Chapter

22

“Ms. Lucky,” a soft voice whispered through the phone, “my name’s Emmitt Moore. You might not remember me, seeing as I live over in Harker.”

“Sure, Emmitt. I remember you,” I lied with only a twinge of guilt. It was hard enough to remember everyone in Gett after being away so long, let alone the names of everyone in the freaking county. “What can I do for you?” I asked, though I really wanted to know how he’d got my number and why he felt the need to call at six in the morning before the sun had even kissed the steamy sky.

I swallowed back my annoyance. One never did get over the ideal of being a good, southern woman. Polite until the end, even if it left shadows under the eyes from lack of sleep.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I’m sorry to be calling this early, but my shift just started.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. As much as I didn’t want to be on the phone at six in the morning, Emmitt sounded even less excited about our conversation. His voice shook, breaking occasionally like a high school boy.

He cleared his throat, which only made the cracking worse. “I work at my pa’s gas station. The one off Oil Well Road.”

“Yes, the Fill ’Er Up.” I remembered the worn billboard hanging over the station as I filled my Prius. Gett didn’t have its own service station in town, much to the locals’ dismay. We had to travel up Route 29 for fifteen miles to the Fill ’Er Up. The lone gas pump was a salvation to Gett. “Nice place,” I lied, though I doubted he wanted to discuss the merits of my gasoline choice.

“Thanks,” he said, his tone relaxing a bit. “Ma’am, I’m calling cuz I heard about your poor granddaddy’s arrest.” A short silence ensued. “I’m real sorry ’bout it.”

That made two of us. I needed Jack more now than ever if Lucky Whiskey was to survive. “Thank you,” I said, my own voice cracking.

“Let me tell you the reason for my call.” He stopped, inhaled loudly through his nose if the whistling sound was any indication, and then continued. “We watch the tapes once a week. This morning I watched.”

“Tapes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tapes of what?” Had he seen my NCIS debut or worse, my STD commercial, and decided to chat about it? I hoped not. It was too early to discuss genital anything, let alone with a complete stranger.

“A few years ago I talked my pa into upgrading his security,” he said, voice full of pride. “We retired Rover, our old coon dog, and installed security cameras. The cameras watch anyone who drives up to the pump.”

“Smart of you.” Was I having a conversation about security cameras before the sun managed to hit the sky? Though it beat herpes outbreaks any day. I tried to keep the snark from my voice. “Bet Rover wasn’t as happy with the new system.”

“Got that right. Took him awhile to stop chasing cars,” he said with complete sincerity. “Now he spends his days searching for vermin under the house.”

I tried not to giggle but a few escaped before I could stop them. “Sorry. I was thinking about something else. Go on.”

“Ma’am,” he said, “I think you need to see the tape for yourself.”

“The tape of Rover chasing vermin from under your house?” I blamed my density on the early hour, and the half a bottle of whiskey I’d drank the evening before. Sometimes all one could do was drown their problems in fermented malt. A single one at that. Sadly, it hadn’t tasted as good going down as it had days before.

He snickered. And I blushed, realizing my error. “The security tape,” I said, my face heating. “You want me to come see your security tape.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I grimaced at the phone, hating to drive all the way out to the gas station when I had more pressing matters to attend to, like begging the county inspector to stop over as soon as possible. Oh, and freeing Jack from a lifetime locked away for a murder he didn’t commit. With a sigh, I asked, “Can you give me a hint as to what’s on the tape?”

“I …” A pause. “I’d rather you see it for yourself,” he finally said.

I glanced at the clock, out of habit. “Okay, I can be there around eight. How does that sound?” That would give me plenty of time to get back in time for the county offices to open at nine a.m.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, his voice cracking yet again. “I’ll be here.”

Unfortunately, I would be too, seeing as the distillery was closed until I could get it inspected. Jack was still in jail, and my only other suspects in Roger’s murder were a wily eighty-year-old woman and her grandson. I needed real evidence before I could confront Rue Gett or else she’d eat me alive. And even more in the way of evidence before I could approach Danny with proof of his grandmother’s misdeeds.

Jack’s freedom had never seemed so far away.