Chapter

44

I followed Marshall down the long dark hallway to the library. He opened the door, motioning for me to enter. I did, stunned by the sheer number of books stacked everywhere. Most who owned a room called a library kept expensive first editions of fancy literary works. Not Rue. She had books from every disciple, from every genre, tucked all over the room.

The place even smelled of books. Earthy with a hint of dust and ink.

Rue had so many books I used to fear being buried in an avalanche of words. I couldn’t remember why Jack and I had spent time here. Just that Brodie, Danny, and I would be forced to sit quietly, reading, while Jack and Rue went somewhere to talk whiskey business.

I hated those trips to the Gett estate. Jack had as well, but I didn’t realize that until I was older. He kept his opinion to himself. And I followed suit. Mostly.

Jack would force me into my Sunday best dress and comb my unruly hair. Brodie would be Brodie, and tease me for something or another. Danny, though, would sit quietly and do as told. Without fail.

I frowned.

Had I gotten it wrong? Was it Danny, not Brodie, who was helping Rue get away with murder?

“Welcome, dear,” Rue called from a settee near the window. “So glad you could make it.”

“Thank you for the invite,” I bit out. I wanted to scream at her, but my anger would be appeased later. For now, I’d wait until she made the first move.

She motioned to a stocked bar. Stocked with Gett whiskey. “Would you like a drink?” she asked, pleasantly. Without answering, I moved to the bar. I poured a highball glass of whiskey. A polite two fingers. What I wanted was an entire fist, but I’d make do, for now. I needed to keep sharp. I took a sip, trying not to grimace, as was my custom whenever forced to drink a rival brand. If, gun to my head, I had to tell the truth—Gett whiskey wasn’t bad.

It just wasn’t Lucky.

“Please, have a seat.” She waved to a high-backed chair to her side. It looked dainty and uncomfortable, much like Rue. “I wanted to talk a bit before dinner,” she said. “Is that all right with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” I sat, carefully, waiting.

She cleared her throat, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard, even though we were alone in the room. “It has come to my attention that you believe I murdered Roger Kerrick.”

I drew back. Shocked. Not because she knew I was on to her, but that she, a lady of the South, would bring the matter up. It just wasn’t done. Well-bred ladies spoke in hushed tones of non-confrontational matters, not murder. “I … ah …” I mumbled.

“I’d like to ask why.”

I looked down at my whiskey glass, draining it in one swallow. “Mrs. Gett,” I began.

“Rue, please, dear.”

“Rue,” I said. “Can I be honest?”

She gave a chuckle, smooth as the best whiskey. “It would be a refreshing change.”

“The thing is,” I said in no uncertain terms, “I found the car. In your garage.”

Her brow wrinkled, hard to see under her natural wrinkles. “What car, dear?”

My gaze narrowed. Was she lying? Feigning innocence for my benefit? “The car on the video of Roger at a Harker gas station right before he was murdered.” I stopped, standing up to get myself another drink. This was harder than I expected. “You can’t make out the driver, but the car is definitely yours.”

“My Camaro?”

“The Ford Taurus. The one with the RFID chip on the window.” I licked my dry lips. “An RFID chip that I’m guessing opens the front gates of Gett Whiskey.”

Her laugh sounded like the snap of a gator’s jaw in the silence of the night. “And I’m supposed to be the driver of this vehicle?” she asked.

I nodded, less sure than I had been twenty minutes ago.

“It’s an employee car, dear.” She held her hands wide. “Hundreds of people have access to it at any time. The keys are kept in the visor above the driver’s seat.”

My conviction of Gett guilt wavered a small bit. Was she telling the truth?

“Don’t believe me? Check for yourself.”

“I … ah …” I stammered.

She blushed, keeping her voice low as she added, “And as much as I hate to admit it, I can no longer drive at night.”

Even if what she said was true, it didn’t mean she wasn’t behind it, I assured myself. “What about the calls?” I asked. “The ones Roger made to you.”

“What are you talking about?” She rose, using her cane. Her tone implied she questioned my mental state.

I couldn’t really blame her. Hearing the words acted much like a cold shower on my theory. I grasped at yet another straw. “I found a burner phone, of Roger’s.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but I didn’t want to throw Lester, one of the few people in town who liked me, under the bus. “He had outgoing and incoming calls from Gett Whiskey’s main line.”

“And that proves what, dear?”

I swallowed. What did it prove? “Were you blackmailing Roger into destroying Lucky Whiskey?”

Now she drew back, hurt in her gaze. “I would never …”

But she had, in the past. She’d poached our employees, sent inspectors to the distillery regularly, and even resorted to infesting the rackhouse with rats after Jack won the 2004 Best Whiskey award.

“Roger was embezzling from us,” I said. Jack would kill me if he knew I’d told Rue anything about Lucky business, but especially this. “Over the last six months. Right around the time the calls started.” I shot her a hard stare. “Can you explain that?”

She said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” I set my drink on the table. The jury was still out on her murdering Roger, but one thing was clear. She knew more than she let on. But how much more? Was she protecting someone else? Brodie or Danny?

“Grandma,” Brodie said from the doorway. “What’s going on here?”

She looked at her grandson and then to me. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Charlotte. I’d hoped, one day, that you and Brodie would heal the Gett divide.” She stopped, her face pale. “Brodie, be a dear and eat dinner with Charlotte. I’m not feeling quite up to it at the moment.”

Brodie’s face turned from suspicion to fear. He rushed forward, giving her his arm. “Are you all right?” he asked, his tone full of gut-wrenching concern.

“I’ll be fine.” She patted his arm, her wrinkled hands lingering a moment longer. “Now be a good man and take care of our guest.”

A shiver ran up my spine at the last part of her sentence. It hit me suddenly that no one knew I was here. I cursed my instinct to protect Granddad. It would be awfully nice to know someone would come looking for me if I failed to make it home.

Brodie looked at her and then to me, his face hard. “For you,” he said to her, though his gaze stayed firmly on mine. “I’ll do it for you.”