Stupid Tom! Why didn’t he just take what he’d learned back to his employer? “So he wanted money?”
She nodded. “Like I’d pay for him to keep his mouth shut. He said he needed cash for something important.”
“What about my uncle? Did you kill him, too?”
“Your uncle was an interfering old fool and deserved what he got,” she said, raising the gun and sighting. “This is not personal, I just—”
Rusty leaped, stumbled, and the rock he had intended to bring down on her head instead bounced harmlessly to the ground and rolled away as the old guy fell to his knees. But she was momentarily distracted. I charged and using all my weight, bulldozed her, knocking her to the ground where she lay, stunned. Sometimes there are benefits to being bigger than your average ballerina. I snatched up the gun as Rusty, his hermit face twisted into a grimace of hatred, scrabbled over, picked up the rock, and brought it down on her head.
“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.
“Who would ever guess that such . . . such Gothic splendor would be found in the backwoods of upstate?” he asked, his trembling voice echoing off the ceiling. He turned and clasped my hands in his. “Darling, you must keep this magnificent absurdity!”
“I can’t afford to, Pish, dear. I really can’t!”
He looked thoughtful. “All right. I’ll accept that . . . for now. But we’ll talk some more.”
We finally returned to the kitchen, and Virgil Grace joined us ten minutes later, with a deputy accompanying him.
“Merry, Shilo, McGill, Mr. Lincoln,” Virgil said, gathering us all in his gaze. “I understand you have information to give us concerning Ms. Hooper’s criminal financial activities in Autumn Vale.”
“I do Sheriff, but I’m going to let my dear friend start,” Pish said, deferring to me.
The deputy sat down behind Virgil to take notes.
“I was suspicious of the dealings of Turner Construction and my uncle’s venture with the Turners, known as Turner Wynter,” I said, to preface Pish’s information. “None of it made sense. Binny Turner let me in to the Turner Construction offices and we looked around. I have some knowledge of development planning, and it was all wrong, everything I saw. Binny and Shilo found stuff in the accounts that didn’t add up. I can now tell you that Dinah Hooper was clearly using Turner and Turner Wynter to spin off shell companies, and using those shell companies to run some kind of financial scam. I told Pish, who is not only a financial adviser, but also has been used as an expert witness in court cases involving financial malfeasance, and he snooped around for me. He came here to tell me what he found out, but he wanted to wait for you, Sheriff, before he spoke, so I’m hearing this for the first time, too.”
Pish gathered us all in his gaze, and said, “I didn’t realize when I set out this morning that I would be giving this information to the police. Let me work my way through it from the start. Merry called me with troubling questions about Turner Wynter Construction, Dinah Hooper, the Turners, and all of their dealings with Autumn Vale Community Bank. Here is what I think has been happening, and what we ought to do about it.”