tossing them into the basket of her walker.

“Hey, do you take book donations?” I asked.

“We do!” Hannah said, luminous eyes glowing. “Do you have any?”

“I sure do. I have my mother’s books, which have been in storage since she died; a lot of classics and poetry. I also have my grandmother’s. She favored kids’ books and classic mysteries. Lots of hardback Agatha Christie novels. All my boxes are coming from storage, and I could sure use a home for the books . . . that’s if they’re in good shape. They should be. Can you use them?”

“We definitely can. Whatever we can’t use, we sell to raise money at the annual Autumn Vale Harvest Sale.” Her smile died. “Tom always takes the books to the auditorium for me.” Tears welled up.

“I bet Jack would help out with that,” Shilo said softly, smiling down at Hannah.

The girl brightened just a shade. “Do you think so?”

“You know he will,” Shilo answered. “He seems to be very civic-minded, and the book sale . . . I’m sure lots of folks count on that every year.”

Hannah colored faintly and nodded. “Thank you.”

I told Hannah I’d be back another day, and she said she was often at Golden Acres for their Book Hour. She took in coffee table–type books for some of the old folks to look over and reminisce about. She was something of an amateur historian, it seemed, and talked to the oldsters about their early years in Autumn Vale and made up trivia games. She had heard about the muffins I was supplying, she informed me, and approved.

“I like muffins,” she said. “Take the book I gave you; it will give you some information on Wynter Castle. And come back in and check out more of the local history books sometime.”

As Shilo and I left, the purple-dressed woman eyed us covertly, using the brim of her red hat to shield her interest. Not very successfully, I might say. “Maybe I’ll see you at Golden Acres, then, or I’ll come back here!” I said as I waved good-bye to Hannah.

As we emerged out to the main street, I felt like I’d just left a dream. Hannah was an odd, little creature, full to the brim with emotion and tremulous longing. I wondered how hard that would be, to have people dismiss you because of your stature or disability when inside you were an adult woman, yearning for love. But she filled the library with her personality, making a gray, dull interior into a faery land.