Girls of Brackenhill(39)

Hannah had trouble imagining her aunt married to a man who was “devoid of soul,” and curiosity pricked her. “I understand, Jinny. I won’t. But why is he so bad? What did he do?”

“He has no moral conscience. He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants. He’s a lowlife; he’ll steal from you. I know he’s killed people. Bar fights, he claimed, and whatnot, but you don’t bring a knife to a bar unless you’re itching to fight and fightin’ to kill, right? Moral people don’t do that. He doesn’t care who he hurts. He’s a bad egg. A bad apple.”

“But who is he? To Fae?”

“She found out about him the hard way. I always knew, but she never wanted to listen to me, see? He used to be good lookin’; that’s the problem. Your aunt always had a weak spot for those dashing men, personalities of boards, half of ’em. Well, not her Stuart—she finally found herself a good one.” Jinny wagged her finger in Hannah’s direction. “But if you’re asking, you already know. Warren is Fae’s husband.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Now

Hannah left Jinny’s with a promise to visit tomorrow, for a “proper reading,” she called it.

“I’m just too upset now to read you. You understand, right? Any mention of Warren sends my blood pressure skyrocketing. You can’t read under stress; that’s not how it works. You have to be calm, ready to receive. But you have to promise to come back. I loved your sister so much. You didn’t come around, but she did. You know she came in the shop, right?” Every sentence flowed into a new one, a new thought. “Well, she did. She and that little friend of hers. Sometimes nearly every day! I was teaching them how to scry and smudge. They wanted to do tarot, but I never had the patience for that. Anyway, you promise me you’ll come back, you hear?”

Hannah felt drained, her legs heavy as Jinny pushed her out the door. Everything she’d thought she knew about her aunt and uncle was a lie. Was Stuart even technically her uncle? No, now that she thought about it. He was just some random man who lived with her aunt. The thought was depressing. They’d had a child, for goodness’ sake!

“Jinny, why didn’t Fae and Warren divorce?” Hannah stopped in the doorway, turned back to a fretting Jinny, who was muttering and flitting around the shop.

“Divorce? Oh, he wouldn’t hear of it. Would never authorize anything. Fae tried to get him to sign divorce paperwork. Woulda cost her a fortune in court. He wouldn’t hear of it. Wouldn’t pay alimony, nothing.”

“Was Uncle Stuart Ruby’s father?”

“I always assumed so, but I guess no one but Fae knew for sure.” Jinny tugged a lock of black hair, twirling it around her finger. She didn’t seem to care who Ruby’s father was. “You’ll come back?”

“I promise.” Hannah meant it. As she pushed open the door, she felt the vibration of a phone in her pocket. When she retrieved it and read the display, she was dismayed to realize her hands had started to shake. Wyatt.

“Hey,” she said casually, with a slight wobble in her voice that she hoped was only detectable to her. Whether it was because there might be news about Julia or simply because it was Wyatt was impossible to tease apart.

“Hey.” Wyatt’s tone was brisk, businesslike. “Are you at Brackenhill? Can I swing by?”

“Why? Is it Julia?” She hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but it just tumbled out.

He was silent for a beat. “I’ll come to you, okay?”

“I’m actually in Rockwell. I was visiting Jinny.”

He laughed. “Did you get your fortune read?”

“Not this time—we had to burn sage and cedar for a smudge because I mentioned Warren Turnbull’s name.” She threw it out there to gauge a reaction.

Silence.

“Where are you, Han?”

“Standing in front of the diner. Want to meet me?” Her voice was shaky.

“Yes, stay put.” He ended the call.

While she waited, she thought about Wyatt’s silence at her question about Warren. Something about the name Turnbull pulled at her subconscious, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Wyatt came around the corner, intent on something on his phone, and his face broke into a smile when he saw her. She felt warmed by it and then hated herself. He leaned in, kissed her cheek. It was meant to be a casual greeting—something she’d seen others do a thousand times, hell, something she herself had done a thousand times—but his skin against hers sent a ripple down her spine.

He motioned toward the diner door and opened it for her. “After you.”

They took a seat in a back booth, next to the one where she and Huck had sat with Jinny only two days before. The memorial service seemed like ages ago. So much had happened since then.

They ordered coffee, and Wyatt ordered a grilled cheese, but Hannah’s stomach felt in knots.

“So tell me everything.” She knew why Wyatt had called her. He wouldn’t have called if he didn’t have news about the remains.

“Tell me first, why did you ask about Warren Turnbull?” He fiddled with a sugar packet and tilted his head.

Hannah found herself relaying the whole story: Uncle Stuart talking about Ruby, then Jinny mentioning the child, then the snooping through Ruby’s room and the study and finding the car title with Warren Turnbull’s name on it. Jinny’s assertion that they were still married.