I was going to have to go through all the junk piece by piece, but not today. I idly sifted through, noticing Autumn Vale Community Bank check records and account books, bills from local utilities, an unopened envelope addressed to Turner Wynter Global Enterprise, and one curious little torn memo in scrawled handwriting . . . someone had written “Call Rusty about mobi . . .” and the rest was illegible. It had to be my uncle’s handwriting . . . who else would leave a handwritten note in his desk?

I couldn’t do any more though. Time was flying.

Shilo and I got into her rattletrap—the miles were adding up too quickly on my rental, especially for someone who didn’t have an income—with the four dozen muffins for Golden Acres. As Shilo drove, I pointed out the by now well-known way into town. The castle was above the town, to some extent, and when we rounded a curve I told her to pull off to the side for a minute.

I got out and walked to the edge of the road, where there was a break in the tree cover. Shilo joined me. The town was laid out like a little animated map, the main street, Abenaki Avenue, pretty much a straight shot through town, and the streets off it curving along rising elevations. This was the place I had stopped the morning I arrived; I had been just a couple of miles from the castle and hadn’t known it. A distance away along the valley, I could see some kind of industrial business: an office trailer, a big warehouse, a machine yard with lots of heavy machinery lined up, and stacks of construction materials. I wondered if that was Turner Construction, or Turner Wynter, whatever it was called. What was going to become of that business now? It must already be in tatters, with my uncle gone, Rusty missing, presumed dead, and now Tom gone, too.

I shared my thoughts with Shilo, and then said, “Poor Binny. She lost her dad, and now she’s lost her brother.” I got back in the car and we made our way into town. I directed her to Golden Acres, and dashed in to give the muffins to the kitchen staff to disperse. I’d visit with Gogi and Doc another day. As we then drove down Abenaki Avenue, I saw that the bakery was actually open.

“Should I go in and say how sorry I am to Binny?”

Shilo guided the car to the curb and parked. “I’ll go in with you.”

I felt trepidation as I entered. There were a half-dozen people already in there. Given what had happened to her brother, I was surprised Binny was there and open for business as usual. Her relationship with her brother was something I knew little about. The baker was serving customers and she didn’t seem any more or any less grumpy than she had the last time I was in there. I waited my turn, and, with Shilo by my side, came up to the counter. “Binny, I just . . . I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened to your brother.”

She swallowed, and tears welled in her eyes. She simply nodded. I was relieved. I’d been afraid, after the confrontation I had with her brother, that she’d think I did it. Her face was white, though, and it looked like she was just holding herself together by a thread.

A hunched-over fellow of indeterminate age, thin as a rail, and with a sparse, fine covering of hair on his head, said, “I bet it was them two guys who showed up last year asking all kind of questions. That was just before your dad disappeared, Bin.”

I watched him with interest; he was young, probably about Shilo’s age, but had the stature of a little old man, and I wondered if his hunched look was a congenital condition or just a mannerism.

“Gordy, that was a year ago,” Binny said. “You can’t possibly think they did something to Tom.”

“But they were real suspicious, asking all kind of questions about your dad’s business, and even about Tom.”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I don’t understand what’s going on anymore.”

Another local who had just entered, a fellow about the same age as Gordy, chimed in, “You gotta know it was probably Junior Bradley who did Tom in.”

“What are you talking about, Zeke?” Binny asked sharply. “Tom and Junior were best friends.”

“Who is Junior Bradley?” Shilo said.

Gordy, who had been watching Shilo with that hopeless admiration most men felt for her, said, “Junior is the zoning commissioner in town. Him and Tom were good buddies, but they had a big fight the other night at the bar up Ridley Ridge.”

“What was the fight about?” Shilo asked.

“A girl,” Gordy said.

Zeke chimed in. “Yeah, Tom and Junior were both after Emerald, one of the dancers at the bar. They got into it, and Junior threatened Tom. Said he’d better leave Emerald alone if he knew what was good for him.”

I had been right; there were others out there who had been less than thrilled with Tom. “Were you guys there?” I asked.

Both men turned crimson.

“Uh, nope. I heard about it from a friend,” Zeke said, his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down his throat, his gaze turned away from all of us women. He stared steadily at the wall of teapots.

“Or, the awful event could be connected to . . . the Brotherhood,” Gordy said, his tone sententious.

Both Zeke and Binny rolled their eyes.

“The Brotherhood?” I said.

“You’ve got to get off that kick,” Zeke replied to his friend, with the air of someone who has said the same thing many times before. He turned to me. “The Brotherhood of the Falcon is a bunch of old farts who sit around and make exclamations, or declamations, or whatever they do.”

“Declarations,” Binny said. “The last one was something about keeping the Brotherhood all male, as if any women would want to join! Zeke’s right, Gordy. Those are just a bunch of old guys drinking beer and remembering their glory days.”

“I don’t know,” Gordy said, his tone slow and doubtful as he nodded and winked with that knowing expression of someone who is in on a deep, dark secret.

“For God’s sake, Gordy . . . Dad was a member!” Binny said.

“Well, I heard they’re connected to the Freemasons, and you know who they are!” He was clearly waiting for someone to take the bait, but no one did and he looked disgruntled.

“Anyway, I’ve got work to do,” Binny said, and whirled around, stomping back to her ovens without another word.

Shilo and I stood and stared at each other for a moment, uncertain of what to do. I wished I could help, but I was the last person who could offer Binny comfort. I looked to the two locals. “Well. I guess we’ll be going.”

“You’re old Mel Wynter’s niece, right?” Gordy said. “The one who’s inherited the castle.”

“And you were there last night when Tom was killed, right?” Zeke said, looking me over closely.

“Uh, yes.”

“What’d you see?” Gordy asked softly, glancing over at the kitchen.

“Not a thing,” I said, using the tone that forbids further discussion. “Did you guys know my uncle?”

“Nah,” Zeke said. “But every kid in school snuck out to the Wynter estate and tried to look in the windows. I got chased away from there a couple of times by old Mel with a shotgun.”

Lovely. “We have to go,” I said. But I didn’t move. These guys probably were my best source for local info at that moment, I realized. It would be stupid to ignore that. “As we were coming in to Autumn Vale, we noticed a warehouse property just past the edge of town. Is that where Turner Wynter is located?”

“Well, it’s Turner Construction, yup,” Zeke said.

Binny started banging pots around in back, and I heard one loud sob. If I was a friend, I’d barge back there and comfort her, but I didn’t quite know what to say to a girl who didn’t seem to want or need consolation, preferring to hide in her kitchen and cook. Or maybe I did know too well what that was like. I had done the same when Miguel died. Gordy gave a look, then hitched his head toward the door. Shilo and I followed him and Zeke out to the street.