Bran New Death(40)

“Do you want to see the store Dinah Hooper was looking to rent?” Shilo asked.

Tucking the book into my voluminous bag, I replied, “Yes! I do.” I didn’t know Dinah Hooper, and so couldn’t conclude that she had anything to do with Tom’s murder on my property. I was grasping at straws, but it was worth a look.

We strolled along the main street, as I tried to get used to being stared at. It was natural, I suppose; I was a stranger, and the owner of a notorious plot of land. I was a Wynter. But a local had also been murdered on my property, after vandalizing it repeatedly. I smiled and nodded at those who met my eyes, and ignored those who didn’t.

“This is it,” Shilo said as we came up to a small storefront.

A nicely dressed older woman trotted toward us, concentrating on the tiny screen of her cell phone and tapping away at a text message. She stopped abruptly as she looked up and saw us watching.

“Hi,” I said, striding toward her, arm outstretched. “My name is Merry Wynter. This is my friend, Shilo Dinnegan.”

The other woman awkwardly shuffled her armload of papers, Prada handbag and cell phone, and put her hand out, grasping mine in a warm grip that almost hurt because the number of rings on her fingers. “Binny told me all about you.” She eyed me up and down, then turned her attention to Shilo. “But she didn’t mention you.”

“I’m just here as support,” Shilo said. “Are you Dinah Hooper? Jack McGill mentioned he was meeting with you, and that you were looking to rent a storefront.”

“I am Dinah Hooper,” she said. She looked up at the storefront with a worried expression. “This place is going to be my new business. I need to have something to do since . . .” She broke off and shook her head, her eyes tearing up. “Since poor Rusty disappeared, and now Tom is gone, too. I just don’t know what’s going to happen with Turner Construction. I guess I don’t have a job anymore! Not that I’ve been doing anything there for a while. I’m going to do something with this place; maybe open a flower shop.”

“This must all be so difficult,” I said. “Was Tom like a son to you? Were you close?”

“Close? No. But I don’t know how Rusty is going to feel about all of this.”

“You think he’s still alive?” I blurted out, then clapped my mouth shut.

“I’m sure of it!” she said fervently, fingering the strap of her purse, pulling at a loose thread. “He just has to be. I will not believe that he’s dead.”

I didn’t know what to say to this. It sounded like she was in denial.

Shilo glanced at me sideways, then said, “Do you think he just left town, then? Why would he do that?”

The woman frowned as her cell phone chimed with a dance tune. She looked at the screen, and said, “I have to take this. To answer your question, Rusty was not well. He was upset by some stuff at work—Tom, God rest his soul, was giving him no end of heartache—and I think he just took off. I didn’t think he’d be gone this long, and I wish I had a way to contact him.”

“But Tom and Binny seem to think their father is dead!” I said.

Dinah shook her head, her blonde hair stiffly resisting any movement. “They just don’t want to believe that he would purposely leave them alone, that’s all. They don’t understand their dad.”

“Who do you think killed Tom?” Shilo said.

“If I knew, don’t you think I’d have told the cops by now?” Dinah answered smartly, and then punched a button on her cell phone. She said hello as she got her keys out, entered her new storefront, and closed the door behind her.

We stood staring after her. “That was sudden,” I finally said.

“I guess she didn’t appreciate being questioned by strangers,” Shilo commented with a wry tone. “Who could imagine that?”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “We were a little nosy and pushy with her. Let’s find a restaurant in this town and have something to eat.” It was early afternoon, and I hadn’t eaten anything but some muffins since earlier in the morning.

Shilo moved the car closer, locked up as best she could—her car is in bad enough shape that the locks only work intermittently—and we began looking in earnest for some place to eat. Most small towns have that one place, usually a down-home kind of café or restaurant, where everyone gathers to gossip. As soon as I saw it, I knew that Vale Variety and Lunch was it. I had passed it several times in my hunt for muffin ingredients over the last few days, thinking it was just a mom-and-pop variety store, but now I noticed the “Lunch” part of the sign. When Shilo and I entered, I saw that beyond the variety store at the front was a lunch counter and café area, which was quite deep.