Maternal. I cocked my head and watched her. My funny friend had always flitted from man to man, as if she were a butterfly in the garden of love. But did the ever-increasing noise of the female’s biological clock sound tick-tick-tick even in her ears? Was her interest in McGill more than as another fleeting romance in a long string?

Nah. Impossible.

“What are you going to do today?” I asked Shilo as I got ready to head to Autumn Vale.

“I’m coming to town with you,” she said.

I was surprised, but glad of the company. She confined Magic to his cage, and we set off in my car. As soon as we hit town, however, Shi headed off alone to “explore,” as she called it.

I had timed my arrival at Binny’s Bakery to be after the morning baking was done, but before the customers started arriving. As suggested by Binny, I went to the back, where there was a steel door off the alleyway. I rapped on it and was admitted, the warm, yeasty air flooding over me in waves and taking me back to my grandmother’s kitchen. My mom wasn’t much of a cook; she had been too involved in social committees and action plans, marching and protesting and burning her bra in public places, much to my teenage mortification. But my grandmother more than made up for it. Taking in a good, deep sniff of the air, I happily followed Binny through the bakery kitchen, lined with stainless steel, commercial-size ovens, to a little table in the corner, where she had a French press coffeemaker and chocolate croissants on a platter.

For little old moi? I felt like crying. It was like being back in the Village at a favorite coffee shop. Why was she being so nice, especially since her brother and I had had a heated disagreement practically hours before his murder? But I would take whatever I could get.

Once we had steaming cups in front of us, and I had devoured a chocolate croissant, I regarded her with interest. Her hair was flyaway in the steam-bath atmosphere of the kitchen, and her cheeks were red, but she seemed serene, not at all as testy as she had been with Gogi and with me. It was odd, considering her brother had died just the day before.

“You do love baking, don’t you?” I asked, to break the ice.

She nodded. “I call it dough therapy. When I’m baking, I let go of everything: every stress, every pain, every rotten memory.” She paused, then continued. “It’s the one thing my dad really came through on, this bakery,” she said, waving her strong hands around at the kitchen. “He sent me to culinary school, and paid for this place.”

“What about your mom? I hear that she left your dad when you were a kid.” That was a little personal, but I was still trying to figure out what was the best way to deal with someone as prickly as Binny. Would she freeze up under direct questioning, or was she the type who liked straightforward talk?

“I still talk to my mom often,” she said. “She was dying in this little town. I didn’t see it that way at the time, but now I know that she and Dad weren’t getting along, and she had to leave. My dad is a huntin’, fishin’, woodsy kind of guy, you know? Guns and camo and outdoors stuff.”

“I’ve seen the photos of you with your dad, and Dinah with your dad, too. I was surprised Dinah would go hunting. She doesn’t seem that kind of woman.”

“Everyone in this town hunts and fishes . . . well, pretty much everyone, anyway. Even Mrs. Grace. You’d be surprised, but she wins the lady’s target shoot at the fall fair every single year.”

“Wow. Gogi Grace?”

Binny nodded.

“I would have taken her for the uptown kind of woman,” I said, thinking of my new friend’s elegance.

Binny returned to the subject of her mother. “Anyway, she hated Autumn Vale. We went to Chicago to stay with her mom and dad. I’m glad we did because I learned to bake from my grandmother.”

“Me, too!” I said, surprised by some of the weird connections we had. I shared my own upbringing, which was, in a way, similar to hers, and then silence fell between us. I was just about to discuss my proposal that I use her ovens, when she burst into speech.

“Okay, so here it is,” she said, rapping her knuckles on the tabletop. “I was wondering . . . I mean, you’re new in town, and I was thinking . . .” She shook her head.

I was intrigued. “What’s up, Binny? Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to think,” she said, staring into my eyes. “Tom said he thought Dad was dead, and that Melvyn killed him and buried him at the castle. But that’s dumb. Melvyn Wynter was, like, a hundred years old.” She paused and screwed up her mouth, before saying, “Dinah thinks that Dad is alive, and just took off. But she can’t tell me why she thinks it.”

Her voice had clogged with tears. I thought of all I had heard, and how everyone assumed that her dad was dead. But what if he wasn’t? “So what if Dinah is right, and your dad isn’t dead, just missing?”

“Exactly! What if he’s alive but just staying away from Autumn Vale for some reason?”

It seemed a little far-fetched. “Why do you think Dinah is saying he’s still alive? What is going on that she thinks he might purposely disappear like that?”

Binny was silent for a long minute. “Look, can I trust you?” she finally asked.

How do you answer a question like that? It seemed to me that faint hope of her father being alive was distracting her from her brother’s death, so I’d play along. “You can trust me to keep my mouth shut unless what you have to tell me is about something illegal, immoral, or fattening,” I joked.

She clapped her mouth shut. And it stayed shut. “You need to use my ovens,” she finally said. “That’s why you’re here, right? You can use them any afternoon, because I do all my baking in the early morning.”

I had clearly put my foot in it. Which was it, I wondered, illegal or immoral? Fattening was clearly not a problem. I took another bite of chocolate croissant, chewed, swallowed, and said, “Binny, you have to know I was joking.”

She examined me for a long minute. There were so many pauses in our conversation it was the word equivalent of Swiss cheese. “I just don’t know who to turn to,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “It’s all such a mess. Dinah has been the only one . . . I mean, she’s at least someone who cared for Dad. If she honestly thinks he’s alive . . .” She shook her head and clamped her lips shut, though they still trembled. “I think she’s trying to protect me somehow. But from what? And then, I found . . .” She stopped and shook her head again.

“Found what?”

But she was mute, just shaking her head. I was touched and sad for her. When my grandmother died and then my mom, six months later, I was a mess. Virtually the same thing was happening to her now at just a little older than I had been. “What did you find?” I urged again. “Something that leads you to believe your dad is alive? Why don’t we talk about this whole mess?”

The shop door jangled, indicating customers. She grabbed a rag and blotted her eyes, settled her expression, and headed out to the shop. I could hear her talking, and then the door jangled again a couple of times, quickly. I tried to imagine what it was that had suddenly given her hope that her father was alive. When things quieted down, she came back to the kitchen, more composed. I stood, but just then the bells over the door jangled once again. She headed to the door.

“Look, Binny,” I said, stopping her by putting my hand on her shoulder. “I know what you’re going through. Or at least . . . I know some of what you’re going through. I have a lot of questions, but you’re getting busy.” I felt her tense, needing to tend to her shop. “Why don’t you . . . would it be too hard for you to come out to the castle after the shop closes? Come out for dinner?” Tom’s body was gone, but I wasn’t sure she could handle coming to the site of his murder.