Bran New Death(93)

And then, at long last, the penny dropped.

Where had I seen the dirt bike? Outside of Dinah Hooper’s apartment.

Who did I know who was an acknowledged hunter? Dinah Hooper.

Who had access to all of the Turner Construction, and probably the Turner Wynter accounts? Dinah-freaking-Hooper.

I remembered in that moment the letter I had found among my uncle’s stuff, the one that was addressed to Turner Wynter Global Enterprises. I had never heard their business called that before, and that struck me as odd. Something teased at the edge of my brain, but someone was coming, striding through the forest with a great deal of confidence. Hunkering down in a shallow depression, behind a bushy undergrowth, I watched through a leafy branch. A figure in camouflage loosely cradling a rifle, strode past me, then paused. Blonde hair piled high, glittery earrings, rounded form: when the figure turned I was not surprised to see Dinah Hooper. But her expression! I’d never seen her like this, furious and determined.

Practically holding my breath, terrified that she would see me, I heard a noise in the distance, and then a streak of orange crossed the path. She raised the gun, and I was sure she’d aim for Becket, but no, that wasn’t her quarry. Who was, then? Me? But she had no cause to come after me, and couldn’t have even known I was there.

I heard more noise, and staggering out of the brush came another figure. It was an old man with a long, tattered beard; ragged, filthy clothes; and a battered hat pulled down over his head. He was running—or rather, staggering—and stumbled and fell. I heard a grunt of surprise from Dinah, then a hiss of satisfaction. She raised the gun, sighted along the barrel, and pointed it at the old man, who finally saw her as he lumbered to his feet.

“Dinah, please, don’t shoot!” he wailed, arms raised in surrender.

I gasped in surprise, then clapped a hand over my mouth. It had to be Rusty Turner! Dinah whirled at my gasp, and the old man took his chance while she was distracted, diving into the bushes with a loud grunt and cry of pain. He was old, but quick and crafty.

Dinah swiveled the gun back to the pathway. “You come out now!” she yelled, sighting along the barrel. “I see you moving around, Rusty. You want to die in the bushes? Like you left my boy to die alone?”

“He tried to kill me, Dinah! I’m sorry, but what was I gonna do?” The poor old guy’s voice, barely heard from his hiding spot, quavered with fear. He sounded hoarse and weak. “He tried to kill me.”

Her boy? Who the heck . . . oh! Dinty Hooper. My eyes widened as I figured it out; so that’s who the body in the woods was.

“Dinty was a good boy,” she sobbed, the barrel of the rifle drooping. “He was only doing what was best for me. Now come on out and face—”

She was cut off by Becket, the feline ninja, leaping at her from behind and knocking her off balance. She screamed, the rifle went off—a wild shot that clipped some leaves, which fell in a fluttering flurry of green and sent a crow cawing raucously out of the tree—and she staggered sideways. I broke from cover, darting down the path to where I could see Rusty Turner emerging. I grabbed hold of him. “Run, now, while you can!” I said.

He gabbled and clucked as I dragged him back off the path, staggering and stumbling along over downed trees and through thick underbrush. I could hear her shouting behind us, and what I feared most: the sound of Dinah, much more athletic than me, crashing through the bush, following our far-too-obvious trail of leafy destruction.

My mind was whirling through all the details, trying to make sense of the shifting tides of my uncle’s life, death and business affairs. Rusty’s disappearance. Tom Turner’s murder. A thousand questions to which I had no answers hopped though my mind like Magic on a wayward path. But one came to the forefront; had my uncle indeed been murdered, run off the road, as Gogi suspected? I feared the answer was yes.

Rusty was a dead weight, dragging at me, and when I turned I was alarmed. His filthy face was ashen. He was an older man, and I needed to stop. Besides, I could no long hear Dinah crashing along behind us, so maybe we had evaded her. If that was the case, then we should be quiet so we wouldn’t alert her to our whereabouts through carelessness.

He plunked down on the ground, and I watched him, worried. His breath was coming in heaving gasps, but that calmed quickly enough, and ruddy color came back to his cheeks, above the straggly beard.

“Are you going to be okay?” I whispered, wishing I had thought to bring a bottle of water.

He nodded. I let him catch his breath while I listened for Dinah coming after us. I couldn’t believe she would give up. If what I suspected was true, it was much to her advantage to kill us both, and leave our bodies in the woods while she made her getaway. It might be days before anyone found us.