Much Ado About Muffin by Victoria Hamilton Page B

with the build of a prizefighter gone soft, broad of shoulder, though he had a potbelly hanging over the waist of his string-tied sweatpants.
    â€œRusty is a friend of mine,” I said. “I’m sure he’s luckyto have you both, and I’m glad his business is starting up again. Is Shilo home? I see her car.”
    â€œYup, she’s there,” Dewayne said, straightening from his work and pulling a cloth out of his pocket. He wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. “She’s stripping wallpaper today.”
    I laughed. “I know something about that.”
    â€œMerry Wynter. I’ve heard your name around town. You’re the lady who inherited the castle!” Dewayne said, jabbing the cloth in my direction.
    â€œI am.”
    â€œShilo talks about you sometimes.”
    â€œI’ve been away for a couple of months.” I climbed the steps and peered anxiously up at the roof. “Is it safe to come through the front?”
    â€œSure is,” Dewayne said. He hopped over and opened the door with a toothy grin.
    I slipped through, then turned and thanked him. He seemed like a nice guy. I then stepped into the foyer. As my vision adjusted to the gloom, I saw what had attracted Shilo. The foyer was bright, though dusty, and the floors were all hardwood. The moldings and baseboards were original wood, too, and the staircase that climbed in stages from the foyer to a landing, 180-degree turn, then the rest of the way up, was all the same gorgeous dark-stained wood. A beautiful pendant light hung in the middle of the big, open space.
    A movement startled me, but it was just Magic. “How are you, sweetie?” I cried, picking up Shilo’s bunny and cuddling him against me. “Shilo!” I called out as I began to explore.
    â€œHello?” came back a ghostly echoing call.
    I followed the sound, walking through a parlor to a dining room, and found Shilo, dressed in overalls and a tie-dye T-shirt, her long dark hair in braids. She was up on a tall ladder stripping hideous stained wallpaper. She turned and saw me, and a welcoming smile broadened, then faltered.
    â€œMerry!” she gasped, and unsteadily climbed down theladder, spray bottle and putty knife in her hands. She dropped them and crossed the floor, gently took Magic out my hand, set him aside, then hugged me hard. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
    I held her for a minute, rocking back and forth. Shilo and Pish were the friends who were there for me when Miguel was killed in a horrible accident on the highway to Vermont. They were there through his funeral, when his mother berated me, telling me it was all my fault that her son wanted to stay in New York, and so ended up dead on an American highway. And they were there when Maria demanded I give back his name; I was to no longer call myself Mrs. Paradiso.
    And they were both there through my long years of mourning, the only two people who never told me to get a grip and get over it. Sure, I was there for them, too, through trauma and trial, but I think I leaned on them a lot more than they leaned on me. Whatever was wrong in Shilo’s life, I needed to figure it out and help her.
    She led me around the place with excitement, and I was so happy for what seemed to be a new phase of her life. Where once she had been a vagabond, a self-described gypsy girl, she was settled, with a wonderful husband—Jack McGill had fallen completely in love with Shilo almost immediately, and they had married within months of meeting each other—and now had a project to work on. So far I hadn’t noticed the sadness people reported.
    We finished in the kitchen, which was basically gutted. Shilo had a table and chairs set up, and a long, scarred table that held a microwave, coffeemaker, and hot plate. She made a pot of herbal tea and sat cross-legged on the fifties dinette chair, while Magic snuffled around