18. Dusty

I walk through Gus’s empty house. It still seems like he could come lumbering out of the basement or a back room at any moment. Everything is still untouched. Marnie hasn’t packed anything up yet. Maybe that’s a good sign.

I pause by the mudroom, looking at Gus’s boots, lined up against the wall like he just walked away for a bit. God, what I wouldn’t give to have him come back. For him to tell me what to do because I sure as hell don’t know.

I hear a thump overhead. Either we’ve got racoons, or Marnie is in the attic. Making my way to the pantry, I find the stow away ladder unfolded.

Climbing the narrow rungs, I poke my head up and scare the living daylights out of her.

She tumbles back onto her ass with a cute little squeak. I don’t bother hiding the grin that splits my features. “What are you doing up here, girl?”

“Hanging out with ghosts. What are you doing?”

“Looking for you.”

It’s hot up here. I hunch over on my hands and knees to keep from bumping my head on the rafters overhead. There are a few bare lightbulbs interspersed overhead, casting warm light into the dark corners. She’s got a flushed look, like maybe she’s been rooting around up here for a while. I glance at her shirt, noting the little gaps of skin visible between buttons. I’d love to weave my fingers between them and pull, letting buttons fly. But that is most definitely not why I’m up here.

I crawl forward, pausing by an antique chest. The lid is flipped back, and I see a family portrait staring up at me. “You Novaks sure have a look.”

She’s stuffing scraps of paper back in a shoe box. “If one more person tells me that, so help me, God.”

I chuckle. “It’s not an insult. You’re a handsome bunch. Grandpa Henry especially. Look at this smarmy little bastard. Top hat and everything.”

She looks up. “That’s Grandpa Henry?”

I carefully pick up the photo. “Henry and Ida. And that little toothless shit there would be your great, great grandpa William. He looks like a troublemaker.”

She crawls closer, her scent filling my nose. “You know who these people are?”

I shrug. “Not all of them, but Gus is so obsessed with genealogy. It’s about the only thing he’ll talk about.”

I wince, realizing I’m still thinking about him in the present tense. I’ll never sit through another Silver Bend history lesson again. They used to make me feel a little drowsy, but now I just feel grief.

She flips the lid off a shoebox and hands a note to me. “Do you know who JL is?”

Our fingers brush, sending a happy little fizz of static up my arm. She settles next to me, her arm brushing mine as I peer down at the scrap of paper.

I read a crass request and laugh out loud. I feel like I’m reading the original Boomer booty call text. It’s a not-so-subtle request to meet under the bleachers. I grin at her. “No idea. But this JL seems like a smooth operator. Your mom’s boyfriend?”

She tilts her head. “Not sure. She never mentioned a boyfriend or anything.”

“They clearly went to school together. Maybe you could ask one of her classmates. Plenty of them still live around Silver Bend.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You’ll get your chance in a second.”

She looks up, one eyebrow curved. “How do you figure?”

“Remember how Sienna was talking about that baker that fell in with the polka band?”

“Yes.”

She drags the word out, half question, half statement.

“Well, she left an entire wedding season in the lurch.”

“Wedding cakes?”

I nod. “And I saw Barb Elliot at the gas station and she was just beside herself. I guess her daughter’s wedding is next weekend and they don’t have a baker anymore. And I remembered that you’re a baker…”

“You didn’t.”

I grin. “I didn’t do a thing. But I might have mentioned that Gus Novak’s daughter had a bakery… Anyway, one thing led to another, and she’s coming over to ask for your help.”

Marnie’s expression hardens. “I don’t have a bakery anymore, Dusty. It burned down.”

The doorbell rings and I grin at her. “You can explain that to her yourself. Be warned, Barb is a force of nature. She’s hard to say no to.”