“Stop!” I yelped, but he had knocked her out.
“That’s for Tom,” he hollered, and dissolved into weeping into his filthy hands.
Autumn Vale . . . the only spot in upstate, surely, where a Shakespearean drama, with lovers killing each other’s sons, played out in the woods surrounding a castle. Weirdness compounded weirdness. I leaned over Dinah; she was breathing but was unconscious. I had the rifle, so I didn’t think she’d be any more danger even if she managed to get up and follow us. I grabbed the old man by the arm, hauled him to his feet, and said, “Come on, Rusty, we need to get out of here. If I’m right, we’re only a little ways away from the castle grounds.”
It took longer than I thought, but we finally emerged from the woods and started across the weedy expanse. The heavy sound of a motor vibrating the ground startled me as we broke through the last line of trees; lo and behold, there was Gordy atop a tractor, hauling a piece of machinery that was mowing and piling the dry grass into neat rows. His buddy, Zeke, was standing to one side, watching, gesticulating, and yelling critiques. I stood stock-still at the awesome sight, just as, sweeping up the drive, came my rental car and behind it, Virgil Grace’s sheriff’s car. I almost dissolved into tears of gratitude.
Sometimes your prayers are heard, I guess. It wasn’t until later that I found out the serendipitous arrival of the sheriff was owing to Shilo’s gypsy instincts. She just felt something was wrong—bad vibrations, she called it—so they stopped in Autumn Vale and, miracle of miracles, convinced Virgil to follow them to Wynter Castle. At that moment, though, I was just grateful for the “coincidence.”
I dropped the damned rifle and helped Rusty over to the cop car. Virgil made him get in and sit while he called for medical backup. I babbled about Dinah in the woods unconscious, telling the sheriff about all she had confessed to, and Virgil assured me, as he called for his deputy, that they would be able to find our path, given that we had crashed through the brush with all the delicacy of a bull elephant.
Finally I turned, looking toward my friends. Pish, darling man, held out his arms and I staggered wearily over to him; he folded me into a hug. I was about to exclaim that I needed to find poor Becket when the ginger cat strolled nonchalantly out of the woods and picked his way through the long grass, eyeing the giant tractor and mower. It was silent right then, while Gordy and Zeke gawked at all the action. It would be all over Autumn Vale by noon. McGill was on his way over to the fellows, and I hoped he cautioned them to keep their mouths shut until we figured out the whole mess.
A half hour later, Rusty Turner had been taken to the hospital in Ridley Ridge, accompanied by his tearful daughter, Binny, who had screamed up to the castle in her van after hearing the news. She babbled to us that she had actually known/hoped/prayed he was alive for a few days, because he’d managed to get a note to her, asking her to meet him. That was the day she tootled off, leaving me in charge of the bakery. Unfortunately, terrified and stalked by a half-crazed Dinah, Rusty did not make the meeting. She was left frightened for her father, but not sure who to trust. In retrospect, if she had told Virgil about the note he could have taken care of everything, but Binny didn’t know what her father had done, at that point, and was afraid of setting the law on him.
She had him back now, and I hoped everything would turn out all right.
Shortly after the ambulance had taken Rusty and his daughter away, Virgil learned that his backup, on the way down the highway toward the castle, had found Dinah wandering along the road, blood streaming from a head wound. When they arrested her, she began to babble, despite Miranda warnings. She claimed that Rusty was the mastermind of a huge money-scam ring, using his company and Turner Wynter as giant sham companies with hundreds of offshoots. I got it then; Turner Wynter Global Enterprises, the name on the envelope I had found in my uncle’s desk, was one of the fake companies she was using.
I had a feeling Isadore Openshaw would be involved somehow, but I didn’t know how yet. Pish, eyeing Virgil Grace with some interest, told him not to listen to Dinah, or at least, not to believe what she was saying. He had a lot of information that the sheriff was going to want to hear.
We—Pish, McGill, Shilo and I—headed inside. To avoid repetition, Pish commanded that we wait for Virgil to join us. The sheriff had a lot to do before that, though, so—after giving me time to clean up, change, and have a cup of coffee—Pish wanted a tour. He was mesmerized by Wynter Castle. Finishing up in the grand entrance he slowly turned around, his fancy wingtips making no sound on the gorgeous, flagstone floor, as he stared up at the rose window, the gothic arched doorway and the magnificent, crystal chandelier, glittering dully in the morning light.