But wait . . . someone was coming out of the house, and it wasn’t Janice. The hefty bank manager heaved himself out of the car and another man approached, took a briefcase from Grover, and the two men shook hands. The other man was Andrew Silvio. They strode into the open garage together.

I had no excuse for going up there, and had a sick cat that was beginning to wake up and meow. So I eased back onto the road and drove past the house, looking for a place to turn around, as I pondered what I had just seen. There were a hundred innocent explanations, I supposed. Grover could easily have retained Silvio for some legal work. Silvio could be legal counsel for the Brotherhood of the Falcon. Or he could even be a member of the organization. Wasn’t that what businessmen did, join fraternal groups to make contacts, network?

I turned and cruised back past the house, but there was no activity that I could see. What I kept coming back to was the badly repaired damage to Grover’s black sedan. Did it mean something, or was that pretty normal? In the past week or so, I had noticed a lot of cars with damage on them. One local was driving around with a smashed windshield, the result, I was told, of a run-in with a deer. I just didn’t know. My uncle’s accident was nine months ago; if Grover had been the one to push him off the road, surely he would have gotten the damage to his car fixed right away? And though I had the feeling that Virgil had left the casebook on my uncle’s accident open for a reason, he must have noticed the bank manager’s damaged front panel.

As I pulled up my weedy lane, some uniformed officers were packing it in, closing the doors on the back of the state police van and winding up electrical cord. Virgil Grace was talking to a couple of detectives, but it had the appearance of a conversation that was coming to an end. McGill was, to my surprise, filling in the last hole, except for the one poor Tom Turner died in. He and Shilo had made great progress.

I didn’t know what Shilo and I would do without McGill around. He jumped down from the excavator, and grabbed the crate of cat food and other stuff while I carried Becket into the house, gently toting him upstairs, and doing the necessary things, like setting up the cat litter box I had bought, putting down bowls of food and water, and making a bed for him near the radiator in my room, where it was warm. I made sure he was comfortable, then closed the door behind me and descended.

Outside, it looked barren. Deserted. “Where’s the sheriff?” I asked McGill, who was locking down the excavator.

“He’s gone.”

Gritting my teeth, I slapped my thigh. “Darn! I wanted to talk to him.” Really, I had wanted to tell him what I had seen, but what did I have to report? That I had seen the bank manager and the local legal eagle together? Big whoop, as Shilo would say.

Speaking of . . . Shilo came floating out of the castle, a skirt and pretty, gauzy top on, with a jacket over it and a scarf fluttering from under the lapels. She took McGill’s hand and he stared down at her with a goofy smile. “We’re going to have dinner with McGill’s mom. Is that okay with you, Merry?”

“Of course, sweetie.” I could not believe the change in my friend. What would happen if McGill was the one? Could I picture her becoming an Autumn Vale businessman’s wife? Maybe even a mother?

“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone with a sick cat.”

“You two go on. Have fun.”

Still, my friend hesitated. “Do you want to come with us?” she asked. “We can fit you into the car. Or take mine.”

“No, I’m beat. I think I’ll go to bed with a book.”

“You go on to the car, Shi. I’d like to talk to Merry,” McGill said.

Shilo smiled and floated over to the car, leaning against it, elbows on top of the tiny roof, staring off to the woods.

Tugging at the cuffs of his jacket, the real estate agent looked uneasy. “Merry, I need to ask you a couple of questions. And . . . and to say something.”

I matched my expression to his serious tone. “What is it, McGill?”

His lean face, beaky nose, and too-full lips combined in a look that was earnest and honest and wholly adorable. I understood Shilo’s attraction; McGill was the kind of guy you just looked at and trusted. Trust was a big deal for Shilo.

“Shi and I have talked a lot, but she keeps avoiding the subject when I ask about her parents.” He glanced back at her. “Are they dead?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve known her a long time, McGill, and she rarely mentions them. I have a feeling they’re alive, but she’s estranged from them.”

“That doesn’t seem possible! She’s such a sweetheart.”

“I know, but there are reasons a girl might cut off contact with her parents. I figure she’ll tell me about them when she’s ready.”

He nodded. “You’re right. I just don’t know what to say to my mother. She’d like to know more about Shilo, but there isn’t much to tell.”

It must be quite an adjustment for a small-town parent, accustomed to knowing something about the girls her son dates. “You’ll have to get used to that. Her life started when she came to New York at eighteen to become a model. That’s about all I know. But I can tell you a lot about her life since.”

He smiled as he watched her. “I feel like I know everything I need to know.”

“Then what else did you want to ask?”

Turning his gaze back to me, he said, “What kind of ring would she like? Elaborate or simple? I don’t know much about stuff like that. I only did it once.”

“Are you . . . are you sure?” I gasped, my breath knocked out of me. I knew what he was really asking, but I composed myself. This was important. “Are you sure you’re not moving too fast?”

“I’m sure here,” he said, hand on his heart. “My mind hasn’t quite caught up yet.”

My eyes burned, and so did my heart. I wasn’t sure if it was joy for Shilo over what she’d found, or jealousy, or a sense of loss, a fear that I might never feel that emotion again. “Pretty . . . a heart-shaped stone, maybe, as unusual as she is. Not a plain white diamond, but maybe a pink diamond, or something colorful. Anything you like, she’ll love.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking my hand in his and squeezing it. “I’ll have her home late. I want to show her all my hideouts from when I was a kid.”

I sighed as he hopped in the car and drove away, and sent a wish after them, that their love was true, and happiness would follow them wherever they went. Instead of looking through the library, I spent a couple of hours going through more paperwork, and searching through my uncle’s stuff, trying to understand his relationship with Rusty Turner. Not a lot to go on there. I checked in often on Becket, following doctor’s orders, which were to feed him and give him water, as much as he wanted, but in small quantities often, rather than letting him gorge himself. He seemed to want out, but I kept him in my room to keep him from doing too much too fast.

My supper was solitary, a grilled chicken breast and salad eaten at the big kitchen table with a book of poetry propped up in front of me. It gave me a good sense of what my life would be like if Shilo married McGill and moved in with him. The castle was far too huge and echoed at night, making weird noises that had me on edge. I was tired and weepy and feeling sorry for myself. What was I going to do with Wynter Castle, being that I was the last remaining Wynter? I was about to turn out the lights and go upstairs when the phone rang. I picked it up, said “Hello?” as I flopped down in one of the chairs by the fireplace.

“Merry? It’s Hannah.”

“Hi, Hannah! Nice to hear your voice.”

She said much the same back, a very polite girl, then told me that over supper, she had asked her mother some questions. Her mom was the Lady’s League organizing chair, and she knew Isadore Openshaw and Dinah Hooper quite well. When Hannah mentioned Isadore’s trouble with Dinah, her mother told her something important.