CHAPTER 14

CAL PULLED OPEN the hotel room drapes on Thursday morning to reveal an overcast sky. He watched the flag at the post office across the street thrashed back and forth. Crisp golden leaves raced along the ground, propelled by prolonged gusts of wind.

“What’s it look like out there today?” Kelly asked as she stretched.

“Cold and dark.”

“I meant the weather.”

Cal laughed. “So did I—but I can see how you might think I was talking about something else.” He lingered at the window, his back to Kelly. “You ready for today?”

“As ready as I can be when I’m about to watch my husband walk into the lion’s den.”

He shook his head and turned around to face her. “No need to be overly dramatic.”

“I’m not. This Wilfred Lee guy scares me. Tons of money and power—and used to getting his way. You might as well be pounding a hornets’ nest with your fist.”

“Oh, Kelly—”

“I’m serious. We don’t know what he’ll do. Better not take this guy lightly.”

“I’ll be careful—and I hope you will, too.”

She smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulders. “Have I ever let you down before?”

***

CAL PREFERRED TO INVESTIGATE most cases alone. The less disruption, the better. But this wasn’t like most cases. If Cal was going to uncover anything, he needed Tom Corliss. Not that he minded helping a friend out. Ultimately, Cal concluded if he was ever going to gain the kind of access he needed to dig up dirt on Lee at Lee Creek Distilleries by himself, he’d have to break several laws—and that wasn’t an option, not in this town especially.

“You ready?” Corliss asked Cal outside the entrance to Lee Creek Distilleries.

“Are you?” Cal answered.

Corliss nodded. “Is Kelly in place?”

Cal nodded. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine.”

Both men strode into the lobby and alerted the receptionist at the front desk that they had a 9:30 appointment to see Mr. Lee. Several minutes later, two security guards escorted Cal and Corliss onto an elevator to take them to the sixth floor. The office stretched about a hundred feet, equivalent to the width of the building. Floor-to-ceiling windows yielded a 180-degree view of the property.

Upon Corliss and Cal’s entry, Lee spun around in his chair. Less than a second elapsed before his face dropped.

Corliss introduced himself and shook Lee’s hand before their exchange grew tense.

“What’s he doing here?” Lee said, fingering Cal as he glared at Corliss.

“Mr. Murphy is here with me as a consultant,” Corliss said. “Some of his background work on this case has been vital for us in getting to the bottom of what went on here the night that Emily Palmer died. I decided to utilize his services during our preliminary investigation. Do you have a problem with that?”

Lee paused and stared at Cal. “Not as long as everything I say here this morning is off the record. I don’t even want to give this scumbag reporter a chance to twist my words.”

“Let’s remain calm, Mr. Lee. Nobody is accusing you of doing anything wrong at this point. We just want to investigate the claims that there are a couple of deaths around these parts that weren’t exactly accidents.”

Lee leaned on his cane to stand up. He limped around his desk until he faced the men directly. “I still don’t understand what I have to do with any of this.”

Corliss didn’t blink. “You’ve got a girl who suspiciously died on your property. Then, the coroner who was looking into the cause of that girl’s death ended up drowning in a pond in the Daniel Boone National Forest adjacent to several acres you own. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to start to put together some kind of picture. And if I were you, I’d be a little bit concerned about some killer running loose on your land.”

Lee grunted and turned his back toward them, hobbling toward the window. “Mr. Corliss, have you ever heard of a thing called coincidence? It’s where two unrelated things happen. That’s what we have here. A poor girl gets into a car crash on Dead Man’s Curve, adjacent to some property I own, and she stumbles into the woods and dies.”

“She was murdered,” Corliss injected.

Lee ignored him. “Then a man goes fishing and drowns after getting tangled in a net on a pond that I allow people to access through my property. Simple coincidence.” He turned around to face them. “Unless you’ve got any more poignant questions, I suggest you stop wasting the good taxpayers’ hard-earned money on a frivolous investigation.” He stamped his cane as he finished his sentence.

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Mr. Lee,” Corliss began. “The fact of the matter is there were other things at play here, things that have raised more than an eyebrow or two at the bureau. The FBI has jurisdiction over national land—something I’m sure you’re aware of—and we’ve decided to investigate these deaths as they look mighty suspicious. With all due respect, sir, I’m just doing my job.”

Lee shuffled back to his desk and sat down. “And I’d like to do mine. Now, if you don’t have any further questions—”

Before Corliss could say another word, his phone buzzed. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said as he slipped off to the west corner of Lee’s office.

Lee stood up again and pointed his cane at Cal. “You’re a curious little fellow, aren’t you, Mr. Murphy? I’ll bet you’d like to see how the finest whiskey in Kentucky is made, wouldn’t you?”

Cal eyed him cautiously.

“You wouldn’t want to miss such a chance, now would you? Follow me.”

Before Cal could respond, he looked behind him to see the two security guards who’d ushered them into the room gesturing for him to follow Mr. Lee. “Okay, if you insist.”

Lee stopped and turned around. “I most definitely insist.”

Cal followed him into an elevator. Instead of the usual calming piano music piping through the speaker system, Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places” filled the small descending box.

How fitting.

Once the doors parted, Cal walked with Mr. Lee down a short hallway and between a pair of double doors that opened up onto an observation deck above the production floor. They stopped and watched workers scurry across the floor. Supervisors with clipboards directed from several key locations along the observation deck. In the back of the building, a pair of forklifts transported barrels of supplies into a loading area.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Lee finally said.

Cal nodded. “It’s impressive. How new is this facility?”

Lee stopped. “Let’s not pretend you’re here to learn about this place, okay? Small talk bores me.”

Straight talk seems to bore you as well.

“Follow me,” Lee said as he turned and shuffled toward a long corridor.

They went through a pair of double doors before Lee led Cal to a small room that looked like it was used for training. Tables were lined up, row after row—enough to seat about 60 people, according to Cal’s quick estimate.

Cal turned behind him to see if the security guards were in tow, but they were gone. As soon as Cal stepped into the room and realized he was alone, the door slammed shut and Lee jammed his cane horizontally across Cal’s throat.

“What do you think you’re doing, you sonofabitch?” Lee said. “You’ve already ruined my nephew’s good name and gotten his scholarship taken away—and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out of Millersville and never come back. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you never write again. Is that clear?”

Cal struggled to separate the cane from his throat. After several moments of tussling, Lee relented and staggered backward.

Cal didn’t say a word and opened the door. This time, he didn’t wait for Lee to lead. He hustled toward the elevator doors.

“I mean it, Mr. Murphy,” Lee called down the hall after him. “You’ll be finished.”

Cal didn’t turn around. He punched the button for the first floor repeatedly until the doors slid shut.

As he began straightening his tie, Cal noticed that he wasn’t the only one on the elevator. A woman stood in the corner, holding a briefcase.

“Aren’t you that reporter everyone in town is talking about?” she asked.

Cal eyed her suspiciously. “I’m sure you’ve heard nothing but good things about me.”

She laughed and took out a business card. “This town can be cruel sometimes,” she said as she scribbled on the back of the card. She walked up to Cal and slipped it into the front pocket on his shirt and patted it a couple of times. “The sooner you figure out what’s going on here, the sooner you can solve this crime and get out of town before the lynch mob shows up at your hotel room with torches and pitchforks.”

Cal reached for the card.

“You don’t want to look at that now. Later, okay?”

He nodded and thanked her as the elevator arrived at the ground floor. When he stepped out into the lobby, Corliss was waiting for him.

“Where’d you go?” Corliss asked.

“Never mind that,” Cal said as he looked back at the woman. “Let’s just get outta here.”

***

CORLISS DROVE THEM off the Lee Creek Distilleries property and turned east onto the main highway. They went about a hundred yards before Cal spoke.

“There’s Kelly. Slow down,” he said.

Corliss obeyed and pulled off to the side of the road. Lugging her high-powered camera lens with a monopod, Kelly wore a camouflaged outfit.

“See any deer out there?” Corliss joked as she got into the car.

“I had more fun shooting something else,” she quipped. “Something strange is going on there, something beyond transporting bottled bourbon.”

***

LEE WAS STARING out his window when the phone rang. He limped toward his desk to answer it. It was the head of his security department.

“Yeah.”

“We just had a person breach the perimeter about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Is he still here?”

“Is she still here? And, no, she’s gone.”

Lee grunted. “Damn corporate espionage. Everybody wants to find out what our family secret recipe is.”

“I’m sending you a picture of her from our security cams. Maybe you know someone who can identify her and find out who she’s working for.”

Several moments later, the woman’s picture popped up on Lee’s machine. “Well, I’ll be.”

“Do you know who she is, sir?”

“Unfortunately, I do. That Cal Murphy is gonna rue the day he ever set foot in this town.”