Page 114 of Property of Whiskey

Her eyes snap to mine.

I mean it.

Whatever else I’ve done, this one has to be hers.

“Go to him,” I say quietly. “I ain’t stopping you. All this ends. I’ll keep looking into Pearly Gates on my own, and you can keep digging with your daddy.”

A knock slams into the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

Not really a knock.

Sheriff announcement.

Twila looks toward it.

“Whiskey.”

Another pounding shakes the door.

“Weller!”

It’s her daddy. Something passes across Twila’s face. Not fear. Recognition. Home. Safety. Everything Amos Dix is supposed to mean to her.

“Go,” I tell her.

She doesn’t.

My heart starts doing something stupid.

“Twila.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“If I don’t.”

For a second, I just look at her.

Then I understand.

“Bedroom. End of the hall.”

Her fingers flex at her sides before she turns away. She doesn’t run or hesitate. She walks down the hall and shuts my bedroom door behind her.

I stand there wondering what the fuck just happened until Amos pounds again.

“Open the goddamn door!”

I do.

Sheriff Dix looks like he hasn’t slept since his daughter disappeared. His hair is uncombed, his shirt wrinkled, and his eyes bloodshot above deep shadows. His service weapon rides at his hip even though the rest of him looks thrown together, and his gaze goes immediately past me into the house.

“Where is she?”

“Morning to you too.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Weller.”